29 November 2017 is the date I started my blog, initially as an expressive outlet for some of the myriad thoughts whirling incessantly round my head. My intention was to attempt to attract people that were interested in my music and the life of a freelance musician to my website. Just over a year later, in one of my now regular stock takes and decluttering episodes, it’s become apparent that quite a few people enjoy reading what I write.
My blog has already served its purpose in that I’m able to express in writing far more quickly and clearly what I most often struggle to shrink down into spoken words. This has helped me in more ways than I imagined possible.
My style of writing is instinctive, emotional and creative so if it’s grammatically immaculate facts your after (pun intended), this probably won’t be your thing. If you want an intuitive and occasionally indulgent written meander in colourful language whilst picking up a few pebbles to skim over the surface of that stream water, let’s jump in - the water’s quite nice.
Tonight I have no idea which direction this new page will take. All I know is that it’s a journey I’m ready to explore. Coming with me? What are we waiting for?
I hope you’ve had a devilishly delightful delicious day, much as I have. I’ve been very good and finally got on top of my practice and it was such a relief to be in flow at last this evening after a couple of sessions feeling I had fistfuls of bananas for fingers and two left feet to pedal with. I feel reassured that I’ll do myself justice in Saturday’s evening’s concert as I’ve been in musician mode all day.
It’s a funny old thing, creativity. It was only until this evening that I started my practice. I’d put aside a creative day focused on my practice but in the end, I needed other forms of feeding. Much of my ennui and lack of focus was due to the weather, and I noticed an element of disobedience, of naughtiness about not doing my work. Interesting, that.
I didn’t write or do any admin, but I did reflect a lot on my week and gained some perspective on where I am in my life right now. I’m neither here nor there. I’m not where I want to be and I’m okay with where I am most of the time.
My loneliness is still a bit of a concern and this evening, as I’m in a bolshy boisterous conversational mood for bullshit chitchat about anything and nothing, I’m sort of relieved there’s nobody here to hear it. I’m trying desperately to get to grips with my tech issues but time always evades me and practical work was more important. I tried to upload a live photo in a break but it just came up with a message that it was processing and round and round the busy whirling circle went. I gave up. The picture was of blue sky and the deluge had finally ceased to reveal a texturally rippling sky riffled with puffy fluffy clouds.
Tomorrow is a new day. I’ve decided to try to blog briefly every evening I’m free. I hope you won’t be bored… and thanks for reading!
I’ve got a surfeit of excess energy tonight. Yesterday was vile, a shitastrophy, a day that would have been best spent under the duvet in my most fetching hoodie, but I embraced the challenge anyway and fought the urge to seek refuge from it all in bed. I’d been away for the weekend and HAD to catch up on some work. I eventually got some good practice done. I swear, if you’d seen me, you’d have phoned the nearest psychiatric unit. I kept bursting inconsolably into uncontrollable sobbing spells. I’d completely lost my lust for life. I bore an emotional headache from such an intense lengthy expression of emotion and its ensuing numbness. My self-talk was lamentable until my second hour of practice. Music makes everything better for me.
My gritty eyes stung and smarted in the pool. The class was the highlight of my day. It’s such a tough workout but I love the sense of solidarity within a group of women fighting the currents, swirling round in circles, gritting our teeth and squeezing our cores for dear life. Eventually pummelled into submission just after midnight, I read a few lines from Gwyneth Lewis’ Sunbathing in the Rain to accompany me into a deep slumber.
Oh!
After a busy shift, tonight my creativity is back with a vengeance. I can’t stop singing. My thoughts cascade forth and I try to harvest the cream of a copious crop, jotting each brainwave in purple, pink and white. All it takes is a simple lifeline, a straw to be clutched with both hands. A gesture. A courageously tentative question. I dared. I asked. Suddenly the world transforms. It’s a warm welcoming environment and I feel connected again. I seriously considered medication last night but it’s not a route I want to go down. I still believe that’s just sticking a plaster on, masking the wound. The problem remains. I have some important issues I need to deal with concerning my career and my personal life. It’s as simple as that. End of.
Speaking of which, I might have mentioned I’ve been dabbling in the world of online dating again. I’ve been on 4 dates so far, none of them hideously uncomfortable or mindblowingly memorable. I dispatched the first 2 candidates efficiently and gently. S was my most recent potential suitor. After some engaging messaging, I made the mistake of accepting his WhatsApp invitation. Our date in a pub in town on a Sunday evening was dull. I sensed some possible control issues when he wanted to stretch our first encounter beyond an hour before we’d even met, ignoring my fatigue following a four hour stint of playing. Despite my request to meet near my workplace that day, he insisted on sticking to his plan. I was very tired and heard myself coming out with my same old story with lacklustre delivery. I couldn’t wait to escape and cursed my fate on my drive home. I’d been swayed by his quirkiness and the fact he sent me a couple of photos of his cat, which was identical to mine other than it was a male cat with a fatter face. I think I’d have preferred to go on a date with his cat. With hindsight, I think he was too similar to me but I like to think I’m more interesting.
Wrecked
When I got back from my weekend at sea, I still felt I needed to clear the air. Before I went, he pulled me up in a message saying I hadn’t been in touch after I said I’d contact him. I had no recollection of this. I apologised and told him my head was all over the place (true) with all I had to juggle. Yesterday morning I sent him a message saying it had been good to meet him but that I just didn’t fancy him. I think he took it personally and I got quite a terse message back. Yes, I put myself in his shoes. In his position I wouldn’t have taken offence. To someone, he has been attractive, he is attractive, and will be considered attractive again. Just not to me. If someone told me the same thing, I’d take that on board and it would make it easier to move on. I’m certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Anyway, I’m happy with the clarity and politeness of what I expressed and I’m not responsible for his reaction. I now have closure. I just wish I could delete him from WhatsApp. He’s getting lower on my list of messagees and eventually he’ll disappear into infinity. Poof. Just like that.
I love Easter. It’s one of my favourite times of year with its air of promise and misty chilly mornings that bloom into beautiful sunny days as if by magic. I’m working on Saturday night. The shop work is going well. It gives me a sense of purpose and responsibility and adds real structure to my day. There’s a new manager and with him comes a sense of freshness as he pulls things into the shape he wants. I worked harder yesterday than I have since I started in January. He offered me a miniature chocolate egg, one of those really sickly ones filled with sugar, probably about 5 teaspoons in total. I’m saving it for a crisis. I worry about my hands of course, and working milk is agonising, but if I keep to 12-16 hours a week, I should be ok.
Sunday is my day off. I’m looking forward to going with the flow, although I have a vague plan. There’s plenty to keep me distracted. There are doors to be opened and interesting new places to be explored.
Curiosity
I’ve been to a lot of pubs recently and they don’t phase me any more, except when they’re really busy and noisy. We went out and ate some amazing food on Saturday night. The cocktails and wine were flowing freely but I wasn’t tempted. The aroma of red wine is satisfyingly nauseating. We were next to a party of 20 or so and I really struggled to engage in group conversation, my ears throbbing along to the pulsating loud music and the rowdy cacophony and expressive outbursts of celebratory revellers. My efforts to transform my shell likes into pointed feline ears were useless and I remained silent for the most part. I’m a good listener in these circumstances.
I’ve got another date lined up for Friday night, with J in a local pub. He seems nice, nice smile and nice eyes but he ends each message with a BIG triple X. Our first few exchanges were simply sealed with a single smack. Silly isn’t it? Don’t worry. It’s not a dealbreaker! He asked if I’d like to eat with him. That, however, is a no no. I only eat with people I know well and feel comfortable with. I think it partly stems from seeing Cynthia Nixon on a date in Sex and the City when she wore braces, her teeth sullied with spinach. I can laugh at myself but I like to have a say about the boundaries within which I do so.
(IMAGE – my walk to work, a healthy reminder of the undesirable alternative – sitting in traffic on a motorway)
MONDAY NIGHT
April started with a pinch, a punch and a hilariously hearty bang. It had been a busy few days and I finally crashed in a huddled emotional heap in my kitchen after a 6 hour stint at a promotional event on Sunday. I’m not long back from this evening’s shift and as is the case more often than not these days, supper was eventually consumed just after 11. Whenever I finish a shift, I have to drink a mug of strong decaf tea. It’s become a ritual. When I used to get home from gigs, I’d reach for a beer or some wine to help dispel the emotions and frustrations of the day. Drinking tea is akin to drinking a hug. Slugging alcohol was like ingesting a numbing kick.
I realised over the past few days I’ve got a new obsession. Food. I guess it boils down to an inherent urge for survival, an instinct to feed and nurture. My freezer is full and I’ve got a plethora of ice cream varieties in case I run out of fun. Play time is vital and I try to inject small doses of fun little and often throughout my day.
Working in the shop feels perilous at times. I have no interest whatsoever in Beer, Wine and Spirits other than the fact it’s one of the easier aisles to work. I have no problem with chocolate, biscuits or sweets, and I was ecstatic when my favourite darker than dark variety was on offer a couple of weeks ago. I bought 6 bars which will keep me going for months. I get excited when I see the highlighted special offer stickers dotted around the shelves, especially towards the end of the evening when they practically give food away.
TUESDAY MORNING
Freezers. Keep me away from them. My Raynauds isn’t improving and the artificial air in the shop and its unpredictable temperature peaks and troughs don’t help matters. Spring has more or less sprung, although it seems to have bombed today. The forecast is better for the end of the week.
My agitation yesterday morning was extreme, my knees shaking uncontrollably. As I reviewed Sunday, I remembered I’d taken no exercise other than a short stroll near the canal where I was working for free. After a proper breakfast, lunch consisted of a packet of crisps purchased on the event premises and some grapes – I ran out of time on Saturday night to prepare anything. I’d hoped for a glut of free samples from the catering suppliers at the event. Imagine my dismay when the sausage roll and pork pie I’d visualised with such vivid optimism failed to materialise and I had to content myself with 2 tiny portions of chocolate brownie washed down with cold home brewed extra strong coffee. Thrashing it out in the pool this morning felt divine. I love feeling my body supported by the water, my ankles pleasantly weighted as I bob up and down.
Things seem to be hotting up on Tinder. I hasn’t been in touch and neither have I. I’m enjoying some banter with J and a date may be on the cards. One a week. I have a litmus test for anyone I know I’d like to get involved with. If I want to cook for them within seconds of meeting them, it’s a sure sign. Does anyone else get this? I didn’t feel this with I, as entertaining as he was. I’m still a little naive and I still believe, but dating apps are intimidating. They cause so much mental and emotional interference and it’s impossible to tell what men are like from a few written words and some random photos. Why some men put photos up with their kids or their exes is beyond me, and having an idyllic beach or mountain vista as a profile pic doesn’t cut it either.
So today is my day off. Who else is free on a Tuesday? I’ve been pottering blissfully. Parts of my house are in order again and I cleaned the shower yesterday before work. I’m off duty officially until after swimfit tonight and I’m grateful to have fitness options. This afternoon is Pilates at home to iron out the creases from a morning spent more or less in bed. Not sleeping, just reading and writing. Swimfit – now there’s a blog post in itself and talk about embracing the challenge. Last week I thought I was going to pass out, my body got so deeply oxygenated from all my huffing and puffing. I managed “THEY TOLD ME THIS WOULD BE FUN” through teeth gritted from the effort of lifting a hollowed out plastic log dunked into the water and raised unceremoniously above my head. My head spins when I leave the leisure centre, my body radiant with heat. Pool bunny? Yes, that’s me.
I went to the pool on Thursday. I hadn’t had much sleep following the constraints of 3 days of short shifts. Although I really enjoy many aspects of my new job, it puts me in a restricted frame of mind and I sometimes get a bit down if I take on a few extra hours as I have to stifle my vivid imagination. There’s only so much creativity you can indulge in at the chewing gum cabinet without getting a benevolent slap on the wrist for being slow. I prefer to call it being meticulously detailed but it’s a quality that isn’t always appreciated in the fast paced field of retail and shop floor work. My creative thoughts flurry back with fervent passion as soon as I get home, a few looser days ahead of me.
For the first 10-15 minutes of most pool sessions, I feel sluggish. Everything’s an effort as my body gets accustomed to movement again. I can feel my body is out of flow as I struggle with the warm ups, my legs and core aslumber from inertia and unnatural movement. I’ve been holding my breath a lot in case I get something wrong at work. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, there I am. In flow. I don’t have to think about what I’m doing anymore. I gaze glazedly at the water in front of me, my thoughts momentarily on hold. I love this feeling and only started experiencing it outside music performance from the end of last year. It’s like being in a trance, my mind purified of all its clutter. I stop listening to the instructor’s orders, barked above the disco music. Her voice becomes a distant background murmur. The water feels like a second home, a place that’s stark and hostile at first when I plunge into its engulfing shocking coolness. Its smart slap soon turns into embracing gentle caresses, my limbs and joints supported and encouraged to push to extremes. I lengthen my arms and legs, fulfilling my body’s potential. I never understood how fitness fanatics can be thus. Now I do, and the hit of endorphins rushing through my body is potent.
In flow, everything is easy. Effortless.
This morning I went for a walk. I took the high path which I’ve put off again and again. Not today. Up I went, huffing and puffing, trying not to look back for fear of, well, fear. Sherpa steps. Must remember to take Sherpa steps. What if I slip and fall? Who would find me? Who would know? Who cares? What if?
Climb
I reach the insurmountable summit and look back in disbelief and surprise at my achievement. It was by no means a mountain but in my mind it was Everest. The mystery of beyond was revealed. It was flat and the path ahead looked intriguing and untrodden.
It’s felt as though Spring has almost sprung with flouncy crocustard carpets of luxurious velvety yellow, and their vividly violacious mauve sisters. Suddenly we’re pulled back into Winter with the slap of horizontal rain reinforced by bustling winds to remind us we’re only just in March.
All of me, every last ounce and inch is itching for a softer sweeter season ahead. I remember with gratitude the midsummer smells sitting in my kitchen listening to the mechanical rhythmic rattle of the boiler. With gratitude.
I don’t know about you but I’m not a fan of change. I like it when things are, to a greater extent, fixed. I like knowing what’s going on. Although there’s a playful improvisatory side to me, I like to feel and think I’m in control. I’m a fan of a plan, even if I end up going off-piste.
I’ve got so many questions that probably have no answers, only those I can find by looking deep inside myself. Why am I here? What’s the point? Who cares?
I’m going away. I’m feeling quite considerable anxiety. It’s uncomfortable and I deal with it by keeping busy. The anxiety is about survival. I want to survive. I want to come back from my road trip. I sometimes find it hard to justify the reason. Life feels too monochrome.
There’s a deep dissatisfaction which doesn’t sit well. It could be seasonal. It could be hormonal. It could quite simply be that this is such a complex and uncomfortable age in which we live. I often think I’d be better suited to life in olden times, the age of horse and cart, the era of candles and writing elegantly with a feather, its tip hand honed, dipped in a pungent inkwell. Typing on a laptop never feels quite expressive or messy enough. I can’t slash a red line through an unsatisfactory word or uninspiring phrase. Pen and paper take too long. Perhaps I’ll try a podcast. The microphone is on my desk, poised, ready for some airtime. Ahem. La la la la laaa. I tackled my major technical challenge last night, updating my Satnav, which had caused me concern for a few weeks. Passwords. Logins. Memorable information. Which of these images has a shopfront? Is that even a shopfront?
Change is inevitable and inevitably I’ll fight it every step of the way with the resistance of an ox or that of an ass. I know who’ll win!
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.
Spiky shadowsRomanContextProhibitedA ray of hopePrivateKeep outBlockedMeditationPeaceful reflective flow
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.
Bronzed beauty
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.
Breakfast special
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.
Organic
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.
Shadows and light
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.
Winter sunbathing spot
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!
Icy fingers
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? 😞🥺)
Rare Bit Blogging 