Out Of Office

Sherbert is the poor man’s sorbet.

When I got sick as a kid, ginger ale and orange juice was one of my favorite remedies. Spaghetios with Meatballs was another. But rainbow sherbert was the best.

It’s all in my belly at the moment.

I told the guys the entire time I was on the road, if I get home without getting sick, it’ll be a miracle.

I probably don’t need to spell out how a guy can get sick on the road with a rock and roll band. Forget the truck stop food, the late nights, random beds, or smoke-choked bars. I figure I picked up the bug last Friday night. Josh and I were hankerin’ for Throat Coat Tea, but couldn’t find a mug.

I said, “I’m sure there’s one on the bus.”

There was a mug on the bus, but God knows what the crusty stuff on the bottom was.

I’m not blaming the guys for getting me sick. I got myself sick. The last time I felt this bad was after the last tour. The time before that? You guessed it.

So… something’s wrong with this picture. Not the tour thing. The whole thing. The life thing. So I’m thinking it through. I’m working it out. Because at 34-years-old, the whole rock ‘n roll fantasy isn’t scaling.

I left work after lunch. I was sweating, nausious, and I decided MTV could live without me for the afternoon. It took me ten excrutiating minutes to find a cab, and five more to get home, but only thirty seconds to be into my pajamas, and into bed.

I’ve got a healthy dose of Duane Reade Day Time cough syrup in me, plus two Tylenol Colf & Flu pills for good measure. Oh, and a scoop of ranbow sherbert floating in some ginger ale.

I feel a little bit better right now. And I know I’ll get better still.