This has been, in fact, the week from hell. Not necessarily for me personally – I can think of other weeks where my direct daily life was far more difficult and frustrating. All things considered, my daily life has been pretty simple this week, actually. I didn’t sleep a whole lot, pulling 2.5 all-nighters in order to allow myself some down time this weekend, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

No, the week from hell is more like the nagging feeling that an interdimensional portal from hell has opened and is attacking my friends and family at random. It started last weekend, when Adam’s grandma apparently went into the hospital suffering from what seemed like a heart attack but is currently still unclear – she was in the ICU for days. We got the call Monday afternoon, minutes before we got another call from a close friend whose mom had died over the night. Her daughter found her alone at home, peacefully in her easy chair.

Suck, suck, suck.

Then the daily onslaught took force. Another friend whose 2 year old daughter was diagnosed with leukemia, another whose appendix ruptured and sent her to the ICU (5 doors down from Adam’s grandma), another whose job was unexpectedly terminated with only 1 day of notice. By last night at the post-funeral reception, we were both desperate for the weekend to start so the week from hell would be over.

Today, we went to see the new Indiana Jones (good god…suckage) and were forced to leave shortly before the end when the onslaught of phone calls signaled bad news. Sure enough…another member of the family, set to get married in less than 2 months, was calling to let us know that her fiance’s dad had drowned in the ocean while swimming with his young daughter.

Fuck.

I’m afraid to answer the phone. In fact, I turned it off.

*sigh*

On an up note, Evey’s had a fun week. Last weekend I took her to her first dog park – a fenced-in corner of a big park where you can turn your dog loose and let it frolic. She had a ball, and she made her first boyfriend: Rocky. He’s another puggle, about 50% bigger than her, and (thankfully) fixed. He fell in love at first sight and his owners and I had to separate the enamoured couple. I held her for a while, and the poor boy just sat at my feet patiently waiting for his new girl to be set back down. I told Rocky’s owners that I’d like him to call her once or twice, you know, at least take her out on a date before they start getting physical.

I took her to the dog beach on Lake Michigan later in the week, finally getting together with Rory Miller (my fellow Chicagoan in the FameCast Finals) and her pup Lucy. I’ve never seen Evey so happy – a giant beach full of other dogs and tons of sand and all the freedom to run around and play in the world. I was worried that she wouldn’t come back to me at first, that she’d run off and disappear, but she was just like a little kid at their first day of Kindergarten. She’d run and play with other dogs for a while, but come back to me every 5 minutes or so with a big dopey puppy grin on her face, checking back in with mama and showing off her new friends.

God I love that dog.

A few months ago I wrote a series of posts complaining about how incredibly exhausted I was in many, many ways. Right now, I’m only exhausted in one way – Julie need sleepy. But I’m doing it to myself, and the thing is, I feel great about it.

As I’ve mentioned, late nights are my forte. I do my best work between midnight and sunrise, when the rest of the world seems to be asleep and it’s just me, the quiet, and some major doses of caffeine to keep me going. Last night I stayed up ’til about 4:30am, starting some major projects and doing my first solo aquarium water changes (weeks overdue) while Adam got a few hours of sleep before leaving for work at 5am. Evey and I crashed out for a few hours, woke up once to the incessant grinding of an aquarium filter that had, for some reason, stopped sucking in water (not good, not good), then got up for the day around 10:30.

And I’ve been going ever since.

I’ve actually accomplished a lot in the past 36 hours. I bought my plane tickets to New York for a private gig I’m playing, replaced the air filter in my KIA, paid bills, sent some important mail, ordered heartworm and flea/tick meds for Evey, sent some overdue emails, etc. The list isn’t any shorter, of course, because as soon as you start working on one thing you think of 5 more that are probably more important.

But my one great weakness isn’t the list, and it isn’t my penchant for sleep deprivation.

It’s frickin’ Text Twist.

I’m a sucker for puzzle games – Dr Mario, Snood, Pop ‘n Drop, Bounce Out, Brick Breaker, Solitaire, anything that lets me set myself on auto pilot while my brain shuts down for a necessary break. But there’s a strange phenomenon with me and Text Twist, and I’ve only ever encountered it in one other mind-blanking game – Pipe Dream. And the phenomenon is that I cannot get it out of my head.

Not kidding. I actually had to quit Text Twist cold turkey last fall because I couldn’t fall asleep. 5- and 6-letter groups would form in my head of their own volition, and I’d find myself spinning them into 3-, 4-, 5- and 6-letter words before I realized what was happening. I couldn’t shut them off. And worse, the sets were never consistent – I’d start with “WANDER” and before I realized it, the letters had shifted to “FLIGHT.” Hours of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shut off the letters.

Pipe Dream used to do it to me, too – I’d get trapped in a cycle of ill-fitting pieces, trying to fit them together into a smooth path for the green goo seeping slowly toward the exit. It was pretty sad. It is pretty sad – some people can’t sleep because they’re trying to solve a major crisis at work, or because the state of starving children in Africa is overwhelming them. I get green goo and scrabble.

Just, um, one more game…

I went to Office Max today to pick up photo paper.

I left with 2 packs of photo paper, a pack of silver Sharpies, a Rolodex folder, and a new storage unit for my office supplies. And this was after several acts of restraint.

There’s just something about office supplies that gets me ridiculously excited. They inspire me, they motivate me. Some people go shopping for new shoes or a new TV to cheer themselves up – I head straight for the big racks of pens and markers and paper. And when I’m not in need of cheer, like today, it’s even worse, because I’m already feeling motivated and inspired and then suddenly I’m presented with tools to act on my plans! Hooray!

It sounds trivial, I know, but I don’t think you realize the extent of my obsession (though I’m not as bad as these people). Most people have some kind of home office, usually containing letter-sized paper for their printer, a few spiral notebooks, a stack of Post-Its, and a small selection of pens and pencils. Occasionally there will also be scissors, a stapler, and markers, if they’re thorough.

My home office currently has the following:
* sheafs of paper – letter, legal, photo (8.5×11 and 4×6), stylish cotton, heavy weight, Levenger Circa inserts, and assorted colors
* 5 pairs of scissors
* a paper cutter
* 2 hole punches (one regular, one Levenger Circa punch)
* assorted fasteners (Circa rings in multiple sizes, Levenger paper clips in multiple sizes, rubber bands, paper clips, staples)
* paint pens, Sharpies, markers, highlighters, colored pencils, pencils, pens
* 9 different colors and sizes of Post-It
* 4 kinds of tape (Scotch regular, Scotch magic, black duct, silver duct)
* stacks of notebooks in assorted sizes and bindings
* florescent sticky flags in assorted colors and sizes
* and…a stapler

I’m sure I’m missing something. And the sad thing is…I want more…

I love my mom.

My mom is a fabulous woman. She has been incredibly supportive of my career since the first piano lesson, somehow managing to encourage and back me up without ever being one of those scary stage moms. She was also my best friend when I was handling all the crap of junior high and high school. She rocks.

Every year I try to give her something personal and memorable on Mother’s Day, but of course, I occasionally have trouble getting these gifts to her on time. Or, um, in a completed form. Last year I made a DVD of all the best photos from our trip to Ireland, set to the music we listened to along the way – it was very personal and cool. At least, it would have been if I’d gotten it done on time and actually given her the DVD. I made a rough version and showed it to her and my dad, promising to get the final version to her shortly.

Yeah, that was a year ago, and it’s still not done.

So this year, I confess, I have not yet actually given her the gift I’m getting, and I hope she’ll be patient with me. I did wish her a happy Mother’s Day onstage at the America show the weekend before, so I think that counts for a little something.

I have great respect for moms. Honestly, I have always wondered if I’m ever going to want to have children, not because I don’t love them, but because I don’t know if I’m ever going to have the patience to be a good mom. To really devote the time and energy it takes to raise a great kid, and to be able to turn the spotlight off of myself and turn it onto them the way they deserve.

What can I say, I’m a rock star? I like attention. Seriously, though, I’m one of those girls whose biological clock is far, far from starting to tick, and I’m quite happy with that. There’s a lot left for me to do with my life before I’m ready to make that leap. I am not a mom. At least not anytime soon.

So it was a huge surprise to me today when Adam and I went into Applebee’s for lunch (after 2 hours trapped on a 2-mile stretch of the I-80 due to flooding or something) and both the hostess and our server asked if we were there celebrating Mother’s Day. Looking pointedly at me. I was not amused.

Nor was I amused when I left the gas station this evening and the guy who’d been in line behind me yelled out, “Hey, Happy Mother’s Day!” after having had no interaction with me whatsoever.

Not funny, people. The puggle is enough trouble, give me some time here!

Alright, it is ridiculously past acceptable blogging time and I’ve driven over 8 hours today and played a show, but I had to get this out there before I crash.

You know that show I played tonight? The one in Wausau, WI, with America? It rocked. As I predicted, these well-seasoned musicians were friendly and professional, and then some. I hung out with the stage manager, Pete, for over an hour before the show chatting about the decades he’s spent touring with the band; learned about a new toy I really really want; and met Gerry, Dewey, Michael, etc backstage before my set.

The packed house (close to 1000 people) was quiet when they were supposed to be, wild with applause when I finished a song, and made that giant venue feel like the most perfect place to be. Which it was. Seriously, people approached me during the break and after the show constantly, really friendly people who buy CDs. Lots of CDs. More CDs than I’ve ever sold at one show before, with the Sara Bareilles show last December a close second.

Did I mention how great the guys in America were? They did something that no one I’ve ever opened for has done – they stood in the wings and watched my set (which, as I might have mentioned, rocked – The Grand Theater is a fabulous, huge, high-class venue and I’m going to do some begging to get back in there!).

And then, as I walked off the stage to thunderous applause (not kidding) and the enthusiastic congratulations of the band, Gerry (one of the two front men) asked me to stick around for the encore so I could come out and sing it with them.

America asked me to sing “Horse With No Name.” I am so not shitting you.

I got my mom and dad backstage (way too much fun on its own, by the way), and though we were lacking a video camera, Dad managed to nail down 128 shots in 4 minutes. One of the band’s crew taught me the two chords I needed to know to play along, the guys came offstage and strapped one of their own acoustics on me, and then I was out there with frickin’ America singing frickin’ “Horse With No Name.”

There are days, now and then, when I’m glad that I opted to do this instead of becoming a rich lawyer.

So here, my dear friends and fans, is Julie Moffitt onstage with America.

I have a show in less than 2 days opening for America. You know, “in a desert, on a horse with no name…” Yup. Kinda excited! I’m hoping they’re the kind of headliners who actually, you know, hang out with their opening act a bit. Or at least say hi. Not everyone bothers…though what amuses me is that the more established and experienced acts tend to be much more friendly than the newly minted radio stars. Willy Porter? Friendly as all hell, we hung out in the green room for an hour before the show. Mat Kearney? Ignored me, pointedly, while bitching about the fact that he was playing a show in Ohio, the poor baby.

Wait, Mat who…?

Anyway, in an effort to prepare for the show, I decided that practicing is something I should reintroduce to my daily schedule. Meaning I finally brought my piano up to the apartment this evening and then spent an hour digging through my bookshelves for the lyric book I haven’t used in almost a year. And then…

I am one of those people who revels in nostalgia. Especially the melancholy type, the sad stuff and the memories of things that broke my heart. Vacation pictures are great, but I’m far more likely to be found poring through sheafs of poetry written during my turbulent college years. Tomorrow I’ll be heading to Milwaukee to sift through boxes (and I mean stacks and stacks of boxes…) from preschool through the present, forcing myself to let go of the unnecessary bits in an upcoming garage sale.

I’m practically giddy about getting to dig through all that shit.

Back to the lyric book – there are songs in there that I’d quite literally forgotten I’d ever written. Piss-poor songs I never played in public, to my credit, along with some piss-poor songs I did unfortunately play in public, but also songs that I used to play at every show, laden with emotion and heartache. Remember “Stumble?” That was a pretty damn good song…a bit long and self-indulgent, but now that I remember it exists, I’m proud to have written it.

I make a lot of allusions to people and conversations within my songs, most of which go unnoticed by everyone except me and, sometimes, the person I’m referencing. Talk about a trip down memory lane… I think I’ll stay up a bit longer and keep rehashing the past, since that’s become the theme of the weekend.