There are some parts of being an independent musician that make me want to hide under my bed.
Writing cheques from my own bank account, and hoping to hell they don't bounce? Painful.
Trying to be in promo mode 24/7? Tiring.
Listening to my own CD, fresh from the manufacturer, and finding myself praying to everything that's holy that there's nothing wrong with it? To the point where I am tip-toeing around the house, taking shallow breaths, and aging myself by ten years with all the worrying? To the point where I've started a blog posting to distract myself from the possibility that maybe the master got scratched in transit and THERE COULD BE A MISTAKE ON THE RECORDING. THERE COULD BE A FREAKING MISTAKE ON IT. A MISTAKE.
And somehow, it would be my fault.
I am trying very hard not to stab myself in the eye just to stop that little internal voice from repeating, "Wouldn't it be tragic if your whole second batch of CDs had a flaw? Wouldn't that just be soooo depressing? It's totally possible, you know...." This is one of the only times where I wish it wasn't just me dealing with all this stuff. Perhaps I could hire a pair of ears to do the tough listening for me. Do you think I could pay a pair of ears in quesadillas? Because that's pretty much all I've got right now. Quesadillas and chocolate cookies.
Oops! Just quesadillas.
PS, It's not all doom and gloom. That good music news will be coming down the pipes soon enough.
PPS, The album just ended. No mistakes. Deep. Breath. Out. I wish I hadn't eaten all those cookies.