I swear, you guys, I’m totally sober right now.
At least I think I am…I’ll let you know once the room stops spinning with joy…or is that nausea? Hard to tell sometimes.
Ok, so this is my official hangover-Freshly Pressed post, only there’s no wolfpack, it’s just me.
Thank you to the Freshly Pressed Gods and thanks to everyone who clicked and read and commented and followed.
Welcome new readers!! From time to time I’ll refer to y’all as Psychos or Babblers or Hey, You! Just know that I say it all with love. And cheese. Also know that I hope I won’t disappoint you for a good few months or so. No promises, really.
I was warned before this all happened- that being Freshly Pressed was gonna be a whirlwind of comments that may be exciting and ego-boosting but also may or may not be annoying.
Allow me to describe my hero’s journey through the land that has been pressed ever-so-freshly, kinda like the Shire after the orcs are done trampling through.
Before being Freshly Pressed, it’s this innocent and hopeful time. I’m just focusing on the music, you guys, and I am doing this for the fans. You know, whatever flows, I just let it be what it was created to be. Sure, I’m just scraping by and hoping for the best, but I just wanna stay true to my craft.
And then came the email, like a record label hearing my jam for the first time and telling me that I had something. This is my big break! Am I good enough? Will my indie fans accuse me of selling out? Will I get hoards of screaming fans to rival those of The Biebs? Let’s just ride the wave and see where it takes me…
And then, it happens. The Big Break. The freaking Ed Sullivan Show. It feels sublime, like my first taste of black tar. I’ve been jonesing for this…..and I deserve this, but I’m still humbled by this…..and I knew the band was always gonna make it, you guys, and FUCKYEAH, let’s get shitfaced and trash a hotel room after I’m finished ear-humping you sweaty masses with my sonic genius!!!!!
The next day, the buzz is starting to wear off, so let’s invite some new groupies back in, slip me another jeffrey, and put on some Johnny Mathis (he always gets me pumped up). This ain’t over yet, babe!
Day 3. My eyes are bloodshot and I’m sleep deprived. What city are we in? Wait, I still have to do normal things like clean the toilet and make dinner? Fuck that, my new
blogging friends fans will keep me full of validation and wrapped in comment notifications undying love and adoration. Keep on rockin in the free world!
Day 4. Starting to get the shakes. My cat can answer my dwindling fan mail while I am busy praying to the porcelain gods.
Day 5. Hello? Anyone there? Will someone please make the walls stop spinning?!
And now, after a few refreshing weeks at Betty Ford, I’m getting calls from Dancing with the Stars.
When you’re at rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up.