church on time - terrifies me

Weekend of Busyness, that was, what with the mad socialising and all. mac1235 and tngr_spacecadet are now safely married, and presumably resting the well-earned rest of the post-wedding-stress traumatised even as I type. Apart from exceptionally good food and freely-flowing champagne, I also scored two Decemberists albums courtesy of short_mort and strawberryfrog, who took pity on my benighted South African disorganisation. (It is a tragic fact that I went into Look and Listen the other day specifically to buy Decemberists, and wandered lostly for about fifteen minutes while absolutely, totally and completely blanking on the name of the band. I had a sort of vague conviction their name began with a 'P'. In my confusion and dread I bought more Bowie instead. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it). Decemberists make me happy, their lyrics tend to the quirky and every now and then a song hits the necessary levels of catchiness to groove my ploons completely.

The wedding was lovely in a lot of ways, a close family feel, but it brought me hard up against my own damned hang-ups because it was a church service, and one with a fairly evangelical bent. This is difficult for me, given the following: ( Longish murblings, so I've cut them. )

Last Night I Dreamed: I was the lead singer in a fairly amateur rock band, mostly standard young gothy males, performing in a huge basement music shop. Despite the classic dream feeling of unpreparedness I found myself singing the first number confidently, and I actually had a good voice. (I don't, in real life. I can hold a tune. Tone or volume, not so much). But for some reason I was not only singing but playing the drums, and I managed to break one of the drumsticks halfway through the song. For the second song they took away the drums, and I tried to provide a rhythm backing by tapping on my music stand with the broken drumstick while singing. For the third song another band member took over lead vocals, and I ended up feeling a bit embarrassed and marginalised and putting in occasional harmonies. Then I looked around and realised that the basement shop was jam-packed with hundreds of beautiful little teenage girls, all dressed to the nines and watching in polite incomprehension as we belted out what were clearly classic rock numbers from the 60s and 70s, which were thus completely incomprehensible to Today's Youff. Fortunately at that point the book I'd left on my nightstand fell abruptly and noisily off the pile, which will teach me to leave it open and precariously face down for maximum spine breakage, and I woke up with a hell of a jump. Bit of a relief, really. Thin White Duke fixations notwithstanding, I've never had any actual desire to perform in a rock band.