rubbing one out

I put off busking all day for mini projects, both real and necessary, and imaginary and a waste of time. Planning which variety of tea I'll drink next? Yep, I definitely spent a few minutes on that. Restringing mandolin after not changing them since October (purchase date of mandolin)? Slightly more necessary. But 8 strings doesn't equal 8 times the restringing fun. It equals 45 minutes.

Around 1 am on my way home I decided to step off the train and busk. Luckily, my mandolin found its way into my hand (busking with my skin flute has become increasingly difficult in the cold). However, no one found their way into my station, so I hopped back on a train one and a half songs later.

It was good, though. I was feeling musically pent up, and it was good to sonically ejaculate all over the Museum of Natural History murals in the 81st Street subway station, then dart back into the night cackling and counting my zero dollars.

I'm again struck by the fact that I wasn't invited to my five-year high school reunion. I mean, do these people READ THIS BLOG?!