I have to say she was worth everything it took to go see her. Not that it was a lot on my part, per se. Especially when compared to the times you hear about people doing some street side vigils to get tickets. Or staying on the phone for hours. Or paying a lot more than $27.

But still, it was worth getting bumped into over and over again by the guy to my right who might have been five feet on a good day. Not that I hold anyone’s height (or lack thereof) against them. I mean, my own dear momma is not that tall, let’s face it. But she doesn’t spend all night long making loud announcements and then laughing hysterically at herself before she’s even finished the sentence. And this, in addition to all the hapless bumping into me.

And oh, here’s a tip: if you are the only one laughing at what you just said then there is a very strong possibility that you are just. not. funny.

Or that you are high.

Which was why I was not so sad when me and this continual jokester-complete-with-his-own-laugh-track ended up not standing next to each other by the time Ingrid Michaelson came out on stage. I can only say that I hope whoever eventually did stand next to him appreciated his jokes as much as I had.

But back to Ingrid, because she was great.

And really funny.

And didn’t bump into me once.

Proving that those two things can be done, small man who was maybe definitely high, I hope you’re listening.

And it’s a rare treat when you get to hear an artist who sounds better live than she does on her recordings. And it’s not like she sounds shabby on the recordings, either.

But she has a special place in my heart. I started listening to her while I was in Japan. A dear friend, Mindy, introduced me to her one day while we were both laying on the dressing room floor, wishing that we didn’t have another show to do in just an hour. She asked me if I wanted to hear the beautiful song she was listening to and I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna say no to a question like that.

So she gave me one half of her headphones and we lay there together, listening to Ingrid sing The Chain, which became one of my favorite songs ever.

And I’ve about worn that song out since. I will say that Japan was when I started noticing that my life as I knew it was unraveling. And by noticing, I mean desperately trying to get the attention of someone you love and feeling like you suddenly just have a crush on the man who married you and he doesn’t even remember your name. And as somebody on the other side of the world kept pulling and pulling at the thread, ripping it out until there was barely any fabric to cover us at all anymore, I would write pitiful love songs on my guitar or listen to Ingrid Michaelson sing about how everybody, everybody wants to love, everybody everybody wants to be loved and I would silently agree cause yeah, that’s all I wanted. Is that such a terrible thing, anyway?

And then I came home and that thread was even shorter. Shorter than I ever knew it could be. And there we were, our relationship exposed and uglier than I ever knew it could be, either; cause that poor thread had been pulled and pulled until the fabric was gone entirely, having been used to make a different blanket for a different person. And there I was, feeling naked and ashamed and less than while not knowing what to do about it except write and listen to music. Oh, and pretend to the world that everything was good enough.

Which is when I wrote this.

It was a time when he was upset with me and had left abruptly. Again. And I didn’t know the half of it. And I couldn’t compete with a person I didn’t even know had taken my place. All I knew to be was myself and suddenly that wasn’t good enough.

But I’d once again find some small comfort in listening to the song, The Chain. And it’s one of those songs that makes me really happy and really sad at once; really happy that it was written at all and really sad that it wasn’t me who had written it in the first place.

And even though Ingrid didn’t sing The Chain tonight, I still absolutely loved getting to hear her live. She was inspiring. Plus, she plays a very small guitar. Something that I do too, so it gave me a little more courage in that direction. A little less reason to feel very defensive when people ask me about it. Over and over again.

But yes, listening to her was pretty darn great. Like I said, worth every bit of the $27 and all that jazz.

I like it.

It’s not the sort of thing I’m gonna wear to church. I think I’d be just a little too self-conscious in it, considering it’s silver and collared and all that. But I do like it.

It’s like Startrek meets couture or something. And then puts on a pair of heels. Cause I’ve only worn it with heels.

And I’ve only worn it in Japan.

Which is interesting because, well, Drew hasn’t ever seen me wear it. And neither have any of you, most likely, but the difference is that Drew might very well never see me wear it. And yeah, I know. That’s a lyric that’s just begging to go into a song:

And now you’ll never see me in my space age silver onesie…

It should probably be a country song. Or a rap. Definitely a rap.

And then the other day I realized that the only belts I have right now are either bright pink, bright blue, or purple. So yeah, what about if one needs to wear a belt that doesn’t say, LOOK AT ME!! I’M A BELT THAT NEVER GOT THE ATTENTION I NEEDED WHILE GROWING UP!!!!

Oh, what’s that? All the normal people have belts that are either a polite and respectful brown or black? And they get these alleged belts at places like Macy’s? Great.

So I went to Macy’s and took way too long to decide upon one sensible brown leather belt. And yes, it’s got some flower pattern etched into it cause, come on. You really think I’m gonna go completely plain jane on you?

And as I was buying it I had the thought: Drew doesn’t know about this belt and may never know about this belt.

And sure, it’s just a belt. I mean, there’s a freaking divorce certificate that will be arriving in the mail before too long so maybe I should save my mental processing for that beast, but these details, they are significant too. And the belt is just another detail of my life that is separate from his and whoa! I never could have predicted this.

And tonight I got to go see Ingrid Michaelson (who was stunningly awesome, by the way) and she sang this line–

I don’t wanna be the one to say goodbye
But I will, I will, I will
I don’t wanna sit on the pavement while you fly
But I will, I will, oh yes I will

And see, it’s true. I never did wanna be the one to say goodbye. Not once. And I always hated each of the regular goodbyes that were a part of our life together, what with my job continuing to take me away and all that.

But sometimes goodbye is the right thing to say and sometimes it’s more just like bye because there just doesn’t seem like much good left. Until, that is, you do say goodbye.

And start to buy belts on your own.

And yes, it’s just a belt, but it’s something.

And something usually leads to something else which in this case I’m hoping is gonna be good.