Nashville is getting more humid by the second. My hair is taking on that "permed" look, that I love so very much. Everything is green. (Not my hair) There were no leaves on trees the last time I was here, and now 5 weeks later, the glorious canopy that hides the city, and all that dwells therein, is in full swing. It is so very beautiful. Every breath is fragrant and pure and clear. I feel like lying under the trees all day and not doing a single thing but look up through the leaves at the perfectly blue, blue sky. Perhaps there'll be time for that somewhere down the road. Maybe when I am lying on the road. Not that I know why I'd be lying on a road. That would be bad. I have found myself in the odd ditch, but thankfully, I haven't been splayed out on a double yellow line as of yet. Life is a double yellow line...no passing.

I like Nashville. It's a big, small town if that makes any sense at all. It's so different from Calgary. You don't see the sky here. No matter what direction you go, you can't find the sky. You can't find the horizon. You find yourself driving just a little bit further in search of the horizon. It's bizarre. I spend the first couple of days trying to get used to the sky being gone. When I get home, the sky is the first thing I notice. It's so big. You can feel the weight of it chasing you. The birds start chirping here in Nashville at 5am. They are loud little souls. They are all excited about the sun. Half of the world basks in the sun, and the other half lies in wait. I know I am still going on about the sun. Maybe it's because it hasn't shone on my face for so long. I've been in the studio, so I just don't see the sun much, except for the 20ty or steps it takes to get here from the main house. We never know what time of day it is. It all just bleeds into one big chunk of the past. Next thing I know, I am in bed again trying to get to page 4 of my book. (I actually got to page 27 the other night) I am shooting for page one hundred tonight. (I am laughing hysterically)

My friend from London, England, just sent me a text. He is sitting in the evening sun at the Square and Compass Pub in Dorset. Dorset is about 3 hours north east of London. He's drinking a cider and watching the chickens peck at the gravel. It's so weird having these words pop up on my cell from thousands of miles away. I always send him back "X's and O's" and tell him that I wish I were there. The push of a button and my words fly past stars and moons and land in a pub with chickens strutting around in search of dinner. And Nigel sits with his cider and looks up at the same sun as I am looking at right now. Quite marvelous indeed. He is 7 hours older than me at any given moment. Life is so incredibly mystifying. I feel happy for no reason at all. Not that I need a reason. As a matter of fact, I don't want to have a reason.

I have been listening to the "Swingle Sisters". What a completely odd musical group. They have an album that is basically all classical pieces sung by this fabulously nutty bunch of singers. I think they are "Menudo" for old people. It's all a-cappella versions of songs like "Clair de Lune". It's fantastic stuff. It's creepy in a really beautiful way. Not something you'd want to put on at a children's party, unless of course, all the children are on anti-depressants.

Which reminds me, where's my Ativan? My doctor prescribed Ativan to take in case I felt panicky about my heart. She said it wouldn't hurt to pop one of them under my tongue if I felt the least bit edgy. The problem is, I get panicky about taking the Ativan in case it does something weird to me. I am doomed in a very funny way. How can you panic about taking Ativan? I am not big on drugs. When I was a kid, I ate 2 of my mother’s Midol cause they had a delicious kind of candy coating on them that was quite tasty. My mother flipped her lid, as any mother would. She thought I was going to die right then and there. She looked down my throat to see if she could see them resting there just beyond my tongue. I told her than I had swallowed them right into my stomach. She took me to see Dr. Turner, who in turn told my mother that at least I wouldn't be bloated at school the next day. My mother asked me where I 'd hidden the rest of the pills, as she couldn't find them. I led her into the downstairs bathroom and showed her the rest of the pills that I hadn't eaten, but rather just sucked the candy coating off of and thrown into the brown plastic garbage can that looked like a stump. There is a reason medication should not taste good to anybody. I used to joke at my shows that my tours were partly sponsored by Midol. A fan sent me about 20ty boxes of the stuff that I still have in my road case to this day. I opened a box of them up and they aren't candy coated anymore...I would have had a few had they been.

I bought some Miley Cyrus lip gloss at Walgreens yesterday. It was on sale for 19 cents. 19 cents? What the hell is that all about? I just had to buy it because Miley is going to need the money when she's 17. Fame is fleeting...the roller ball has already crapped out. I finally gave up rolling it over my mouth as the futility of it all finally set it. That's what you get for 19 cents these days. Who would mark them at 19 cents? Why not 25 cents at least? Walt Disney would turn over in his cryogenically sealed capsule if he caught wind of this...

If I saw Jann Arden lip gloss on sale for 19 cents, I'd cry. Even if it was 22 bucks I'd cry because I had a lip gloss to begin with. You won't see any Jann fragrances coming your way anytime soon either. No clothing lines or bed sheets or dinner plates or postage stamps. I've been licked enough in this life. Bryan will enjoy that I think.

I have just been informed that postage stamps come pre-stuck. You just peel 'em off and stick 'em wherever you want.

j

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