Thursday, June 30

3:05 am
Suite

I'm in love with an Irish Woman.

Just one.

She's all I need.

And right now she's sitting with me out here on the terrace, under this big ol' yellow moon in the crisp Irish night air.  Curled up against me under this sexy-soft mink blanket, sipping champagne and stealing puffs off my cigar and whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

And I ain't gonna sit here and write in my book any more about it.

I got better things to do.

Heh heh.


1:05 pm
Suite

Back from my swim.  Felt good.  Haven't done swimming for exercise in ages--it ain't easy to find a hotel with a pool big enough for laps.  But this one worked.

Matty convinced the hotel to close the indoor down for an hour so I could work out without being bothered or ogled.  Dean gave me a few aquatherapy exercises for my knee, then I just did laps.

I'll probably have to do a lot more swimming and yoga and a lot less running in the future.  My old joints have had it.  I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get scolded by the Doc after my surgery tomorrow.

Oh well.

Gotta get ready to go to the Fan Club Q&A thing.  I always dread going to those deals, but once I get in the room I usually enjoy myself.  I just get tired of being "on", and of hearing the same questions over and over again and the same song requests.

I don't mind people asking me to play something -- it's nice that people have songs they're so attached to that they ask for them.  But inevitably they ask me for something we can't do.  Some obscure deep cut or B-Side from somewhere that I don't even remember ever doing live, or something we haven't done since the 90s.

We just aren't set up to do everything--there's lights and sound and tuned guitars and all kinds of other shit to think about every time we do a new song.  That's why I have to list out my possible audibles on the setlist.  It drives the crew bonkers when I go off-list 'cause they have to scramble to get shit together.

So inevitably I have to say "no" to somebody's request.  And then when I can't do it it makes me look like an asshole.

Oh well.  You can't please everybody.

Maybe I can let Russell go in my place.  Whaddya say, Russ?  You up to being the Rock Star for awhile?  Wanna get your picture taken a hundred times and get groped by a bunch of giggly women?  And possibly a few guys?  Ha ha.

Not your thing, huh?  What are you gonna do, then?  Hang out with Cate at the pool?  Catch some rays?

Yeah, thought so.

Even the weasel gets to vacation while I gotta work.

7:20 pm
Dressing Room

"Sometimes you're on top... Sometimes she is."

I fucking give up.

But I'm keeping this one.


11:55 pm
Dressing Room

Completely drained, but I feel damned good.

Can't go out and celebrate though, can't do anything but drink water and go to bed.  No food before surgery. Or wine.

Goddammit.

When I got back here and got showered up I went out to find my Wife.  She was over in a corner in the hospitality room, talking to a group of people.  Her back was to me so I snuck up behind her and slipped my arms around her waist.

That's when I realized she was holding a baby.  The cutest little blond-haired baby girl you'll ever want to see.  She was about 9 months old, curled up on Cate's chest, her chubby little cheek resting against Cate's shoulder, her little baby breath ruffling Cate's hair.  She was fast asleep, the little angel.  Don't know whose relative she was, but she was just beautiful.

Cate turned around and gave me a smile that almost brought tears to my eyes.  She looked so content, so happy with that slumbering baby in her arms.  There was a light in her eyes.

I just smiled back and kissed her.