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Polkatharsis

Yesterday morning I was largely a basket case, due to the unearthing of some mounting frustrations that I had been trying to articulate in a very overwrought e-mail, but the worst of it had passed by the time I forced some composure onto myself. It didn't help that later on the shrink kept getting me all pissed off, constantly missing the point of what I was trying to explain to him.

Salvation came, though, in the form of a surprise phone call from my oldest pal, Eddie, who was making a quick, surprise visit to to the East Coast for a bunch of meetings with some entertainment types. Luckily we had time to get together and catch up and run around last night, and it was exactly the thing I needed at exactly the right time a beloved pal who's basically known me my entire life who gets the whole point with a minimum of explanation.

I also got a last minute reminder about a show at the Bottom Line I’d really wanted to see, so we wound up topping off a late-ish evening by getting our southern grooves on with the ass-kicking stylings of Hayseed Dixie and the band that has never failed to make me happy, Brave Combo.

There's no way I can explain to you how much better I felt after a good polkatharsis. Unless you've experienced one, you'll just keep scratching your head and laughing at me, just like you are right now, I bet. Well, the joke's on you, pal: sometimes it's just what the doctor ordered.

Roll out the barrel! We'll have a barrel of fun!
Roll out the barrel! We've got the blues on the run!

I may be in a sleep-deprived walking coma all day, but I think that may leave me properly unhinged and susceptible to the cathartic roller-coaster ride of Kiki & Herb tonight.

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