august 30 2024
It takes us two hours to make it out of the airport at Eindhoven. The flight itself was quick and efficient. I watched the attendants open the plane doors and then I sat for 30 minutes while we waited for someone to let us all go. The price of a glamorous life. I’ll pay it. I don’t care.
At the hotel, we check in under my real name and not my alias. I make a mental note to stop doing that again. Last year on tour, some strange man had tried to pick me up at the airport and managed to get very far before anyone figured out what was happening. Thankfully, Ben, my tour manager, does his job very well. The price of a glamorous life. Do I want to pay this? Am I insane to say yes? Is it ungrateful to say no?
The show in Eindhoven goes well. I grind up on some fresh-faced music lovers during Pluto Baby. The crowd loves it. No encore tonight. I’m exhausted. Another muscle spasm jerking it’s way through my left arm. Sweat down my neck. The pressure behind my eyes. As we pull away from the venue, I pray my back doesn’t give out until after I fly back home.
We nap for four hours at the not-not-haunted hotel then head out at 5AM. Ben drives us in a rental car to Amsterdam so that we can catch our flight to the Bristol show. At the airport, I’m delirious. I’m hungry and seeing stars. I skip the Ativan for this flight because more than being scared of the takeoff, I’m scared I’ll actually pass out and not wake up. I still have to (really) finish my album.
I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m complaining because I’m not. There is nothing better to me than the satisfaction of a job well done.
We grab lunch on the countryside with Aunt Dee. She tells us about the time she was robbed in Brixton and managed to get her purse back. There is a giant pig in a pen outside. A hundred cows munch on grass across the street. I slept the whole ride over. I sleep the whole ride back.
We head out to the last show. The festival is called: End of The Road. It doesn’t get more symbolic than that. I wave my hips across the stage and think about starting psychoanalysis once I get back home. I sing So Hard To Tell and feel the metaphorical closing of the curtain. I take a bow as the audience applauds. It is the end of this era. I lay it to rest.
Thank you, GOOD LUCK. Goodbye.
