eat a peach for peace

it's tough loving music this much. i watch movies like 'walk the line' and 'high fidelity.' the band's 'last waltz' or 'this is spinal tap.' and next thing i know i'm planning my band's debut performance at the double door. and then i remember i don't play an instrument. so i watch 'almost famous' instead and wonder, if compared to penny lane five times in the same day, does it make it true?

i've never had the musical skills to toot a flute. or the patience to sit through a piano lesson. and my hands are too small to play the guitar. or at least to do that thing where you wrap your thumb around the top of the neck to mute the e string. but i still like to paint my fingernails black and i still know my way around a microphone stand. what i don't know is how to take all my pages of rhyming thought and give them a melody. so they just stay all over my paper like spilled milk.

when i was a little girl, spilling milk was a big deal. my sisters and i would be at the kitchen table eating our mac&cheese and our dill pickles. inevitably some sort of elaborate make-believe scenario would be taking place or sarah would be forcing us to practice a musical routine of some kind. and with all that shouting and singing and grande hand gesturing, someone would topple over their glass of milk. and the fun would cease. the next elaborate performance would be that of stealthily wiping up the mess and cleaning off the table and floor without being caught. a make shift spy drama.

and now i've found myself in a whole other messy... mess. and i'm just as eager to clean it up. or put it to music. or jump on a bus and ride around the nation with a feather boa and a polaroid camera and not worry about any of it.

maybe that will be next on the agenda. dear mister ryan adams, yes i will join you on your upcoming summer tour. seeing as our impending romance will be a hard one to hide, i suggest you notify miss mandy moore of your canceled engagement as soon as possible. see you soon, darling. don't forget the road snacks.

it's all happening,
annie