peterockwell

I guess it's just been a bad week. The kind that leans over from the passenger seat and pulls straight down on the side of the wheel it's closest to, slamming you head-on through the guardrail and sailing into the busiest junction of the cloverleaf below, while it laughs and laughs and laughs.

I'm beginning to wonder if there's any point to doing the show anymore, any point to continuing the experiment. This week, an avalanche of unpleasantries rained down on me like so much tetris-fall, and got me thinking about the regrettable truths of this little coal-smoke-spewing machine I've built. It's true that I get pissed off and think about packing it in every 6 months or so, but now I'm within striking distance of the big red eject button, and finding it harder to pull back my arm.

I'm not going to whine on about it, I just sometimes feel like there are people that get it and people that don't, and I'm not reaching enough of the people that get it, while the ones that don't fill the room and wait patiently in line for their turn to kick me in the stomach.

When you feel like that, you wonder if it's worth holding on... You wonder if the cavalry is coming, or just somewhere in the line, patiently waiting.