"Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball"
- Damien Rice, "cannonball"

Day one of the Week Of Shows involved driving to Tuscaloosa. Ah, T-town, my spouse's former stomping grounds, but never a city that I quite felt at home in.

"Just a little nap in the sun," I said, sneaking off to the deck to crank up the sunshade and recline on a deck chair. No nap yet, but it's a few hours later, and I think the miles of this week are rolling off of me like beads of sweat.

Could be worse. At least it's not hot out here.

If I've got any sense, I'll remember to reset the trip odometer tonight before I head out. It's going to be one of those [insert the word here for a three-day span in which you roadtrip to three different cities to see three different concerts and beg some of your west coast friends to stay up an hour later than usual so that you can use your obnoxious amount of free night and weekend cell phone minutes to talk to them so that you won't fall asleep on the way home from each show, which you wouldn't dream of missing].

Yeah. One of those.

It really wasn't planned. Honest. Except that I'd been dozing on the couch, and then I snapped awake with the horrid realization that I was planning on three weeks' worth of out-of-state trips in the not-too-distant future, and that one pair of sneakers, one pair of jeans, and two pair of shorts just weren't going to cut it.

Clothing. Needed. Now.

• 2:45 a.m. leave note for spouse, saying, "Trash needs to be taken out, and there's stuff in the master bedroom that needs to go out with it. Didn't want to wake you, so wake me up before you go."
  
  (This free-association cheezwhiz music moment is brought to you by the non-word "go-go.")
  
  
• 7:13 a.m. Trash out to curb. Much yawning, contemplation of annoyingly bright sunrise, thoughts of replacing cats with lower litter-producing models.