Well, I didn't die, though I felt like I was going to. I sang and played. Yep, I sure did. I think it was the scariest thing I've ever done in my life. I guess it went well, but I came home and cried. I don't know, I guess it was just a build up of emotion being released. I was so nervous. And then after it was over, I felt vulnerable. That's the only word I can find to describe it. I mean, as soon as the thing was over, I grabbed my guitar and went to the car. I got home, and I couldn't explain it. I just crashed face-down on the couch and cried. And it wasn't because I felt like I did a bad job. I felt like I had professed my undying love to someone, and they didn't return the favor. Does that make sense? Because it's not an accurate analogy. I mean, sheesh. All I did was play a song. Musical performance has an adverse effect on me, I suppose.
That's about all I have to say. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. All this anxiety and catharsis has down-right worn me out.
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