I was really looking forward to blogging this week. I've been saving up some posts for awhile, waiting for this week to unleash upon you a major gush-fest about my fabulous, super-talented, rock-star-in-the-making husband. His band is releasing their 3rd indie CD this week, and it's good. And they're actually getting some press. And college radio play (debuted in the top 30 on one listing; top ten in another! Woo hoo!) They were featured in a paper with province-wide distribution. They have a release show this weekend, and an initial short tour planned for later in the spring. Not quite the cover of the Rolling Stone, but still pretty cool for a bunch of musicians from small-town BC.
However, there are some internal "issues" (to put it mildly) that look very well like they mean the end of 5 years of hard work. Right now, we're just hoping they make it to their show on Saturday, never mind anything past that. I really, really want to vent in detail, but I am going to spare you, Dear Readers, the sordid details. At least for the moment. And I'd prefer to spare Mr.Q the repercussions of an ill-advised display of snarkiness, at this point in the game.
But it's really, really hard to keep my mouth shut when I see how frustrated and sad he is. I think I'm losing even more sleep over it than he is. I just want to go charging in, brandishing my knitting needles, and slap some people upside the head. But I can't. And prolly my getting arrested for assault with a weapon (would the needles be considered "deadly"?) would be the last straw for Mr.Q just now. If y'all could send him some happy thoughts this weekend, he sure could use them.
(I am, of course, hoping this latest crisis will blow over....and though it seems highly unlikely this time....it's still pretty cool to have the rockstar-of-the-week in my house. Doing my dishes. And, well, you know. All the benefits of being a groupie without the plaster casting. Never mind. Ahem.)