Well, that's not gonna happen again

After my last little missive, I received a note from Denny P.

“🤣 Ha ha. That was nearly mushy.”

What?!

Surely not.

Could some tiny, microscopic particle of mush have somehow slipped into one of these newsletters?

Denny’s observation was disturbing, to say the least.

So I want to make a commitment to you.

It will not happen again.

I am redoubling my efforts. I will remain ever vigilant against even the slightest implication of mushiness.

I mean, I have a reputation to protect.

One tiny slip and a lifetime’s work, an entire legacy, could be shot straight to hell.

Obviously I was tired.

And apparently having rooms full of people say lovely things to you has strange, previously undocumented side effects.

Compliments. Good feelings. Joy. Happiness. Music. Art.

Clearly gateway drugs.

Best enjoyed only in moderation.

Okay. Good.

I feel better.

We will never speak of this again.

Did I mention we’re home?

We’ve been back for a few days now, and Victoria and I are adjusting surprisingly well.

I’ve mostly stopped reaching up at night trying to pull closed the little black curtain that used to surround our bunk.

Our king-size bed does not have one.

Apparently.

Trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night have also become alarmingly easy.

There’s no dark hallway.

No bunks filled with snoring musicians.

No grabbing onto railings for dear life while Ginger Joe pilots twelve tons of tour bus down a Hobbit-sized English road because it saves twenty minutes between Whitley Bay and Hever.

Which, I was rather forcefully informed by a local gentleman, is pronounced:

HEE-ver.

We’re also waking up in the same place every morning.

Weird.

And apparently Tesco microwave dinners are no longer required every evening.

Also weird.

But we’re adjusting.

We do miss the band.

That is NOT mushy.

It is a fact.

They are an insanely talented, funny, generous, damn nice collection of human beings to spend a month trapped on a bus with.

Even with the snoring.

And whatever that Three Stooges noise was that somebody made in their sleep.

But yes, as you probably know by now, I’m a bit of a Type A+ personality.

So after approximately two days at home...

I started working on next.

I still use paper and pencil.

I don’t really write ideas down because, frankly, even I can’t decipher my handwriting afterward.

I sort of... draw them.

Single words in block letters.

Circles.

Arrows.

Ridiculous little pictures.

More arrows.

Occasionally something that looks like the planning documents of a deeply unstable military strategist.

Whatever works.

And somewhere in all that scribbling, something started taking shape.

Actually...

A LOT of somethings.

More shows.

More places.

More Vox.

And this time, not just Metropolis.

Oh boy.

You guys are in for it.

Okay, I don’t know how long I’ve been typing this, but apparently I’m exhausted again.

I need a nap.

That’s it.

I’m not gonna get all mushy.

Especially not again.

See ya,Kevin