Biscuits and Davey

       I realize that my blog posts ebb and flow like the bi lunar ocean tide and that my moods change like an inconsistent weather radar reading during the stormy season. Hurricane David is by far one of the most dangerous types of atmospheric local chaos. Board up the windows folks and lock down the hatches. Whenever I'm stumped in my writing confessionals I tend to look back at the roller coaster of a ride I've been on for some time now. Could the silence of a rural environment actually be deafening to the point that I have to listen to a CD called 'Sounds of the City' a collection of horrible urban taxi honks and angry turnstile clicks and subway rumbles just to get myself to relax? I need a balance. Can the city of angels and demons be calling me back home after I wrote about my great escape for months on end?  Silence...Check. Quiet...check. Recording a CD...check! Finally paying off my Sallie Mae student loans that have been hanging over me like a cloud in the antidepressant commercials...done!!!
    Tennessee. It all started with a humming that morphed into words; words that evolved into lyrics to a country song and I'm taken away every single time. There's something new in me like a confidence I can't fully explain and I feel the need to not only acknowledge it but celebrate it with a dirty Actors Equity Les Mis call in Chelsea. My career won't be complete until I die on the barricade at some point. What's wrong with me? I have a beautiful one bedroom nest for dirt cheap...a rock star performing job at the biscuit ballet where I'm Rudolf Nureyev as far as the locals are concerned. But most importantly I've had the time to hear my voice clearly for the first time ever in my life without the oh' so familiar fall out of epic vocal judgement. Again I stand at the crossroads of leaving and it feels like I'm gonna throw up in my mouth a little. Or maybe it was the cherry cheesecake Yoplait Whip I just ate two days past its sell-by date I don't know? A pirate plank might be the best comparison (swirling sharks and all) to the rat race I'm considering doing a swan dive back into but it's worth it. It's a familiar tune I wish could forget the words to but I sing it in my sleep nonetheless. It's definitely time to reconsider a new approach to your career when your big Mary Poppins number follows a ventriloquist name Bob who literally uses a sock puppet! 33,000 dollars in debt paid off  in full to Sallie Mae can't justify poop and dick jokes to me at almost 35 years old. I mean an actual sock puppet in 2013 can you even imagine?! And I can't forget to mention the Stunt Dog Snickers I had to follow at my last gig. Is this success I wonder? I'd say yes without hesitation because of the peace I've found exploring the scary, untouched depths of myself that compare to the uncharted deep sea dives only black light cameras can catch. Daddy would take even a lateral move at this point.