Friday Five: All That's Left

Dear Friends, Loved Ones, Family, and Random Passers-by,

The mixes are done.

Or at least as close to being done as they will ever get.

And they really are beautiful.

Or at least as beautiful as any parent finds their children after five years of gestation.

Nothing came out the way I planned, for nothing ever does, and there are sour notes, and empty holes, and most of the time the right ear doesn't know what the left ear is doing, but the mixes are in.

And they're beautiful.

Now there are only five things left to do.

A Friday Five (one might say)

One . . . 
Send the mixes off to be mastered 
(To make the sparkly things sparkle and the shiny things shine)

Two . . .
Send the masters off to be printed/digitized/delivered. 
(For the masses to consume)

Three . . .
Quit my job and tour the world 
(only kidding mother)

but not really kidding.

Four . . .

Five . . . 
Find a nice quiet place to eat cheese, 
drink wine, 
grow fat, grow old, 
grow thin, grow young, 
and die in some pretty girl's arms.

And by 'pretty girl' . . .

 . . . I totally mean my beautiful wife.


Unless of course she dies long before I do and explicitly states, in her will, that I am to die in the arms of a pretty girl.

But she would never do that.

Because she is mean and spiteful.

And by 'mean and spiteful' . . .

 . . . I totally mean 'Pretty'

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