It was a total nightmare. Everything was going wrong.
I couldn’t get my olive-colored army pants on. The zippers on my black suede Smurf boots were sticking. I was wearing a red mesh sleeveless shirt. And sunglasses, always sunglasses: big, brown plastic 70s things. When I finally made it on stage, my band mates were poised and ready, but I couldn’t get my red Fender Flying-V tuned. My patch chords were shorting out. I was harried and nervous. And worst of all, when I looked out to the audience, there were only two people there. And one of them was the bartender. It was a total nightmare.
No, really, it was a nightmare. I woke up at 5:30 this morning. And despite the inherent levity of the dream, it was pretty troubling. I was pretty freaked out. I couldn’t get back to sleep.
So I put on my real rock clothes, and wrote a song. Then I walked to work, listening to The Shins the whole way.
I still feel a little bit off.