The agony of the morning

I discovered a new spin on the commute to ‘work’ last week.

Crawling off a couch / matress with a throat like a chimney sweeps, hungry, late , with your own songs buzzing around your head in an insanely annoying way.

Example: 11am car journeys to the studio.

Driver: Joel
Shotgun: Mel
Backseat: Chandy or Scott

I’m still very bleary eyed, I’ve left my glasses at the studio so I’m not seeing as well as I ought to.

I want the nice man on Radio 4 to make it all go away, to tell me about Gaddafi’s overdue demise, a rallying call for Latin to be be taught in primary schools…. The Archers! I’ll even listen to the Archers , anything but talk to these people – my oldest freinds and fellow creators: The Band. Please, just don’t talk to me about the F&*&* band. Not yet, we haven’t even had a bacon sandwich yet!

But every morning –  before I get in the car or in the car or once I get out of the car! We start talking about the songs, the next gig… I find these conversations at this particular point in the day knit a knot in my tummy and make my shoulders so taught the bones start to creak… my knuckles tighten and whiten. I bite my lip and growl quietly.

Luckily when get out the car, I see Joe




About joelsitar

I play sitar and guitar, lots.
This entry was posted in Frustrations, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The agony of the morning

  1. Dr. Curiosity says:

    Now I want a bacon sandwich too. And it’s only 4:07am.

    Sometimes it’s nice to just be able to wake up and settle in before the day starts, yeah?

  2. Pingback: And now for the good stuff | Sunday Driver

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s