Photo Blog Post tonight, no words, just pictures
I’ve still got writer’s block so I thought I’d try to ease my blockage with a few images from the past 10 days. Photographer I am not, but maybe my subject matter is worth sharing. The word railong just happened so I thought I’d keep it. I like it. I like made up words.
Last week turned out to be quite different from the one I’d planned. The focal point was looking forward to some time away. As a matter of fact, as I type, I should have been in Wales. With business consuming the first part of my week, I decided the drive really would be too much for me with such a busy weekend ahead. I have two events I’m playing at and a four hour shift on Saturday night too. Try as I might, it’s never a good idea to burn the candle all ends.
Early on this bright brisk frosty morning I whisked myself off to the Hepworth in Wakefield for my much craved hit of culture. I love it there – have you been? It’s a third of the Yorkshire Triangle which has a totally different vibe from its partners, the YSP and the Henry Moore in Leeds. Its cool grey exterior holds a covetable and invitingly quirky collection of creative gems. Crossing the footbridge feels ceremonious and it’s hard to miss the weeping willows whispering their woes to the three Barbara Hepworth sculptures placed beside the main entrance. Walking in through the sliding doors, the lobby is an open welcoming space with its soothing angular grey and white decor. It has a tranquil meditative feel, as do the gallery spaces within the building. Walking through each separate area is an artistic pilgrimage in itself. It’s a place that’s conducive to quiet contemplation.
I headed straight for the café for my special breakfast treat on my day off. I emitted quietly appreciative noises in the corner overlooking the Calder rapids, which were plenty full and gushed noisily through the glazing. A carefully selected wedge of date and walnut cake was accompanied by vanilla ice cream, all washed down with their best flat white.
The main reason for my visit was a work by fellow Welshman, Cerith Wyn Evans. I’d been trying to find time to see and hear it since November. It was a collection of crystal flutes transfused to 2 air conditioning units, pumping noiselessly with barely detectable motion. It was silent until, from nowhere, a wave of sound surged up, crescendoing to a quietly jarring and slightly disturbing mismatched fusion of eerily clashing notes.
I asked the gallery attendant if I could walk around the installation. Yes, so long as I kept outside the marked boundaries. I was also at liberty to take photos.
Discreet yet generous in sharing his knowledge, the attendant knew when to leave me in peace with any thoughts the work evoked. Inquisitive about the elusive artist, I asked if he made an appearance at the opening event. Yes he did and, much as I anticipated, he was Bohemian to say the least. Apparently he wore some sort of black gown. It makes him sound like a druid. How appropriate! Type his name into your search engine of choice and check him out. There are some interesting images.
It was a fascinating work well worth the visit. The subtle play of light with the crystal tubes and the idea that the sound emanating from them was generated by the river beneath us was intriguing.
With so much cultural emphasis placed on London, I’m fortunate that the city of Wakefield is closer and more pleasantly accessible than Manchester and Leeds. I don’t need much of an excuse to visit. Who’s coming with me next time?
This week I’ve felt close to breaking point a few times. I had an important orchestral concert and the pressure was on more than usual. My last orchestral job was a month ago. I had a lot of admin work to catch up on from the weekend and, most importantly, those precious hours of practice to fit in around my shifts. It’s great to get to my other job because when I’m there, I just switch my life off and focus on shop work for four hours. That isn’t to say I switch off when I get to work. On the contrary! Learning a new job has sapped my mental and physical energies. My mind changes gear and starts to whirr to a different tune as soon as I leave through the sliding doors and generally, my mood drops as I face the task ahead of me. I realised I have an immense sense of dread about most things, and I’m not looking forward to anything much. Except Easter. I LOVE Easter. What used to feed me (music and playing) isn’t giving me the same nourishment it used to offer as I’m simply not putting the hours in. I used to feel complete when I’d accomplished my minimum of four hours practice a day. These days that’s not viable if I want to survive, and I’m averaging a paltry 2 hours a week. I look at my instrument in its case and my heart sinks. Even uncovered, I feel sad looking at her as I have so much catching up to do. I think about the teaching I’ve got coming up and wonder how I’m going to inspire my students and confidently show them the simplest of examples when I can barely get my hands on from anxiety.
One of my biggest problems is that I have to bounce ideas off myself, and as I poo poo most brainwaves with my negative frame of mind, I soon tire of chasing my tail. I’m f**ked, if I believe myself. I’ve come very close to shutting some doors this week, doors which have caused me a lot of pain. It feels right to keep them ajar until, well, until it feels right for them to be closed indefinitely. If I shared my feelings with most people, they’d tell me to pull myself together, to get over myself and stop being so sensitive, not to take things personally. That comes with being a HSP I think. A lot of the time I feel the whole world is against me. I can’t quite shake that.
After my shift, I managed my departure well. Leaving is always a source of anxiety, this time heightened by the extreme drop in temperatures and yellow snow warnings. The only thing I forgot was my hot water bottle which comes in handy on chilly nights and for easing sore muscles from driving, practicing and life in general.
The 10am rehearsal was fine until we got to one relatively simple piece which had a very exposed accompanying part. The music started to unravel as my ears struggled to grasp for anchors I couldn’t hear. Unconducted, there were no visual cues. We sorted it at the end of the rehearsal but it was a horrible wish-the-floor-would-swallow-me-up moment of feeling inadequate and incompetent that could have been avoided had I not run out of time. My trademarks are my level of preparation and research. They’re very healthy defence mechanisms in my armoury. Without these safety nets, revealing my vulnerability in a room full of top notch musicians was way beyond the realm of my comfort zone. I love a challenge but these days I know my limitations are more restrictive. I’ve been late for my swimming class a few times recently. There’s no better antidote to an inherent lack of confidence than having to walk past our fit teacher and 29 sporty swimmers before jumping in deep. My feeling in the rehearsal was of a similar nature.
Tired after a long day rehearsing, I left my scores at the venue, deciding against my usual tactic of taking my work back to the hotel with me. I needed to switch off that evening. I wanted to go for a walk on the beach 10 minutes away the following morning to recharge my batteries but decided against it – what if I got stuck in snow on the coast? How would I explain that?! I was first into the hall, with the intention of ironing out any issues and to get as comfortable as I could with the gorgeous piece I love so much. I didn’t need long on it, a few moments of indulgent curiosity to explore elements I hadn’t had time to analyse, hear, feel and digest.
In the concert, I simply wasn’t in the zone for that piece. It hadn’t quite settled. The notes didn’t feel like they belonged to me yet. They weren’t a fully integrated part of me. I felt very tense and couldn’t breathe freely. That’s not conducive to great music making. It was fine, but at the very end of the movement in question, I let go. With my release on the final note came an extraneous noise from my instrument, possibly in response to my relief that it had gone well. Mortified by how loud it was during such a soft intimate moment of beauty, I just blanked everything out. In the past, I would have beaten myself up big time. Not anymore. Had the circumstances been ideal, had I been booked for the initial rehearsal on day one, would it have happened? Maybe not. It shouldn’t have happened but what can I do? There’s only so much flagellation I can inflict upon myself!
Unfortunately, it mostly boils down to money. Orchestras everywhere are cutting corners and “extra players” (spare parts?) are often the first to be affected. Some players were only booked for the rehearsal on the day of the concert, so I guess I’m one of the lucky ones in the greater scheme. Because of my personality type, I have to question what my next move will be. I’ve just turned down a patch of work involving a lot of driving. I have some non negotiable clashes in my diary. These help justify my refusal. It’s a relief to have put myself in a position in which I can safely say no. With the reassurance of my regular shop work as security, I know I’ll be able to give my best shot to building my business.
These days I really struggle with an afternoon rehearsal and evening concert followed by the drive home. Friday night was no exception. With the additional factor of adverse weather conditions, it really took a Herculean effort to keep going. The first hour and a half was slow with snow, and then I started to drift, my focus flaking. I reached for a handful of grapes and the burst of fructose worked its magic. 20 minutes later, another handful was consumed but the effect was diminished. I worked my way through half a box in an attempt to remain alert. Off the motorway, 5 minutes from home, I tried to convince myself how light my eyelids felt, pinching my arm and kneading my leg for external stimulation. I had to pull over to check if I could keep going. Imagine the shame and embarrassment if I died of hypothermia minutes from my final destination!
Safely home, my car unburdened, I hugged my cat and my radiator and stared blankly into space as I decided what to do next. I was wired but exhausted. I grasped for anything to help my brain and my body unwind. I felt immobilised with fatigue. I portioned out some chocolate coated almonds and soon worked my way through the whole pack, my tense jaws eased at having something to champ down on.
On Saturday morning, I did something I used to do a lot after a performance. I listened to the piece again and again until I felt satisfied I’d heard it enough. I was still hungry for music. I still wanted more. I have this permanent soundtrack of best bits playing in my mind’s ear.
This lifestyle isn’t sustainable anymore. It took me 2 days to recover from my adventures, 2 days that could have been used more efficiently. The main problem is I didn’t get enough enjoyment from playing. The other piece I was involved in went really well so I’m holding onto that. With the piece that was causing me concern well and truly in the bucket, I was able to reach for my inner extrovert risk-taking show-off performer who wasn’t scared anymore.
So today, I’m pressing pause, or at the very least the rallentando button. I’m feeling how I feel and that’s ok. I’m off for a walk which I wanted to trudge and trample and stomp yesterday but couldn’t face going out. Later I’m cooking myself a healthy hearty dinner. I’m taking care of myself. Everything business related can wait. The most important thing is that I’m ready for a decent productive practice session tomorrow morning. This week I have another big concert but it’s repertoire that I’m extremely familiar with and which I love with pungent passion. I’ll be able to breathe and enjoy the music. Otherwise, what’s the point?
On a recent walk, I threw a pebble into the pond. I watched the mesmeric undulating ripple effect created by its impact with fascination. I feel I’ve thrown 20 pebbles into the water but I’m not feeling the effect. Yet.
Dictionary result for technophobia
/tɛknə(ʊ)ˈfəʊbɪə/Submit
noun
fear, dislike, or avoidance of new technology.
“technophobia is slowly being eroded in our industry”
Wednesday was rough. I had a major tech meltdown. It really is my biggest source of stress and annoyance and there’s no avoiding it. A couple of weeks ago, the induction for my new part time job involved learning 7 modules in 3.5 hours without a break in a small windowless room. On Wednesday, my heart sank as my manager said I needed to do some training on the tablet again – learning the age restriction module for the second time. I got 88% in the induction which seems pretty good to me but clearly isn’t good enough. Imagine my dismay at being told this time, after 45 minutes’ study, I got 4%! Apparently I’d been pressing the wrong button, “Next” not “Submit”. Shivering and weary, I was sent to the stark warmth of the stuffy staff room to try again. The 21 questions with a choice of 4 similar answers made less and less sense as I tried in vain to focus above the crescendoing ticking of the clock and the comings and goings of my colleagues. By question 20, I was pressing random buttons, tears prickling my eyes making it hard to see clearly. I got 87%. I’m going to have to do the fucker again.
My main frustration was that I couldn’t get on with doing my actual job – helping customers. On a brighter note, I’m getting there with the lottery and scratch cards, bones of contention for several other colleagues in their early days. I had to stop myself from jumping for joy when a sweet senior gentleman won £100 on a scratch card this week. That was a magic moment.
I can learn complex musical scores and interpret several styles of composition. I can cook and clean and hold a decent conversation. I’m fluent in 3 languages. I can be as creative as you like and I have a vividly colourful imagination which keeps me going through tough times. I can maintain good focus for a 6 hour teaching day, and a day of rehearsals of the same duration with driving on top. I probably need a nap break on the way back these days and that’s ok, it’s not cheating! I can do an 8 hour shift though I prefer the 4 hour ones. 8 hours take me too far from my music. I like to think I’m not stupid and have a good level of emotional intelligence. So let’s say I think I have qualities lest I forget that fact. So far, this month has taken being out of my comfort zone to a new level. I got a new mobile too, android not apple… I’m happy to learn new stuff but this is overkill. There has to be another better way.
I’ve inadvertently become antisocial. The irregularity of my life and lack of time and energy to socialise makes it nigh on impossible to meet people and forge new friendships and relationships. I’m never in the same workplace long enough. My life is totally different from the lives of my friends prior to this new part of my journey. A good friend is up North from London this weekend, and I’m doing a promotional event at the only time we could meet. I had to postpone my short break with close friends last week due to sheer fatigue from my multiple roles and I was concerned I’d fall asleep at the wheel from burning the midnight oil too many nights in a row. I have little in common with some other friends anymore, and I’m very choosy about who I spend time with. I avoid people who bring me down. That might sound aloof but I think it’s a great defence mechanism. I keep promising myself a trip to the cinema but the nearest I get is a third of a Netflix movie or an episode of Catastrophe, which is a damn fine alternative.
Taking care of myself singlehanded can sometimes be a challenge. I’m a handful even if I say so myself. I can get a bee in my bonnet about stuff, and that comes with being a passionate creative with a strong heartbeat and an addictive personality. Nothing is ever enough.
I have to make sure I’m sleeping, eating and hydrating properly. Irregular shifts mean designating heavy snooze times and mealtimes and it’s a fine balancing act of trying to remember to eat, often force feeding myself when I’m not hungry to make sure I have energy and focus for work. As for practice, I’m really making that count and playing as though my life depended on it. I’ve totalled 3 hours this week, a vast improvement on last week’s hour.
Home again after my shift, I think I managed quite well, negotiating my low mood by expressing my feelings with extensive heart wrenching sobs. Round midnight I perked up as I researched the origins of my name, which I’m copying below in case you’re interested. I was and this information will serve me in the challenging times I face over the next few transitional months. I see a lot of humour in this and I certainly don’t think I’m a queen or a goddess but there will be times when I have to act as if. I always thought my name was common when I was younger – we’re ten to a dozen where I’m from!
“R is a major figure in the Mabinogi, the medieval Welsh story collection. She appears mainly in the First Branch of the Mabinogi, and again in the Third Branch. She is a strong minded Otherworld woman. She is intelligent, politically strategic, and famed for her wealth and generosity.
Like some other figures of British/Welsh literary tradition, R may be a reflex of an earlier Celtic deity. Her name appears to derive from the reconstructed Brittonic form *Rīgantonā, a derivative of *rīgan- “queen”. In the First Branch of the Mabinogi, R is strongly associated with horses, and so is her son Pryderi. She is often considered to be related to the Gaulish horse goddess Epona. She and her son are often depicted as mare and foal. Like Epona, she sometimes sits on her horse in a calm, stoic way.
Interpretation as a goddess:
R is often associated with Epona.
When R first appears she is a mysterious figure arriving as part of the Otherworld tradition of Gorsedd Arberth. Her paradoxical style of riding slowly, yet unreachably, is strange and magical, though the paradox also occurs in mediaeval love poetry as an erotic metaphor. R produces her “small bag” which is also a magical paradox for it cannot be filled by any ordinary means. When undergoing her penance, R demonstrates the powers of a giantess, or the strength of a horse, by carrying travellers on her back.
R is connected to three mystical birds. The Birds of R appear in the Second Branch, in the Triads of Britain, and in Culhwch ac Olwen. In the latter, the giant Ysbaddaden demands them as part of the bride price of his daughter. They are described as “they that wake the dead and lull the living to sleep.” This possibly suggests R is based on an earlier goddess of Celtic polytheism.”
What do you make of that? I certainly feel I’m undergoing my penance! Shedding the residual skin of my latest life episode involves a lot of angst, sleepless hours and restless soul searching.
Have you looked into the origins of your name?
(NB: I found out that all my colleagues who took the test after I did failed too. I think that might be the point of the exercise. A bit sadistic though, don’t you think? 😞🥺)
Twenty years is a fuck of a long time. I usually get the date wrong but the fact it’s dydd Santes Dwynwen (some say the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine) makes it more remarkable. Love. Things I remember about Dad:
How cheerful and happy he was
His creativity and artistic side, always making stuff when he wasn’t working
His cooking and his love of food
His beautiful intricate handwriting
His love of wildlife and nature, and wartime and western films
His occasional short-lived outbursts of anger
His limp from a stroke at 35
His passion and emotion
His love of music and singing
The one time he came to see me swimming
Him making up bedtime stories about the little blue bird
The time we both went shopping to Kwiks and I lost him, and the relief when I found him again
How I felt safe and held when he was there
His absence
I feel grateful to be working today
Memories of happier more carefree times:
Sitting here this morning hugging my comforting mug of coffee before I head out into the crispy crunchy Winter chill, I’m feeling a little sad. I have such a momentous wave of creativity rising up in me but no time to express it fully until, well, I’m not sure really. I’m having to prioritise wearing any hats that involve bringing in some bread and butter, so this morning I’m in trading assistant mode before slipping smoothly into musician mode for practice this evening. I’m trying not to think too much of the money with that one. It’s an important concert next Friday and a beautiful programme inspired by nature to which I want to do as much justice as I can. I’ve had the music for 2 weeks, which in itself isn’t enough time, and I’ve had to take on extra shifts this week as the shop is seriously understaffed.
I see my brisk cold walk as homework that contributes to my shop work. My hands go numb when I’m working the fridges, especially the milk, and my shoulders ache after reaching up and into the shelves, but after about half an hour welly walking yesterday, warmth and sensation flooded back to my extremities and I glowed.
Outside, the sky is a numbing shade of blue but it is definitely blue. We’re on the right side now.
“Work to move away from processed foods and towards more natural foods. It’s more about learning to enjoy the foods that are good for you than trying to force yourself to eat something that you don’t like.
And, to be honest, “diets” as we often call them, don’t really work. Improving what you eat is more about improving your mental relationship with the food you eat.
For example, a few years ago I was getting sick of always taking sweets into the movie theater, so when going to see Interstellar I brought a bag of carrots. Trying to chew as quietly as I could, I felt much more satisfied than I had with the sweets.
Today, I have a near addiction to carrots and I love the way it makes my mind and body feel when I eat them. I’ve also done better to add apples and other fruits and vegetables to my diet.”
Sometimes it’s hard to see the wood for the trees. It was good to read this short simple blog post at a time where I feel an urgent urge to write but have no energy or time to do so. I’m not depressed but I certainly need more sleep, more play and less work. And more pay!
Raw parsnips? Maybe not, and I can’t say I’ll be taking a bag of roasted parsnips to munch my way through while watching Stan and Ollie, though I like the sound of that.
At work last night, the shop ran out of sugar. The shelves are packed with products overloaded with the stuff. At work today, one of the most popular stands was the sweet stall. People filled their paper bags with generous scoopfuls of “goodies” and handed them to their kids. Three people out of four were significantly obese. It’s an epidemic.
I was disappointed with myself earlier this week. I did a big shop and succumbed to the lure of the crap egg shaped chocolate that was so popular in the shop where I work. I felt like a hypocrite, that small toxically innocent bag nestled amongst my cavolo nero and my traffic light bell peppers. It smelt like shit and tasted so good, and that sugar hit was so powerful. It felt like the biggest hug you could imagine, delivered in a cleverly marketed irresistible bag that promised a fun escapist treat. Having portioned myself a handful, I greedily scarfed the whole bag. I couldn’t stop. Afterwards, I wanted more.
How does one fill one’s soul?
Today my body is screaming for movement but I’m too tired, so I slow down and listen and breathe and stretch and yawn, and tonight we chill. Tomorrow we plunge into the deep end again. God bless Monday mornings.
https://medium.com/…/4-powerful-ways-to-treat-depression-wi…
“Work to move away from processed foods and towards more natural foods. It’s more about learning to enjoy the foods that are good for you than trying to force yourself to eat something that you don’t like.
And, to be honest, “diets” as we often call them, don’t really work. Improving what you eat is more about improving your mental relationship with the food you eat.
For example, a few years ago I was getting sick of always taking sweets into the movie theater, so when going to see Interstellar I brought a bag of carrots. Trying to chew as quietly as I could, I felt much more satisfied than I had with the sweets.
Today, I have a near addiction to carrots and I love the way it makes my mind and body feel when I eat them. I’ve also done better to add apples and other fruits and vegetables to my diet.”
Sometimes it’s hard to see the wood for the trees. It was good to read this short simple blog post at a time where I feel an urgent urge to write but have no energy or time to do so. I’m not depressed but I certainly need more sleep, more play and less work. And more pay!
Raw parsnips? Maybe not, and I can’t say I’ll be taking a bag of roasted parsnips to munch my way through while watching Stan and Ollie, though I like the sound of that.
At work last night, the shop ran out of sugar. The shelves are packed with products overloaded with the stuff. At work today, one of the most popular stands was the sweet stall. People filled their paper bags with generous scoopfuls of “goodies” and handed them to their kids. Three people out of four were significantly obese. It’s an epidemic.
I was disappointed with myself earlier this week. I did a big shop and succumbed to the lure of the crap egg shaped chocolate that was so popular in the shop where I work. I felt like a hypocrite, that small toxically innocent bag nestled amongst my cavolo nero and my traffic light bell peppers. It smelt like shit and tasted so good, and that sugar hit was so powerful. It felt like the biggest hug you could imagine, delivered in a cleverly marketed irresistible bag that promised a fun treat. Having portioned myself a handful, I greedily guzzled the whole bag. I couldn’t stop. Afterwards, I wanted more.
How does one fill one’s soul?
Today my body is screaming for movement but I’m too tired, so I slow down and listen and breathe and stretch and yawn, and tonight we chill. Tomorrow we plunge into the deep end again. God bless Monday mornings.
https://medium.com/…/4-powerful-ways-to-treat-depression-wi…
A month in which to be extra care-full
Welcome dear friends. If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you’ve been following my Facebook page for which I am most appreciative. I want to keep this blog, which started as a snapshot of my life as a freelance musician, separate from my musical persona. My hope is that this new space will give me ever more freedom to express my true self without fearing any possible repercussions or negative perceptions on my professional life. I hope you enjoy discovering this new chapter in my journey as much as I enjoy writing and living it.
It’s been an intense old weekend with one meltdown followed by another and then another, and one more just to be on the safe side as I tried to take on a bit too much. I must think I’m some kind of wonder woman with super human powers, giving myself epic task lists for one day which I can scarcely achieve in a week. Any remaining stuff from the last week gets added on to the new week’s busyness. No wonder I feel like I’m on some fast spinning hamster wheel. Feeling a bit burnt out tonight, I’ve decided that other than Aquafit and Pilates and trying to bolster my social diary (if anybody will have me – I’m so poor at keeping in touch with friends), tomorrow is a do-nothing-much day.
I started decluttering today, butterflying around my house collecting disused nectar and trying to find places to stash it or good purposes for it. It’s nigh on impossible to discipline myself to focus on one room. My priority was making a dent in my shell shocked chaotic kitchen but I haven’t touched it. I’d share a photo but I’m too embarrassed.
I look like a hoarder, some sad single person they do cringeworthy TV documentaries about, up to my neck in my own mess. You should see the understair cupboard. I try to blame my lack of storage space but I’m sure I’ve got a problem with stuff.
My music room looks better but there are 5 piles to sort as well as the humungous orchestral stack. The office shouldn’t take long and the bedrooms are in pretty good shape.
The one big thing I really wanted to do eventually got done. Last. I got my stepladder down from the attic where it had been all summer and carefully clambered up it to peel a couple of crusty hunks of wood chip off the ceiling.
That was interesting. Taking photos with the intention of sharing them here helped me commit to completing the task I’d set myself, even if it meant I was up very late. I’m like a dog with a bone, a rebel with a cause. This tenacity has its upsides and its downs of course. I don’t have an off button. I have comas rather than full stops.
I’m trying to keep house business to weekends but seeing as my schedule is still so erratic, establishing a routine is a challenge to say the least. A little bit of nine to five would be ok wouldn’t it? Words that strike fear into the heart of most of us lucky self employed folk. I reckon the precipitous nature of our work is one of the reasons we stick to doing what we love whenever possible.
When I got home yesterday I bumped into my next door neighbour. He and his partner have been living here just over a year. They’re great neighbours to have apart from the noise from their DIY, sometimes late into the evening. I can tolerate it as they are grafters and genuinely nice people. Nobody would choose to live in a house while it’s being renovated. They must have some sort of deadline, I’m sure of it. Their house already looks incredible. They’ve renovated much of it, and yesterday B proudly but humbly showed me their kitchen which is finished except for a couple of minor details such as a cooker hood. It looks fabulous but I wouldn’t want that look for my kitchen. It’s, well, too perfect and almost sterile in its pristineness. The freshly plastered walls are totally devoid of cracks and blemishes and the room looks significantly smaller than my kitchen, even with all my crap strewn around it. The look they’ve chosen is quite industrial and trendy and that isn’t the look or feel I want for my house, although I did admire many of the features they’ve cleverly sourced online and elsewhere, and I might be asking for some tips when I get round to doing up my kitchen.
I have a very clear idea of how I want it to look but I’m not quite there with the layout. There is wiggle room and some scope to play around and I would need several long detailed Q&A sessions with builders, plumbers and tilers. I’m there with the colour scheme.
I’ve just accepted a couple of days work at the end of the month that fit in with my intention to build a schedule that keeps me closer to home. I don’t know one of the pieces so I did a little research on it before accepting as it’s by a composer with whose work I’m completely unfamiliar as well. Check this out:
How could I possibly say no?
I have another piece on my music stand which I get hyperactively excited about, so much so that it becomes difficult to practice, it’s so far from how I want it to sound. It’s almost autobiographical. Much of my life and what I’m about encapsulated in one short piece of music.
I recently listened to an old tape recording of me singing, one of my first forays into competitive music making aged about 8. I’d listened to it with fascination a few years ago and forgot about it until my latest decluttering episode. It’s a keeper and I’m trying to find a way of sharing it with a select few. Maybe here? What came up for me was the struggle between my obsessive love of music and the competitive aspect that came soon after it was deemed my talent had some value. I hated the competitive side of music making and I still do. It kills something. It removes any natural flow and freedom. I swear if my most private practice moments could be captured in a recording and sold, I’d make a fortune, but as soon as you point a microphone or camera in my face, any spontaneity vanishes into thin air. A bit unfortunate for someone who makes a living out of performance wouldn’t you say?
So far, the much feared and loathed January has been one of the most bearable Januaries yet. My inclination to hibernate seems to have done one and I’m motivated most of the time and early up. I do 3 business like walks a week and the weather has been uncommonly clement. On a weekend when it’s not chucking it down, I get a longer inquisitive, intuitive frolicsome walk in. I put my more buoyant mood down to implementing quite a disciplined routine as such as possible, with meandering flow time built in on a weekend if I’m not working. The other factor contributing to my Bouncuary is necessity. If I don’t get my business looking healthier in the very near future, I’m going to be in deep shit. I’m pulling out all the stops this year and releasing my inner ruthless musician bitch. She is in there and ready to come out if and when necessary. I don’t feel a sense of entitlement but when I consider ELEVEN YEARS INTENSIVE STUDY and the only thing blocking me from making my living doing what I love is money and the bastard internet, it makes my blood boil. Not just a little bit. A lot.
In the meantime, I’m on annual leave next week and I’M NOT TAKING THIS BLOODY FUCKING LAPTOP. I’m off to the beautiful coast and I can’t wait to feel the sand beneath my wellies.
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I creaked into action this morning as I had an 8.30 appointment in town after an intense four hour heavy sleep. My mind blurred by a heady alcohol free hangover feeling, I made a bee line for the nearest independent coffee place after I dropped my car off and ordered the above. It’s a vegan chocolate fudge cake which looked enticing enough but left a strange sensation in my mouth. After the week I’ve had, I felt I’d deserved a slightly naughty treat. I’ve tried a vegan chocolate brownie before which was ok but orangey and dense. My curiosity undeterred, in I went for another go. I don’t think vegan is for me, despite the global benefits. When the barista asked how everything was, I was honest in my feedback and thought afterwards I should have kept my mouth shut. There was nothing wrong with it. It just wasn’t right. I’m not vegan and I’m afraid I like cow. The coffee on the other hand was great.
Yesterday was my induction into my new part time job. It wasn’t without its complications due to technology and in all honesty it was quite painful and arduous. That’s why it’s called work I guess but for someone so accustomed to deriving pleasure from the workplace, it was full on. My shifts are four hours long so I wasn’t expecting a shift after my 3.5 hours spent in front of a tablet watching the induction videos which were a bit useless as there’s no way I can focus for that length of time without a break, and by now, I can’t remember much of the information, some of it life saving. Ideally I’d like to maintain this work for the foreseeable and not start off by killing someone in my first month. There are better ways to become memorable.
If the information could be delivered in bite size chunks rather than seven hefty modules all in one go, it would be beneficial to all parties. I failed quite a few of the tests just because I couldn’t focus above the electrical whirr emanating from some machinery in a tiny office in which you could just barely squeeze four upstanding citizens. Today my hands, arms and shoulders are sore having been hunched over a screen in the small windowless office. My just reward was a few enjoyable shop floor activities. I got quite excited when a customer asked if I could clarify whether or not the prunes in the tin she wanted to purchase had been pitted. Better still was being able to advise her they weren’t stoned and steer her in the direction of pitted cherries as an alternative. The customer is queen.
I think this job will suit me down to the ground with my OCD tendencies. I’m optimistic the positive aspects of this endearing and sometimes frustrating trait will garner our little shop some sort of award. Goals and targets are important and I’m convinced I’ll make a positive contribution with time. I don’t think one of my male colleagues took it too personally that I went round arranging the shelves he’d just tidied up. I hadn’t realised. Men! His revenge was all the sweeter when it came to barcode scanning during the bakery stocktake.
I had a couple of tearful moments, one with just the tablet as my audience. The other was also in private, when I was shown how to take a delivery from the warehouse, which I will never ever manage single handed. I was given a king size high vis jacket to negotiate the perilous venture outdoors to the truck, making me look like I was wearing one of those comedic deflated sumo wrestler suits. There was a mirror in the lift, and I saw myself with my own eyes. Correlating the barcodes to the boxes and crates was mumbo jumbo, even with my specs. Doing it efficiently at speed will take quite some guidance and practice. Up and down I went in the tiny lift while my lovely manager waited patiently upstairs. I cursed as I remembered I wasn’t supposed to block the fire exit with the trolleys and cages. Turns out there’s no other option due to the layout of the store. I wish she’d told me! It’s all learning I guess but how steep is steep! I thought I was going to pull my back as I huffed and I puffed trying to budge a particularly badly loaded cage full of valuable produce. The videos made it look so easy!
Of course, thinking I’d be done and dusted by 7pm, I hadn’t taken any proper food. A trusted sausage roll filled a gap until I got back to the home made soup I’d defrosted. At 11pm I tried not to beat myself up for parking a 10 minute walk away to get 2 brisk stomps in and avoid parking charges. It was closer to a 20 minute walk back uphill, and I started to regret the 5 heavily discounted parsnip packs which would have gone to waste had I not bagged them just before closing time. Raw tubers aren’t much use to the homeless at this time of year I guess.
I stumbled in at 11.20 feeling dead from the crown down, my mind, body and spirit fractured and fragmented into tiny smithereens. Struggling to unwind after my long day, I hit the hay at 1.30am and have been out of order until I addressed my insomnia later this afternoon. I’d booked my 2pm pool class and I’ll feel the benefit tomorrow and for my next short shift on Saturday, but I admitted defeat with 5 minutes to go, my body screaming for it to stop. This is unheard of and I’m astounded I was able to listen to it. I just can’t get enough. Once an addict…
Look what I got in town:
I’ve called it my Wowee phone in the hope that will help. Can you please muster up some enthusiasm on my behalf? 48 hours later and I’m still using my old iPhone. I’m busy! It keeps making incongruous noises at me, possibly because I’m so unenamoured with it. In all fairness it’s for work purposes at this stage until I get the hang of it. It will allow me to record audio and video clips for my music business as well as take photos. I can’t promise this will improve the quality of my photos but I’ll try. I had a thought. Would any of you lovely faithful readers like to listen to my blogs as audio blogs? With my foray into blogging and writing, one of my final proofreading methods is done by reading my writings out loud as if I was telling you them. That’s how that idea came about.
Please bear with me during these first few weeks while I play about with this new blogging platform. I’ll conclude tonight’s blog with another question – what do you think of my new blogging name?
A few more images I’d like to share from my week
Rare Bit Blogging 