waiting.

Sitting. And waiting. Trying to make the most of my time.

Between when the last show of the day ended and when I get to go with Clyde (who was kind enough to offer to drive his jeep) to pick up Drew.

Drew!

Oh, here's something a little bit funny.

Not hilarious funny like when my brother Jason was strolling along, happily hand in hand with his (then) girlfriend Darby and my other brother Jonathan snuck up, switched his hand for Darby's, and kept pace with him for a short while. When Jason finally noticed that the hand he was holding and cherishing and interlocking his fingers with was not in fact a beautiful woman's, but rather a young man who looked a lot like himself, he dropped it faster than any hand in the history of hand holding has ever been dropped and the whole family started laughing.

Because that was hilarious funny.

This is only a little bit funny.

So, I am leaving The Alliance to room with Drew (obviously) while he's here. I email my company manager to make the reservation for us and he responds, saying the room is under Drew's name.

When I go to switch rooms tonight I ask for the reservation under Drew Copeland. The woman at the desk looks a little bewildered when she cannot find it and then tells me that the only Drew they have is a Drew Latshaw.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

I think that is very funny because that would have meant that he had taken my name when we got married and though Drew is maybe the most laid back, go-with-the-flow guy I have ever met, his limit of lengths to which he would go stops right before taking my name.

I'm pretty sure, anyway.

Our matinee tomorrow starts at one o'clock.

Which, in normal people's time, would mean that you get to the office around 5 am.

And wear a leotard.

So what do you think about that?

And tomorrow night we have our show at James' Club88, for which I am psyched. I already have my set list and everything, all saved on my Iphone. I am going to play two covers this time--Boysetsfire's The Misery Index and Sarah MaClachlan's Do What You Have to Do.

I sort of cut my song writing teeth on her albums.

That sounds so gross. Song writing teeth?!?!?! What do they bite, exactly? Watch out--she's baring her song writing teeth!!!!

Not all metaphors are appropriate for every situation, I guess.

Anyway.

Listening to her music made me feel like I had to write, too.

Like I could write, too.

And now I only have twelve minutes until I am meeting Clyde in the lobby and then just twenty-seven minutes until we get to the airport.

Not that I am counting or anything.