somewhere in the mess that was last night

I don't get out as much as I used to.

But when I do, the night always seems to have an urgent feel to it. Like everyone who you simply assumed no longer thought and/or cared about you just suddenly comes out of the woodwork and makes you feel like a chump for having been out of the loop for so long.

Obviously, most of this has to do with music. For a lot of people (well, Montreal is still a small big city) I am and forever will be the singer of Kamikaze Baby. The songwriter who could string some nice chords and words together. The guy whose band inspired them to play music in the first place. I always try not to make too much of it; dismiss it as a lot of alcohol-soaked nostalgia. And for a while I almost dreaded the conversation. But that conversation is always ready to be had, behind a cigarette and Vodka in some dark corner of the club. Nobody wants to give up on the underdog, it seems. Even when the underdog himself has contemplated packing it up.

But things have been changing.
I've also been feeling that old familiar feeling more and more these days.

Walking into the Narcotiques room every day to visit Angel and knowing that it will soon become my own. I talk about it like it's already done. And after an awesome conversation with Mr. Smiles (and right before the Sweater Song dragged me away) I now have a drum set to add to the imaginary arsenal; the same one that's just been secretly sitting there in the case, just waiting to be identified. And unwrapped.

And maybe that's exactly where I'm at.
Maybe I'm finally ready to be (re) identified and unwrapped.