Last night I played a show in the suburbs.  After it was over, a nice woman came up to me.  She said she envied me singing songs and running a restaurant for a living: how nice it must be to get to eat nice meals and then go home and write music. 

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I usually get up at 3 am to write songs, and most of my meals consist of squeezing peanut butter into my mouth in the car. 

Reader, I'm keeping it short tonight because I've got a cut on my thumb that's making it hard to type.  The moral of my week is that nothing is as it seems.  What we see is not the truth.  What we see is a perception.  So there's really no point in believing what we think--particularly the stuff that makes us upset or hurt or jealous--because it's most likely not that accurate anyway.   

With that, I'll get back to my road peanut butter.  Let's give people the benefit of the doubt this week, and I'll see you next Monday. -Em