'After the show, you cannot sing wherever you want'

This is "Sing" - The Dresden Dolls

Whenever I walk away from a gig after it's over, I think about how these moments of euphoria all of the people in that room just experienced are falling apart, drifting away, and we have no choice but to welcome it. It's just crazy to me. We are surrounded by each other, the band have just left the stage, the last song is still bouncing around our heads and it is something so many want to cling on to. And then you're getting further and further away. Away from the stage, past the merch table, walking past all of these people in the car park or outside the venue that saw what you saw, felt what you felt, and getting further away from it, then getting in the car, on the train, on the bus, in the taxi to leave. They're getting further away. The cars on the road aren't all theirs. The people on the street aren't all them. And then you pass a certain point and they're gone.

The other night after I saw Florence, there were a carful of drunk guys singing "Dog Days Are Over" out of the windows, and so I joined in as I passed. And they slurred "woo"'s. And it felt like clinging on.

There is no option but to get off of the rollercoaster and stand on the ground and go back to real life. You can't live like this all the time.

These last couple of months and especially this last week have been surreal. Concert after concert, spending money I can't really afford to spend and it has been so perfect. Last Friday I finally went to see Mumford and Sons, which I wrote about, and then Monday was another show which I should have some kind of hopefully coherent write-up of tomorrow. The thing that happened today was something different, that I'm not allowed to talk about for a while, but it was unexpectedly amazing.

It is so weird to think that this is my life now, this is the thing that keeps me going. I'm probably annoying to be around now, most long winded conversations with me involve me telling an anecdote about a recent gig I went to. My room is covered in setlists, tickets, and you'll most likely find me wearing a paper venue bracelet I don't have the heart to take off yet.

I don't know if this is a good thing to hold on to, because it's such a fleeting source of happiness, it's not something you can rely on all of the time. It's a few months now, I think, until I'm going to a show again, and it's going to be strange and I'm going to miss it but there are going to be so many more.

I guess it's just strange returning to real life and all the things I have ignored. I'm not sure I'm ready to leave Wonderland.