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I've been sitting here all week fighting. Day after day.
It
struck me a while ago, the times
I've worked with somebody
professional, or at least quasi
professional have brought me really
close to a sense that as a performer
I'm permanently limited. Like the
assistant music director/movement maven
who said I want balls to the walls,
give me balls to the walls and then after a performance I saw him in the lobby and I said so was it balls to the walls? He smiled but I'll never know if he was lying.
I'm torturing myself over this
current retirement choir project. I
don't like it, I disliked it on
sight and still I'm struggling with
a sense of obligation. I can't drop
out, I can't enjoy it, I can't
get it into my bones in a way
that'll make it fabulous for me.
Which of course I have experience of
doing, I know what it's like.
Am
I too old for this shit? Is it finally
working down to what I thought today:
those old so-called qualitative
thresholds coinciding with the breakdown
of my physical ability to do the work? I
hear people talking about choreography
and I just, it makes me want to scream.
And what's even worse, this exploration of travel insurance and pre-existing
conditions for crying out loud means not only am I piggybacking this miserable project on top of the month-long summer choir tour, during which I put myself in frankly dangerous conditions--not only covid but random accident on a 300 year old stone stairway? Come on, what am I doing? So okay let's say I buy the insurance and then what? How much joy can you get out of a trip in the works for 2 years finally reaching the point where it's actually going to happen and all I can think about is if I drop out of this stupid project then I have four weeks to spend with the guy who's going away party it was. Jesus Christ.
So
no, I'm not having a good time and
on top of everything my middle son
tested positive this week. I talked to a
friend about this. First off she
wasn't really with me she was busy
watering plants and she insists on
walking back and forth from her phone
while she's doing this instead of
just keeping it in her freaking pocket
so her voice goes way close and then way
far away and then way close and then way
far away. Not exactly optimum. And then
she reacts emotionally by proceeding to
tell me what I'm supposed to be
doing. Made me feel like I'm kind of
stupid or inept. It wasn't a great
conversation. We haven't had any
incidents of COVID in the household up
until now. But it's not like we
don't know the protocols, it's
just different when it's right there
in front of you. Why did I even open my
big mouth?
I've had a year-and-a-half of
therapy to wrestle with all kinds of
demons and sit with the feeling it is
all kinda pointless because we're
all human and this is all just so
common, I'm not unique in any way.
And then very recently I was sitting in
front of my computer, I can't say
exactly what it was. Shopping? Or
reading emails? Or the news? Whatever it
was, it was suddenly accompanied by a
very peculiar feeling. I'm not able
to recapture enough detail to really
bring it to life but I will say this: it
felt odd enough to bring me up short. As
the Good Ol Advaita guys would say I was
observing myself observing. I saw myself
quizzically thinking wow is this what
it feels like to actually recognize
you're losing your mind? Damn. I
wish I could nail down the parameters of
it, it was so deadening. Like watching
what you have always thought was your
actual identity hop up on a little
trolley car and begin its descent toward
the horizon.
Then Miss Thing phones me back two days
after the Plant Incident only this time
she's with the dog and they've driven
off somewhere trying to catch a glimpse
of the Lunar Blood Moon. I can't see
anything on my end—completely
hazy—but, again, what am I doing?
She's absorbed in this to the extent
that she's checking her phone while she's talking to me, getting data on the Eclipse times & locations & wants me to do the same since I made the mistake of telling her I'm on the computer (running music drills, see dratted project above). Then out of nowhere comes a booming male voice. 10 minutes later he identifies himself as Kevin.
I can hear him so much better than I can
her; it's a strangely one-sided
conversation in this order: me, friend, KEVIN.
I
have no desire to compete. Another 10
minutes goes by and I've closed the
Eclipse browser, put my headphones half
back on so I can at least work on the
score, finishing up making notes as I go
through minutia and fashion something I
will at least be able to make sense of
in performance.
Kevin is now taking friend's
enthusiastic cues to talk about various
breeds of dogs. And his childhood.
I hang up.
But
you know what? Here's something
nice. My oldest son inexplicably
approached me with concerns about my
sleep Quality and then authoritatively
installed an app on my phone and then
showed me how to use it. It's been a
week and by God, it actually works.
Something to look forward to. It tells
me when it heard snoring and talking and deep sleep. Each morning I am awakened by the sound of rainfall. It's quite pleasant.
Tap twice to snooze.
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