April 9th, Wednesday. Gig No.8, Joking Aside, Hysteria Bar

I was supposed to post this earlier today. Woke up this morning and thought to myself:
“Right, get up, do today’s blog entry, have some lunch”
But life doesn’t work that way does it?
I set the laptop up and off we go. But no, wait a minute. My Facebook chatbox keeps disconnecting. (Yes, I logged into Facebook first. It’s a disease. Like heroin addiction, but with more Farmville requests) That’s weird. Click ‘refresh’. Oh, it’s disconnected again. Refresh again. Still disconnecting. GAH, for FUCK sake. Is this something to do with the Windows update yesterday? (Windows operating system, for those less technically literate. I don’t have a 'system' where I update my actual windows. Double glazing is fucking expensive. While we’re on the subject of windows, I like how you can have one side see through, and one side reflective but not see through. If I were a such a way inclined I’d set up a small Double Glazing business and make sure my customer's houses all had the reflective side facing them indoors, and the see through side from outside. Then I’d charge local voyeurs 20p a go to enter my pervert wonderland. Business acumen. I‘ve got it.) I delve into windows updates. Then another thing, and another. Un-installing this, downloading that. Everything that doesn’t work sets me off. I know. “Forget about it”, you’re saying. “Let it go man”, as you pass the doobie on to my other imaginary friends. But I can’t forget about it. I can’t ‘Let it go’. See, this kind of thing.. IT - DRIVES - ME - IN - SANE. Literally INSANE. Not figuratively. Literally. I get so angry I actually start seeing things. At 12:04 I log onto Facebook for a quick check of my messages. Three hours later I’m in full blown phrenic meltdown, away playing soft tennis with some really aggressive fairies. Yes. The frustration fuels such a strong psychiatric need to detach from the source of my trauma that I’m being whisked away into some phantasmagorical Never Never land of mental illness. I THINK I’m 40-love up against a fuming Tinkerbell. But really I’m slumped glassy eyed in my underpants, headbutting the keyboard into oblivion. The whole time I’m sitting there lost in my breakdown a small, tiny vestige of my damaged brain is calling out to me, going:
“Joe! Let it go! Write your blog! Tell them all what a lovely gig you had last night and move on!”
But the rest of me, 98% of dangerously unhinged maniac, bonging his head up and down like a demented Cockatoo:
“I CAN’T LET IT GO! MY FUCKING LAPTOP WON’T LET ME FUCKING CHAT. I WANT MY FUCKING CHAT BACK, AND I WANT IT NOW”
A lone protest of futility, saving the world one minor laptop glitch at a time.
And then, suddenly, I find a solution. A simple solution. An amazingly simple solution. All I needed to do was synchronize the time zones on my laptop. Such a moronically simple solution for such a moronically irrelevant problem. (Problems and morons go hand in hand) Problem solved, moron triumphant. At. Fucking. Last.
Oh, wait a minute. It’s half four. I have to eat. I have to get ready for tonight's gig. And oh, shit, I have to write about last nights gig! Damn.

Gig no.8 done. Promoter Dominic Tabone