Steamboat, CO – Old Town Pub – August 7, 1998

I’ve heard having a resentment is akin to lighting yourself on fire and hoping the smoke will bother the person you’re pissed at.  I played a gig in Steamboat over the weekend cursed with wretched mic feedback that screeched like a banshee every few songs and threatened to chase away my crowd.  I know it’s not saying much, but, between loud shrieks, I felt like the small audience really listened. 

My boyfriend was drunk and stoned and rushed around the crowd like a whirling dervish doing squat thrusts and challenging people to wrestle.  I could hear him shouting over the music and felt embarrassed.  The ride back to Boulder was full of silence, hours of heart-shattering mountain beauty, and spitting resentment.