Life in a pint
Roy Harper spent most of his day in front of a drum set. It wasn't practice, per se, as he wasn't concerned about what came out wrong. He's gotten better over the years, far beyond the novice he started out as, but he isn't as self-conscious of the mistakes when it's just him and the drums.
A lot of personal belongings in his life were being culled. There were things that he could simply touch and know that they weren't his. There was a disconnection of attachment. When he sat down at the drums, though, he didn't feel any of that. He hadn't meant to remain there for several hours, but maybe a righteous rock session was exactly what he needed to get all the bad juju out of his system.
It made him realize he needed to get out. It was a passing thought, at first, after he put the sticks down, and then it climbed almost like a panic. The feeling was familiar, and that wasn't the most terrifying part. He couldn't fight it. He'd had panic attacks in his life, but this wasn't quite the same. As soon as he was breathing fresh air, the feeling dissipated into nothingness.
Are you going to let yourself climb back into that hole, Harper? Is that really the man you wanna be? No, it wasn't, but it's been months and he hasn't been able to get back to that person he used to think he was. He didn't like the thought that that guy might not come back, or that he was just as much a charade as Killswitch. How much of each of their personalities was made up of the other?
Not enough that you don't know when you're being a moron. That was the cincher. He needed to be some place alone but not alone. Food and beer was a plus so he could eat and think at the same time. His thoughts got dangerously dark when he was hungry. It was time to go to Warrior's.
In less than thirty minutes, he's at the bar with a Yuengling, and waiting for his cheese fries to come up.
A lot of personal belongings in his life were being culled. There were things that he could simply touch and know that they weren't his. There was a disconnection of attachment. When he sat down at the drums, though, he didn't feel any of that. He hadn't meant to remain there for several hours, but maybe a righteous rock session was exactly what he needed to get all the bad juju out of his system.
It made him realize he needed to get out. It was a passing thought, at first, after he put the sticks down, and then it climbed almost like a panic. The feeling was familiar, and that wasn't the most terrifying part. He couldn't fight it. He'd had panic attacks in his life, but this wasn't quite the same. As soon as he was breathing fresh air, the feeling dissipated into nothingness.
Are you going to let yourself climb back into that hole, Harper? Is that really the man you wanna be? No, it wasn't, but it's been months and he hasn't been able to get back to that person he used to think he was. He didn't like the thought that that guy might not come back, or that he was just as much a charade as Killswitch. How much of each of their personalities was made up of the other?
Not enough that you don't know when you're being a moron. That was the cincher. He needed to be some place alone but not alone. Food and beer was a plus so he could eat and think at the same time. His thoughts got dangerously dark when he was hungry. It was time to go to Warrior's.
In less than thirty minutes, he's at the bar with a Yuengling, and waiting for his cheese fries to come up.