I've been coasting on an adrenaline rush for the past few days. Who needs drugs when your body pumps out an endless stream of the smoothest, most reliable intoxicant you could ever want? I feel like I could lift a car or chew through wire cable or set the room on fire with my eyes like Drew Barrymore in that creepy Stephen King movie
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Embrace the anxious, and let it fuel you with those lovely endorphins.
Though I think there might be some who are hoping that perhaps you might show up naked! Now there would be a distraction for those pesky critics!
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You're sure, huh? I like that confidence. Maybe you'll get to see it for real someday. I'd like that.
There you are, nibbling on the King again. I do like that icon.
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It went beautifully, thanks. Well, the usual hiccups and backstage freakouts, but overall, I pulled it off. Of course I sang "You Go to My Head"! I was a stickler, down to the banter breaks. Different banter, of course, but I did a great Judy-walk. Somewhere between a prance, strut, and flounce.
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God, that sounded incredibly cheesy and fanboyish, even to me. Still, I have a tiny sense of how you must feel, even though covering a Jimi Hendrix song in a small dark Village bar is light years away from what you're doing.
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