The Dresden

Nights like these always feel weird because I like doing things alone but I'm always doing them alone because I'm waiting. Never because I intentionally chose to be alone. Music is always the reason. It’s never intentional. I live my life with the ebb and flow of melodies. Wherever a song takes me is where I end up.

I can’t remember a time I made an intentional break away from this path. Sometimes on nights like these I just want to run and end up somewhere only when I’m satisfied and scared and lost. It’s funny that I crave the feeling of ending up lost, as if there is safety in any of this. This strange lifestyle of sitting at a bar alone on a Sunday night in LA, sipping on a whiskey cocktail and waiting for the next show. Missing my wife, my babies (my three cats, Edith, Remo and Oliver), the restlessness of my city (Philadelphia), the feeling of being an arms length from the people I love, yet I’m always missing out whether I am here or there. I’m always missing something.

I want to split myself in two. I wish I could pause one life and play another, and when I get bored, switch the tapes and rewind and keep going. It’s such an odd feeling. It’s a constant. But I love it, or at least I think I do. I just don’t know anything else. But I guess I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I just enjoy these moments: my whiskey cocktail, the live music playing behind me at The Dresden and contemplate my next immediate move: another cocktail? Another bar? Or back to Sarah’s apartment to veg out on the couch, or write a song, or sleep. None of it matters until Wednesday when I hop an early flight to Portland, Oregon and it all begins again in another city.