I was sick all the night before…was still shaky when I got to the hotel for the protest. Dropped by Trader Vic’s in the hotel first for a whiskey. I felt like such a cliche….a reporter dropping by a bar on the way to an assignment and it ain’t even noon yet. Whiskey helped, though, and things settled down enough for me to interview a bunch of angry musicians. Drove to the day gig right afterward, still feeling sick as a dog, and when I walked into the elevator on the way to my office there was this overwhelming odor of cheap Mexican food…they were giving away nachos for some reason. Got to my desk, opened my email and I’m getting yelled at by a couple people for not telling people how incredibly important some gigs were. Work was fucked. Got home at 8 I think. Tried to eat. Tried to write. Tried to sleep. Shit. Why do I keep doing this? I was gonna quit a couple weeks ago and had guilt trips laid on me like type can’t believe. And now I still have that thing to write and my regular copy to write and I am tired of this writer crap real bad. Either that or I need a vacation. Anyway, I got the piece written. Now all I have to do is not think about nachos and I’ll be fine.