Tonight in Clearwater, a couple hours before showtime, I’m reasonably convinced my life’s not a sloppy, deplorable sham. It’s three weeks into this tour, and I’m tired, and all the familiar aches and pains are there, but this time accompanied by the warm embrace of inevitability, that whether or not my story included a detour in the actuarial sciences, whatever’s pulling the strings in the ol’ cosmic soup would’ve made sure I wound up, well, out here, singing and dancing and leaving the grownup shit to someone else.