So! 2012 finally draws to a close, limping over the finish line in an alcoholic haze of post-non-apocalyptic valediction. Ah yes, it's that time where I reapply for the vacancy, face down in the flowerbed and take to dying on a mattress being fed dioralyte in the morning...
Haha! Such nostalgia.
It's been a long year, actually. I look in the mirror and see a distinctly silvery sheen over the fringe, I've reinstalled my Eastern European disguise in the shape and form of the chops (Yes, Bulgaria's finest Crime Lord is back). In and out of relationships and employment... the two seem to share some ineffable link; last time I lost the job first, and the latest time I lost the job after. Funny. I don't know, you've got to have a sense of humour about these things, haven't you?
I'm almost pleased to report that I am unattached on both fronts... Almost? Being unemployed is more trouble than it's worth, what with the bloody Jobcentre, but it keeps me looking for work, at least. After the past two successes (and their subsequent ends), I have returned to one's traditional MO of wishing to date girls who are either not available...or just don't return my calls. There's a hint, eh? OH WOE IS ME. Just the usual for many though, I suppose, so at least I'm rapidly reaching the same level as the rest of society! My therapist would be so proud.
As we pole towards New Year's Eve of the calendar, I would like to remind us all of my best good news ever, the realisation of a lifelong dream... before the age of 25. I am to be appointed as Truro Cathedral Choir's seventh Lay Vicar. I spoke about this last time, but I can't accurately describe how much of a big deal this is; I'm never going to be a Choral Scholar again. I remember as a probationer being in awe of the Songmen at Derby, especially (of course) the Altos, and now, having settled in well with the other Gentlemen of the choir and producing the most immense amount of sound, I am following in that same tradition. All jokes aside, when my fellow Lay Vicar on my side isn't there I do miss him! We are a team, and I'm very pleased to take my place in the greater team that is Truro Cathedral Choir. I am extremely lucky to be here, especially with the best Director anyone could hope for - I doubt there's another choirmaster who loves his job this much, is as caring and supportive, striking a fine balance between sheer professionalism and social grace... Haha! I do love my Boss.
I suppose that this Summer, as partially disastrous as it was, also formed a lesson for the future; Grown ups don't get a summer holiday.
The real worst part of the Summer, was of course, no services. Even this post-Christmas week is...pretty dull, especially after the big three last services! While I definitely sang harder this year, my voice is in much better order so we can track some improvement there at least! This is my life, I'm glad I chose it, and indeed, glad that it chose me.
Anyway. I'm sure that's there's enough nostalgia here for us to happily take our fill. It's time we look forward.
I once wrote in the summer that my whole angle was that I never changed. Indeed, my core values are unchanged, and it's mostly my appearance. I also wrote that the definition of insanity is doing the same things time and again and expecting the situation to change: the entire country indulges in an insanity of this kind at every General Election. POLITICS. There's always time for something different, I mean, I will be moving into my own place by this time next year, an idea that actually doesn't fill me with fear! I am looking forward to living in Truro very much. Perhaps I should make some new year's resolutions? Sounds dangerous, I know. Something about, oh I don't know... regular exercise, erm, getting up every day, something about getting a job or you know, things like that. Maybe it'd be nice to try and effect a change? I certainly need to start playing the Banjo more often again, that's for sure. I don't have £600 worth of instrument hanging there for nothing, huh?
Recently I have taken a more relaxed attitude to everything (well, except for singing, although I do need to get back into lessons again), and I don't know, perhaps it's something in the Cornish water but I have found that at least my blood pressure has eased off, if nothing else. I must reserve my highly strung attitude to the cleaning to my own (future) residence, and not the shared accommodation, he says, hilariously. My intensity remains of course, it's not like it's going away any time soon but I'm definitely not the only one round here with bipolarity issues...
2013 is just over the hill. I'm just about ready to step the game up. There are more than enough social problems to get over but really, if anything, I've let all my problems get on top of me this last year. I've recovered a lot of my lost strength, gone over the summer, throughout the past month, probably through singing myself into the ground and somehow still caning out the notes every service: it's what I do, after all. I've had a really great Christmas as well, got some great presents, but more importantly (which is approaching the true meaning of Christmas), had a brilliant time with my friends and family. I might even try and keep a writing schedule this time. You know, something once a week; I might not be getting paid for it but it's something else I need to get back into that I enjoy. It might actually do me some good!
In conclusion, I am looking forward to this new year. Big things are afoot, and it's time for me to take my place at the head of these developments, not as a follower. This very moment, the statement "I've always found well-behaved to be overrated" has appeared before me, and gosh you know what, I rather feel that I've been just too straight-laced. Excellent behaviour and good manners are of course hallmarks of my visit, but maybe I've just been trying too hard all the time. Time to try something different, new, and exciting.
Sunday 30 December 2012
Friday 21 December 2012
Vignette XXXIII
Sometimes, by which I mean all the time, I'm not entirely sure why I bother.
In all honesty, I know what I ought to do, I mean, really. But maybe the cut would hurt more than not? I don't know. The reputation that exists already is bad enough. Perhaps, after this retired period and what could charitably be described as rehabilitation as far as confidence is concerned...
But even after all that, maybe it's time to return fully to a black and white ethic.
But really...
In all honesty, I know what I ought to do, I mean, really. But maybe the cut would hurt more than not? I don't know. The reputation that exists already is bad enough. Perhaps, after this retired period and what could charitably be described as rehabilitation as far as confidence is concerned...
But even after all that, maybe it's time to return fully to a black and white ethic.
But really...
...What matters?
Wednesday 21 November 2012
Modal Movement
Very recently I've taken to Arvo Part. I don't really know much about him, his ways or his oeuvre, but that's probably subject to change.
The composition in question that prompted this new interest is called Fratres. It exists in almost as many versions as I have names, and really I'd love to get hold of the dots for the 'Cello and Piano version for the usual Banjo-fication. Don't worry, I'm being totally serious. I can hear rifles being loaded and pitchforks being sharpened even at the very typing of that thought.
Fratres is steeped in droning and deep into the balance of wide, open spaces and grinding dissonance that is the Phrygian mode. The most recognisable part of the Phrygian mode itself is the flat 2nd, creating a crushing effect on both the ascending and descending scales. Personally, I favour the minor third going up, but coming down on the major third, meaning that there is a whole minor third before you reach the penultimate note of the scale. This creates a distance even before we are crushed by the final semitone to settle on the final note, and is also known as the Phrygian Dominant scale, or more commonly still, the Jewish scale (hah!).
The Phrygian mode appears more often then is to be expected in these iib-V7-I, equal temperament times. The Phyrgian cadence, with it's superb clashes. It sometimes appears as a lead in to a perfect cadence (kind of VI6sus aug4-V-I), as through centuries of conditioning mostly via Bach and his pesky chorales, we expect a perfect cadence at the end of a piece. FREE YOURSELF FROM THESE SHACKLES. A-hem. Of the Phrygian melodies that you're most likely to know, the christmas carol The First Noel springs to mind as the best example. Your shining light as a rule to discovering whether a melody lies in this mode is just the same as seeking out cadences; a step down of one semitone. When you find a true expression of the cadence, instead of VI6sus aug4-V as above, V becomes I, and you get the major tonic chord formed above it. It can truly be a grand effect and, of course, affect. Look to Asturias for Piano by Albeniz - yes, the guitar arrangement is very impressive, but the original for Piano is simply brilliant and contains a lyrical central section that showcases what I've tried to describe much more ably. Play it, listen to it, whatever, the faster and more passionate and impatient the better. It is a stereotypically Spanish piece that reminds us very much of Flamenco music, which is strongly linked to the whole Phrygian schtick. Eastern european folk music, Moorish chanting, and even the Cantors at the Synagogue are know for their phrygian turns. It's more compelling than the lydian mode, more passionate than the dorian, and more familiar than the ionain.
Another wonderful composition that uses this delightful mode is the stormy Piano Quintet in F minor by Brahms. The Scherzo, one of my defining pieces, is wild and unforgiving. It conjures up images of conflict, great strength and finally, a well-deserved victory, ending on unison C's directly from the crushed flat 2nd.
Anyway. Fratres. I first heard it at a dinner with the Chief and some of our good friends in Norwich, that fine City. We had just recovered from ingesting tiny samples of the Naga, or ghost chilli. Enquiring as to what it was, I was surprised to hear it was composed by Part. I have since sought it out on the Naxos Music Library, and found many many versions. Some recordings that suffer from poor tuning, and one for wind octet and percussion that suffers from simply being in equal temperament. The Clarinets are out from the Horns by what sounds like a syntonic comma, ie just enough to make a difference. I bloody hate how the octaves are just out. Anyway.
There is something deeply understated, even through all the dissonance, where the true power of the mode lies in Fratres. The intimately mysterious beginning of the Strings and Percussion version, has touches of eastern mysticism about it - the 5ths droning away at the bottom punctuated by a xylophonic touch. The strings speak to us, reminding us through the clashing suspensions that violence is only a hair's breadth away. As they fall silent, the xylophones return, backed by an enormous bass drum, adding even more depth to the gradually increasing dynamic of the drone. We can attach so many images to these textures answering each other with this distinct tonal environment, where could we even begin. You should seek it out and listen for yourself. A little patience will be necessary, if you are unfamiliar with the tonal world, but it's worth it. For me, there is a deep satisfaction in the settling of the Phyrigian cadence, the expectation in the suspension, the delaying of gratification in the grinding flat 2nd. There is a touch of overcoming a difficult struggle about all this.
And if you want even more heart-breaking space in your life, then you could do far worse than Spiegel im Spiegel. It hangs in space, with it's crystalline Piano arpeggios, sailing through eternity with the held string notes - Viola being my personal favourite.
But it's the space that makes both of these pieces. Silences of articulation are not just desperately vital in keyboard playing, but also in composition, especially in this minimalist soundworld. As super smooth as these phrases are, the gradual attack of the strings only highlights whenever they fall silent and are punctuated by wooden percussion. In fact, perhaps it is this space that makes Part's Fratres just as powerful as Brahms's Opus 34, the Piano Quintet in F minor. They both have a minor cloud that is parted by a ray of phrygian sunshine, but Brahms uses many more textures in doing so.
I will be taking the time to listen to more Part, hopefully after I've got some sleep. Fratres proves that the dark side of the Phrygian mode can be expressed with emptiness as well as busy textures. It's not better, it's just saying something different, so it uses another voice, softly spoken but not straining to be heard over a maddening crowd, its crowning glory in quiet but lasting victory.
The composition in question that prompted this new interest is called Fratres. It exists in almost as many versions as I have names, and really I'd love to get hold of the dots for the 'Cello and Piano version for the usual Banjo-fication. Don't worry, I'm being totally serious. I can hear rifles being loaded and pitchforks being sharpened even at the very typing of that thought.
Fratres is steeped in droning and deep into the balance of wide, open spaces and grinding dissonance that is the Phrygian mode. The most recognisable part of the Phrygian mode itself is the flat 2nd, creating a crushing effect on both the ascending and descending scales. Personally, I favour the minor third going up, but coming down on the major third, meaning that there is a whole minor third before you reach the penultimate note of the scale. This creates a distance even before we are crushed by the final semitone to settle on the final note, and is also known as the Phrygian Dominant scale, or more commonly still, the Jewish scale (hah!).
The Phrygian mode appears more often then is to be expected in these iib-V7-I, equal temperament times. The Phyrgian cadence, with it's superb clashes. It sometimes appears as a lead in to a perfect cadence (kind of VI6sus aug4-V-I), as through centuries of conditioning mostly via Bach and his pesky chorales, we expect a perfect cadence at the end of a piece. FREE YOURSELF FROM THESE SHACKLES. A-hem. Of the Phrygian melodies that you're most likely to know, the christmas carol The First Noel springs to mind as the best example. Your shining light as a rule to discovering whether a melody lies in this mode is just the same as seeking out cadences; a step down of one semitone. When you find a true expression of the cadence, instead of VI6sus aug4-V as above, V becomes I, and you get the major tonic chord formed above it. It can truly be a grand effect and, of course, affect. Look to Asturias for Piano by Albeniz - yes, the guitar arrangement is very impressive, but the original for Piano is simply brilliant and contains a lyrical central section that showcases what I've tried to describe much more ably. Play it, listen to it, whatever, the faster and more passionate and impatient the better. It is a stereotypically Spanish piece that reminds us very much of Flamenco music, which is strongly linked to the whole Phrygian schtick. Eastern european folk music, Moorish chanting, and even the Cantors at the Synagogue are know for their phrygian turns. It's more compelling than the lydian mode, more passionate than the dorian, and more familiar than the ionain.
Another wonderful composition that uses this delightful mode is the stormy Piano Quintet in F minor by Brahms. The Scherzo, one of my defining pieces, is wild and unforgiving. It conjures up images of conflict, great strength and finally, a well-deserved victory, ending on unison C's directly from the crushed flat 2nd.
Anyway. Fratres. I first heard it at a dinner with the Chief and some of our good friends in Norwich, that fine City. We had just recovered from ingesting tiny samples of the Naga, or ghost chilli. Enquiring as to what it was, I was surprised to hear it was composed by Part. I have since sought it out on the Naxos Music Library, and found many many versions. Some recordings that suffer from poor tuning, and one for wind octet and percussion that suffers from simply being in equal temperament. The Clarinets are out from the Horns by what sounds like a syntonic comma, ie just enough to make a difference. I bloody hate how the octaves are just out. Anyway.
There is something deeply understated, even through all the dissonance, where the true power of the mode lies in Fratres. The intimately mysterious beginning of the Strings and Percussion version, has touches of eastern mysticism about it - the 5ths droning away at the bottom punctuated by a xylophonic touch. The strings speak to us, reminding us through the clashing suspensions that violence is only a hair's breadth away. As they fall silent, the xylophones return, backed by an enormous bass drum, adding even more depth to the gradually increasing dynamic of the drone. We can attach so many images to these textures answering each other with this distinct tonal environment, where could we even begin. You should seek it out and listen for yourself. A little patience will be necessary, if you are unfamiliar with the tonal world, but it's worth it. For me, there is a deep satisfaction in the settling of the Phyrigian cadence, the expectation in the suspension, the delaying of gratification in the grinding flat 2nd. There is a touch of overcoming a difficult struggle about all this.
And if you want even more heart-breaking space in your life, then you could do far worse than Spiegel im Spiegel. It hangs in space, with it's crystalline Piano arpeggios, sailing through eternity with the held string notes - Viola being my personal favourite.
But it's the space that makes both of these pieces. Silences of articulation are not just desperately vital in keyboard playing, but also in composition, especially in this minimalist soundworld. As super smooth as these phrases are, the gradual attack of the strings only highlights whenever they fall silent and are punctuated by wooden percussion. In fact, perhaps it is this space that makes Part's Fratres just as powerful as Brahms's Opus 34, the Piano Quintet in F minor. They both have a minor cloud that is parted by a ray of phrygian sunshine, but Brahms uses many more textures in doing so.
I will be taking the time to listen to more Part, hopefully after I've got some sleep. Fratres proves that the dark side of the Phrygian mode can be expressed with emptiness as well as busy textures. It's not better, it's just saying something different, so it uses another voice, softly spoken but not straining to be heard over a maddening crowd, its crowning glory in quiet but lasting victory.
Tuesday 20 November 2012
Promotion cometh yet from the Lord
I've been writing this for quite a while now. The tag line at the top has been the guiding light for the the overall tone..."misadventure" probably belongs up there as well, probably. Unlike some of my fellows that I know who blog too, I am less of a creative writer than a destructive one; the last few months of wallowing have proved that much. But in between the misery, I have also been talking about change, and I guess that's what this is all about.
As we know, "Songman" is an historic title that I have avoided letting go of even though I am no longer a member of Derby Cathedral Choir. I like it. It's short, simple to explain, and sounds old-fashioned. I was proud to keep hold of it, having been a full-time member of a Cathedral back row before leaving school. Enough with the laughing already; Derby may not be the world's greatest foundation but I earned my place there and having to do a whole year on your own as an Alto almost straight after your voice breaks is both a terrible idea and a real character builder.
I'm so proud of this title that I even named my long-suffering blog after it - somewhere where I could offload the heavy troubles of the day by writing them away. If we look back to where I was when I started writing this, that is to say an environment that did not suit me both domestically and professionally, then we can see why I would want to make such an escape for myself. I was increasingly unhappy all angles round, God knows how I even found the will to go back into third year, but thankfully I did and here I am now. And indeed, here I am to stay. This is the good news that I've been sitting on for all this time. See, I guess it isn't really a big deal for most people but it is to me...
If you've known me for some time (you know, like 5 years or more), you know that my big ambition in life is to once again be a full member of the back row of a Cathedral choir again, and here I am at 22, having regained that position. Okay, I'm not getting appointed formally until September next year (I'll be 23 by then though), and I'll have to find somewhere to live and work, but at the moment, this is still better news than that time I found out that I graduated. I'm particularly proud of this, because I haven't relied on any connections, pulled any favours, or needed any pieces of paper that say anything at all in order to get here; just good, old fashioned hard work.
I wrote about how little I change myself in the summer; the statement still stands. Rather than change to something unfamiliar, I have changed to reclaim something I already had. This is my first post (Cathedral post) as an adult though - whether I stay here or move on out after a while is something that will take more than sitting up til 1am to fathom. By no means am I sat at a "poor end of the stall" any longer though, and indeed far from it! I always describe myself as 'the loud one at the end' when members of the congregation speak to me and say "Oh you're a choral scholar, aren't you, which one are you again?". Thankfully, that description usually does, so I don't have to go as far as describing that abominable hood that I wear (Lord of Mercy UEA you have really dropped the ball with that dreadful coral colour)...
The next big things on the list are accomodation and employment. Another known known (that is to say something that we know that we know) is that holding down a job is somewhat tricky. This is another thing with no quick fix; that's it. As for accomodation... Well, I really don't know. Finding and affording life in Truro will be the biggest obstacle I will face, and God knows if I'm really ready to do that but the hell with it I haven't backed down yet (I almost did once and that was terrible), and now isn't the time to even start consideing such namby-pamby practices like that. I know that my strength comes from inside me, but that I always need other people to remind me of it. I've got a good crop of friends down here even outside of the Cathedral family circle, and I'm looking forward to the next part of my life very much. This is the independance I have struggled for, the career I have lived for, in a place that I enjoy living, working and being a part of.
So, what is this now then? Lay-Vicar's Corner? I think not. I could only ever have got to this stage in life and accepted the future that I'm going to without having come from where I did. I still refer to Derby as "us". Maybe three services a week is small fry in comparison to now, but there was still a depth of repertoire and the nature of commitment that was a defining point of my youth. Having to hold the alto line almost on my own was a defining point of my adolescence, and a pretty unique circumstance. If I could have the time again, would I do things differently? Would I have that 6 moths off to rest my voice? Who knows? Who cares!
Accepting the Lay-Vicarship is still a development I'm getting used to. It's early in the choral year after all, and there's still seven months of this year with these scholars to go. More likely than not, there will be five completely new scholars net year though, and I won't be a part of that group. That is really an odd consideration after having been a choral scholar at various institutions for four years now. I'm never going to be a choral scholar again. Wow.
As we know, "Songman" is an historic title that I have avoided letting go of even though I am no longer a member of Derby Cathedral Choir. I like it. It's short, simple to explain, and sounds old-fashioned. I was proud to keep hold of it, having been a full-time member of a Cathedral back row before leaving school. Enough with the laughing already; Derby may not be the world's greatest foundation but I earned my place there and having to do a whole year on your own as an Alto almost straight after your voice breaks is both a terrible idea and a real character builder.
I'm so proud of this title that I even named my long-suffering blog after it - somewhere where I could offload the heavy troubles of the day by writing them away. If we look back to where I was when I started writing this, that is to say an environment that did not suit me both domestically and professionally, then we can see why I would want to make such an escape for myself. I was increasingly unhappy all angles round, God knows how I even found the will to go back into third year, but thankfully I did and here I am now. And indeed, here I am to stay. This is the good news that I've been sitting on for all this time. See, I guess it isn't really a big deal for most people but it is to me...
I'm going to be a Lay-Vicar of Truro Cathedral Choir.
If you've known me for some time (you know, like 5 years or more), you know that my big ambition in life is to once again be a full member of the back row of a Cathedral choir again, and here I am at 22, having regained that position. Okay, I'm not getting appointed formally until September next year (I'll be 23 by then though), and I'll have to find somewhere to live and work, but at the moment, this is still better news than that time I found out that I graduated. I'm particularly proud of this, because I haven't relied on any connections, pulled any favours, or needed any pieces of paper that say anything at all in order to get here; just good, old fashioned hard work.
I wrote about how little I change myself in the summer; the statement still stands. Rather than change to something unfamiliar, I have changed to reclaim something I already had. This is my first post (Cathedral post) as an adult though - whether I stay here or move on out after a while is something that will take more than sitting up til 1am to fathom. By no means am I sat at a "poor end of the stall" any longer though, and indeed far from it! I always describe myself as 'the loud one at the end' when members of the congregation speak to me and say "Oh you're a choral scholar, aren't you, which one are you again?". Thankfully, that description usually does, so I don't have to go as far as describing that abominable hood that I wear (Lord of Mercy UEA you have really dropped the ball with that dreadful coral colour)...
The next big things on the list are accomodation and employment. Another known known (that is to say something that we know that we know) is that holding down a job is somewhat tricky. This is another thing with no quick fix; that's it. As for accomodation... Well, I really don't know. Finding and affording life in Truro will be the biggest obstacle I will face, and God knows if I'm really ready to do that but the hell with it I haven't backed down yet (I almost did once and that was terrible), and now isn't the time to even start consideing such namby-pamby practices like that. I know that my strength comes from inside me, but that I always need other people to remind me of it. I've got a good crop of friends down here even outside of the Cathedral family circle, and I'm looking forward to the next part of my life very much. This is the independance I have struggled for, the career I have lived for, in a place that I enjoy living, working and being a part of.
So, what is this now then? Lay-Vicar's Corner? I think not. I could only ever have got to this stage in life and accepted the future that I'm going to without having come from where I did. I still refer to Derby as "us". Maybe three services a week is small fry in comparison to now, but there was still a depth of repertoire and the nature of commitment that was a defining point of my youth. Having to hold the alto line almost on my own was a defining point of my adolescence, and a pretty unique circumstance. If I could have the time again, would I do things differently? Would I have that 6 moths off to rest my voice? Who knows? Who cares!
Accepting the Lay-Vicarship is still a development I'm getting used to. It's early in the choral year after all, and there's still seven months of this year with these scholars to go. More likely than not, there will be five completely new scholars net year though, and I won't be a part of that group. That is really an odd consideration after having been a choral scholar at various institutions for four years now. I'm never going to be a choral scholar again. Wow.
Friday 16 November 2012
Written out
Once again there's been a serious haitus.
If we look over the past few months, the summer archive of 2012 if you will, we can see a definite pattern forming: that of an overall depression, but trying to make the best of things. I faced a lot of things in the summer, both great triumphs and fierce lows... and here I am in the middle of November (and really it all boils down to the middle of November, doesn't it?), having finally caught up with one of my best friends. Three months is simply far too long, but as those on the great East Anglian coast know, time is the least of worries when compared to distance.
The problem is I am still pretty down; not for any reason in particular, but as any other depressive can tell you, you don't always need a reason. I am particularly drained at the moment. I'm not sleeping properly, and getting up and out is sometimes more a strain than it should be. I remarked on this earlier, thinking that I had got through the bad part and was feeling better and now back to being generally low. It gets in the way of a lot of things! I haven't written anything here for ages, and even elementary social interaction is more difficult and tiring than it should be. I'm worn out and I feel old, Why?
I guess some questions are beyond the scope of some 20-something's mewling blog though. I've let a lot slip though, and even thinking of that doesn't really help because of course I should be doing better than this. Coming back to my chamber of an evening and feeling all played out even before the communal meal is a bit shit though.
I'm sure this mid-November slump will clear itself up; these things have a habit of working themselves out by themselves, just like I do. I may well be single and unemployed again, but there's obviously something in there that I should be taking note of. Employment is diffucult for autistic people, perhaps it's time I started taking note of my disability more seriously, as much as I hate doing so, even before you take into account fitting in with choir hours. I know that if I keep looking and trying, something that is possible will turn up, and it's just a case of finding the right thing.
As for my love life, I consider myself formally in a position of semi-retirement. Allow me to clarify: it just isn't my strong suit at the best of times so why bother with putting myself through more heartache. Social interaction can be tough enough on a professional level (where I like to think I know what I'm doing), let alone in a more intimate setting. Of course there are people out there, near and far that I am attracted to, but... I just have no idea what to do about it at the moment. So I'm just not doing anything, which is for the best.
So there we are. There's actually a lot of good things that have been happening that I've not said; I think at this point a little cathartic release is better while I wind up for a better tone. Everything is in the process of changing, and perhaps that's something else that's driving this particular mood - after all, I hate change because I don't (haha)...
If we look over the past few months, the summer archive of 2012 if you will, we can see a definite pattern forming: that of an overall depression, but trying to make the best of things. I faced a lot of things in the summer, both great triumphs and fierce lows... and here I am in the middle of November (and really it all boils down to the middle of November, doesn't it?), having finally caught up with one of my best friends. Three months is simply far too long, but as those on the great East Anglian coast know, time is the least of worries when compared to distance.
The problem is I am still pretty down; not for any reason in particular, but as any other depressive can tell you, you don't always need a reason. I am particularly drained at the moment. I'm not sleeping properly, and getting up and out is sometimes more a strain than it should be. I remarked on this earlier, thinking that I had got through the bad part and was feeling better and now back to being generally low. It gets in the way of a lot of things! I haven't written anything here for ages, and even elementary social interaction is more difficult and tiring than it should be. I'm worn out and I feel old, Why?
I guess some questions are beyond the scope of some 20-something's mewling blog though. I've let a lot slip though, and even thinking of that doesn't really help because of course I should be doing better than this. Coming back to my chamber of an evening and feeling all played out even before the communal meal is a bit shit though.
I'm sure this mid-November slump will clear itself up; these things have a habit of working themselves out by themselves, just like I do. I may well be single and unemployed again, but there's obviously something in there that I should be taking note of. Employment is diffucult for autistic people, perhaps it's time I started taking note of my disability more seriously, as much as I hate doing so, even before you take into account fitting in with choir hours. I know that if I keep looking and trying, something that is possible will turn up, and it's just a case of finding the right thing.
As for my love life, I consider myself formally in a position of semi-retirement. Allow me to clarify: it just isn't my strong suit at the best of times so why bother with putting myself through more heartache. Social interaction can be tough enough on a professional level (where I like to think I know what I'm doing), let alone in a more intimate setting. Of course there are people out there, near and far that I am attracted to, but... I just have no idea what to do about it at the moment. So I'm just not doing anything, which is for the best.
So there we are. There's actually a lot of good things that have been happening that I've not said; I think at this point a little cathartic release is better while I wind up for a better tone. Everything is in the process of changing, and perhaps that's something else that's driving this particular mood - after all, I hate change because I don't (haha)...
And I'm still sat up at 1am! Oy Vey!
Tuesday 23 October 2012
Cross Country
Another month goes by unwritten and unrecorded. Maybe I should start one of those writing schedules that I see other people apologising for when they miss them - something that always amuses me greatly. I should really keep to more schedules, a little order in the maelstrom wouldn't go amiss after all.
Although leaving it a good fortnight has allowed all sorts of dust to settle, both literally on the untidied corners of my room and metaphysically, in the untidied corners of my mind. Things are definitely moving though, in more ways than one; somehow I've managed to keep up my weight after the incredible gain of the last few weeks, the novelty sensation of my suits now fitting may not wear off for a good while yet.
Things are moving though, and I suppose the most important move will be my holiday (hah) in a northern direction back to the Fine City of Norwich itself, for a rest and some much needed recuperation. Having not made it home this summer was probably a major cause of my depression over the vac, along with various other issues that are all too apparent. It will be a welcome break indeed! Basically, this is about as close to a true holiday I'll get since February, and ought to cost me almost as much, although alcohol will be cheaper... Hmmm...
The week is split in two, basically (although I'm not the only one with major bipolarity issues round here). I'll be staying with my flatmates and very dear friends from Thursday once I arrive. I'm starting to feel very old these days, and it's not because of the youth of some of my fellow scholars, not even the thought of being 23 in the new year, no, but the fact that my old flatmates are graduating this year. I remember almost not going back to University, the sensation that really this was an unrescueable prospect...and then the following year proving myself completely wrong, not only academically but socially as well. I am exceedingly thankful for having some of the best flatmates in my first and third year halls that ever could have been asked for. Cheesy I know, but the multi-coloured pancakes, the tu-tus, climbing the kitchen shaft (not a euphemism) and Barack Snowbama from my Freshman days to the Ultimate Jagerbombs, Mackerel Packets, the final Dissertation rush, Thanksgiving meal and of course, the appearance of an E flat alto Trombone in both years make for nothing short of two definitively hilarious experiences that ensured success - While my academic results ended up being far from perfect due to my second year, critically my professional efforts have got me where I want to be, and that is what it's all about.
The second half of the week though, I lodge with a man known exclusively here as The Chief, for the mightiest celebrations known to man. I can't say any more just yet why... but getting back to Spamcroft and the monster pinned to the western arch will be nothing short of a treat and a joy. Obviously my technique has nosedived through lack of practice, but I can always pull something out the bag! Slotty Vallotti temperament might well be for girls, but thinking of my personal registration for the Pachelbel G Minor Fantasia, the grit of the reed chorus topped with the quint and tierce mutations makes for a spinetingling turn at the E flat minor moment. That terz-zimbel effect is something I miss the most really... Oh. And a Pedal Chorus.
Sat here as I am, merrily typing away, I wonder why I haven't written more and more often recently. Perhaps apathy is the greatest cause behind a lack, although various other difficulties have taken their toll as well. Professional concerns have been high on my agenda, slightly more improtant than my usual moaning on here anyway. Watch this space though, and I don't mean read between the lines this time (I know a few people do, so don't bother), this week will prove quite important to me, as the weeks often are, as they stretch on into eternity. I still haven't decided whether I'm really taking my Banjo or not yet! It'll be a pig to have going through London, after all, but why be without something that makes me so happy? The effort will surely be worth it. After all, the Back in Black tour starts here.
Although leaving it a good fortnight has allowed all sorts of dust to settle, both literally on the untidied corners of my room and metaphysically, in the untidied corners of my mind. Things are definitely moving though, in more ways than one; somehow I've managed to keep up my weight after the incredible gain of the last few weeks, the novelty sensation of my suits now fitting may not wear off for a good while yet.
Things are moving though, and I suppose the most important move will be my holiday (hah) in a northern direction back to the Fine City of Norwich itself, for a rest and some much needed recuperation. Having not made it home this summer was probably a major cause of my depression over the vac, along with various other issues that are all too apparent. It will be a welcome break indeed! Basically, this is about as close to a true holiday I'll get since February, and ought to cost me almost as much, although alcohol will be cheaper... Hmmm...
The week is split in two, basically (although I'm not the only one with major bipolarity issues round here). I'll be staying with my flatmates and very dear friends from Thursday once I arrive. I'm starting to feel very old these days, and it's not because of the youth of some of my fellow scholars, not even the thought of being 23 in the new year, no, but the fact that my old flatmates are graduating this year. I remember almost not going back to University, the sensation that really this was an unrescueable prospect...and then the following year proving myself completely wrong, not only academically but socially as well. I am exceedingly thankful for having some of the best flatmates in my first and third year halls that ever could have been asked for. Cheesy I know, but the multi-coloured pancakes, the tu-tus, climbing the kitchen shaft (not a euphemism) and Barack Snowbama from my Freshman days to the Ultimate Jagerbombs, Mackerel Packets, the final Dissertation rush, Thanksgiving meal and of course, the appearance of an E flat alto Trombone in both years make for nothing short of two definitively hilarious experiences that ensured success - While my academic results ended up being far from perfect due to my second year, critically my professional efforts have got me where I want to be, and that is what it's all about.
The second half of the week though, I lodge with a man known exclusively here as The Chief, for the mightiest celebrations known to man. I can't say any more just yet why... but getting back to Spamcroft and the monster pinned to the western arch will be nothing short of a treat and a joy. Obviously my technique has nosedived through lack of practice, but I can always pull something out the bag! Slotty Vallotti temperament might well be for girls, but thinking of my personal registration for the Pachelbel G Minor Fantasia, the grit of the reed chorus topped with the quint and tierce mutations makes for a spinetingling turn at the E flat minor moment. That terz-zimbel effect is something I miss the most really... Oh. And a Pedal Chorus.
Sat here as I am, merrily typing away, I wonder why I haven't written more and more often recently. Perhaps apathy is the greatest cause behind a lack, although various other difficulties have taken their toll as well. Professional concerns have been high on my agenda, slightly more improtant than my usual moaning on here anyway. Watch this space though, and I don't mean read between the lines this time (I know a few people do, so don't bother), this week will prove quite important to me, as the weeks often are, as they stretch on into eternity. I still haven't decided whether I'm really taking my Banjo or not yet! It'll be a pig to have going through London, after all, but why be without something that makes me so happy? The effort will surely be worth it. After all, the Back in Black tour starts here.
Thursday 4 October 2012
Tenth Draft
It's been a tough old life recently. Basically, this is the journal of a man who has immense diffuculty managing his shoelaces, let alone his depression, published onto the internet, where I invite you to read it. Feast on my misery and solitude, and share in my passion and victory.
After the desolation of last week I have been trying to find myself again, to reinstate what matters, my processes and practices. One of my biggest problems when I get depressed is recognition, or in fact, the lack of it. One of my go to phrases this fortnight, especially in a follow up to some obvious mistake or lask of answer is "I don't even know who I am, let alone anything else!", and comically exagerrated bewilderment aside, I actually haven't been hugely sure. Looking in the mirror, I have met with an unfamiliar face, ravaged by massive weight loss, too much drink and lack of regular sleep. I don't even see any trace of the monster who used to look back at me, so I suppose that's a good thing at least... Members of my family have been greeted on the phone by one Travis Bell, and those of you who know who he is will appreciate my fugue to the ghost of a Japanese assassin who gives exactly no shits at all for the precious bullshit that gets thrown around.
I said that I was at loss, and I sure am still now. Where and to who do I turn? Really that's what it comes down to, loss. The loss of someone precious and cherished. The sudden loss of an accepted routine; not only one that I was simply used to but had become pleased with, which is of course a concession my life must make to my autism.
I am also very guilty of losing the recognition of my supporting players - the people who are there for me all the time even and especially when I don't remember. To you all, thank you. It's more than enough having the Big Man who would come down at a moments' notice, but friends old and new, family close and extended have reminded me that it isn't always going to be this hard, even though it feels like that right now.
It was extremely refreshing this last week, however, to hear somebody else tell me how difficult things must be because of the effort I expend in managing my autism every day. No, really! Completely unprovoked and unprompted, and really very kindly meant. It has been a struggle recently. I haven't wanted to move for days on end, and the prospect of leaving my room to face everything literally everything else in the world so draining and, well, even frightening. How shameful! Not really. There are plenty of other people out there who are just as frightened, just as anxious and just as depressed as I am, have been and probably will be again who give in. Some days that door handle can be a powerful deterent just on it's own, regardless of what may be (or probably isn't) on the other side.
A few things have been coming back though. And little things at that. I've managed to put a little bit of weight back on, which means my waistline is back up to a healthy 29 inches, but my waistcoats are still a little loose, so I still have far to go. I've upped my Bach on Banjo schedule too, adding the Sarabandes from the D minor, C major and C Minor suites to my programme of the G major suite. The Sarabandes are the emotional centres of the suites; C major's triumphal majesty is balanced by D minor's lyricism in sorrow... but the C minor suite's essay in solitude and emptiness is a cold mirror for my self right now. The delicate placing of the second beat almost matches my slowly worsening gait...
I'm cooking again though, and even treated myself to some new cookery books, courtesy of Nigel Slater and Jamie Oliver, the latter of whose latest opi, 15 Minute Meals, will be of some use in the Scholary where time is limited and appetites large.
What else can I say though? There's still a lot trapped in my head that I just don't know how to express, should it even be expressed at all...but I have to get it all out somehow or the noise will just become too much and I shall go mad. I often describe myself as mad; Insanity truly is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, and there's noone guiltier of that than me.
Postscriptum
This post in particular caused me some problem, maybe more so than last week's. Here I am, in the early hours of the morning performing last minute changes and edits to make sure I have used as unequivocal language as possible. This isn't about guilt, or blame, or fault. I only ever blame myself for things anyway, which really is a pattern I must get out of, but I have other things weighting heavily on my mind right now. This is about me feeling so cut up that I don't really know how to cope, and nothing more.
I told my brother that trying to put myself back together to the confident, outgoing, witty and well dressed man I know I have been was like building an Empire on a Grain of Sand. His immediate response?
"I'll fetch the scaffolding."
Tuesday 25 September 2012
Vignette XXXII
Again and again and again and again and you'd really think that I'd learn from this but no really insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results but it's all I can do because maybe I am insane after all I mean there's no proof for it really but it's a pretty good theory so we'll go with it it's the best we've got right now and I do need the best even if I try my best but best of all the best still somehow isn't good enough but when it's all you've got to give because you never give up and never give in and give everything you've got only for it to be taken really for granted and taken away but never taken back but taken with a pinch of salt but then really it only ever matters how we stand our ground even if we can't stand it any more and I don't know why I stood for it but I guess I never took it lying down even though I should have made a stand but I never really realised until it was too late I guess timing is everything when your time is limited but think about all that time that went by and inevitably as time goes by there might never be any more time even though somewhere there is a better place a better time that we can look forward to even when it doesn't look like that because looks aren't everything are they now so keep looking and look out even when you feel like your luck's out but luckily enough if you just keep on keeping on because there's nobody that can match you even if you keep it that way but after all ounce by pound you've been losing ground but on what grounds and unreasonable demands rights wrongs lines drawn in the sand and all.
When all the pieces get put back together what will we get? And what happens next?
Untitled
So I've been writing this blog since April what, two years ago now? Sure, sounds about right. I take things that have happened, are in the process of happening, or are about to happen to me and turn them into a little story and throw in a load of song lyrics, pop culture references, puns... and then review and then publish. I put links out and wonder who really reads this crap.
Today I am trying really very hard to condense the last two weeks into a workable, readable and indeed writable form, and unsurprisingly I'm finding that extremely difficult. Let's start with the biggest fact here so we all know what we're dealing with: I got dumped.
Again.
I'm an absolute wreck. I can't sleep, I don't want to eat, don't want to even move half the time. I spent the weekend getting roaring drunk every day, and I've even lost a lot of voice. The only thing I've lost more of is weight, which is just falling off me. I'm going to be very ill, that's if I'm not already.
Obviously now I want to go on a massive emotional tirade, but... It just won't help. It won't make me feel any better, you won't want to read it, it'll be divisive (and I've had enough division this week), so I won't bother. What I will say though is I am just at loss. I don't know what to do at the moment, and wearing one's heart on one's sleeve (or what's left of it now) as one does...
And look, I know I have the best friends a man could ask for who are all worried sick. I've got dedications from across the pond, promises of unrelenting physical violence, offers of beds and beer from Norwich almost instantaneously as I let my friends back home know. This is it, everyone goes through it time and again, and I have all sorts of people to fall back on. But when that one person goes, that one you made your priority goes and you all know what I mean (and if you don't, just wait until you do), it's absolutely shattering, and that's all I feel at the moment.
It's tough. I feel...blank in many ways. I haven't worn my rings and chains for the past week now either. There was a brief moment during the weekend where the sensation of not wearing any jewelry was stranger than wearing it...but ultimately I'm still not wearing any. My personality has crashed a little bit (haha a lot) and I'm just not strong enough within myself to uphold it. Can't eat, can't sleep, can't even wear my bloody suits because I'm so thin at the moment God it's an awful life really, isn't it?
I need to post this and go to bed, before I sit up all night trying to make a point that I'm not really sure about, or change my mind. As we already know, I don't really change that much, so expect another one of these after the next time, where I give everything and it doesn't work out for whatever reason. I think that's enough for now though. I'll be back once I'm done hurting, but don't expect that for a long time because I hurt very badly now.
Tuesday 4 September 2012
Stop, Look & Listen
It's been a long Summer Vac. And a lot has changed. But there's still time for everything to change, after all. Let's get to it.
I've been mostly living alone this summer. No, not completely by myself, but rather alone. My housemate, as is his wont, has often gone hither and yon and I have been the sole custodian of The Scholary in the meantime. As for my girlfriend, well... She's been busy too, and has been here and there on holiday and trips and all sorts of things befitting those on summer holiday. It's cool.
What I don't like though, is being alone, because being alone drives me absolutely insane, and I just go mad. It's been a tough old time in many respects because of that. When I go mad, my usual anxiety spikes and I have a little more trouble than usual controlling it. Sometimes, it's not easy. Oy...
I have often faced things about myself that I do not like this holiday as well: my insecurities, my anxieties, my deep-seated dislike of asking for help, my control issues... and so on and so forth! Luckily for me, I have a good bunch of friends, a wonderful family, and, brave as I am to use such formal language, a significant other who is right behind me and does more than she thinks.
Things are looking up, just like always though. The Scholary, horrific dosshole that it has been is now in a magnificent state, being cleaned, replumbed, decorated and partially refurnished in time for the new Choir year. Right now I'm sat (although admittedly not in my seat...) on a reclining sofa; yes, things really are that good! My chamber of course is furnished to my exact recquirements, what with my double bed, keyboard, and Banjo hanger screwed into the wall. As always, I am black and white, indeed to such an extent that I now have a brand new Banjo (around £600 worth of instrument) hanging on my wall, this time with a resonator, brass tone ring and black Remo head. It looks and sounds amazing, and I'm redoubling my efforts in order to be comfortable with the new sound, weight and neck profile in time for my Concert du Jour on the 16th, where I hijack the first Cello Suite by Bach. That's right, 3 years in the making and after almost 8 weeks of at least two hours practice a night it's almost ready. Opinion is already divided, but that's kind of the point. I'm never out to do anything 'usual', and have no intention of stopping now. Not being Banjo music, it is pretty tricky, but I'm getting there. I'll be ready in time for the concert... (he says.)
Keen-eyed followers will also notice that I have been all but off-network for the past 5 days. It's something I'm trying out. I have more than enough on my plate with practicing and this job still before term starts anew without updating the internet as to my every move. I'm doing okay, I've been back on today and will of course post this before being off again. I just got so used to being on Facebook and twitter all the time, maybe it is time for a rest every so often. Of course, if you want me, I'm still here, yeah? I am still pretty forgetful about my letters, but that's another habit I have once again fallen out of. Even as a correspondant I can get very serious, very quickly, and as I am learning, that's not always a good thing.
The next few months will prove interesting, I suppose. Financial decisions are not to be taken lightly, after all but there's still so much good work ahead of me. I have a few personal milestones even before Christmas yet, and there's always room to improve. All I have to do is keep paying attention. I've gotta do something...right?
Monday 6 August 2012
Vignette XXXI
Just hold on.
Just take your foot off the pedal.
Relax.
Use this chance; it's a gift.
Just relax.
Take your time and step back.
Step. Back.
Just relax and...
Just take your foot off the pedal.
Relax.
Use this chance; it's a gift.
Just relax.
Take your time and step back.
Step. Back.
Just relax and...
...and...
...breathe.
phew.
Wednesday 25 July 2012
Turn Again!
Now really I'm still picking myself up. I think I've happened upon an important clue as to why I am how I am.
Essentially, I do not change. I think this is mostly down to being autistic again, but I am more or less the same person I was the best part of half a decade ago. How can that be? Does it show strength of character or an inability to adapt?
I'd argue against an inability, because here I am still alive, still going doing things I never thought I'd be able to. I'm not just surviving, I am (with some effort) actually thriving down here. The problems only start when I get a bit down. I'm a massive over-thinker, and I worry. I worry about worrying. I worry more than you could possibly imagine. Being hyperactive has its downside here, as I can get more thinking done is less time. It's remarkable.
This is great when I'm busy. If I have a lot on my plate I have a lot to occupy my mind, and that is a fine thing, obviously. However. When I'm not terribly busy, like...well, right now, it can get a bit funny in here. In an absence of activity I run out of things to think about, and start to invent nightmare scenarios that I then convince myself are true! That people aren't interested in talking to me, that nobody ever wants to see me again...just stupid things like that really... Well, I start there and continue. One thing in particular that haunts me dreadfully is that my uncle will die while I'm at work. Real work at the stall, not this fake work at the desk. I know he will eventually go, but he won't go until it's time. Just sometimes, on a dark day, I can't help it.
This spills over into my relationships as well. As far as I've come in my social interactions, and I am become quite a social animal now, this is my biggest stumbling block, the next thing to overcome. It all stems from my low self-esteem, which while it's the highest it's ever been, is still mercilessly terrible. I no longer see the Monster in the Mirror, but I still doubt myself terribly. I convince myself that I am not good enough as a human being, and hold on to it. I don't know why! I know it's ridiculous but I clasp this idea beyond anything else sometimes.
And it makes everything worse. It puts strain on everything I do, and everyone I talk to, because I bear this self-imposed curse. I interpret social cues all wrong, and it puts other people on edge around me, which I then sense and take badly. This makes me feel even worse, and thus we have a vicious circle. It makes me needy and suffocating, and I've finally realised this. This character fault must be worked through and got over.
Obviously, this has to change as well. There's been so much change recently that I'm in need of some familiarity to help comfort me. This is the first summer since the end of VIth form that I haven't gone home for the Vacation. You may think nothing of it, but it's a big deal to me. My Girlfriend gets to be on holiday too, and the amount of evenings and weekends that I haven't been able to see her has made me less than happy.
I've taken to sitting in my garden (if you can call it a garden) and doing at least an hour's worth of Banjo practice of an evening, which is really a fine use of my time. My fingers are being cut to shreds by the strings, which is of course the point. I haven't restrung in over a year now, and the low C is getting very dicky, but I'm not sure if I'm going to string this Banjo up again! I have the serious I-wants for an upgrade, which at £400 will take some serious saving. It's between that and the holiday fund as the next financial project.
I hate change though. Change makes me feel uncomfortable, like I lose a foundation. I worry about it, and then try to plan obsessively around it so I only have to change as little as possible. What must happen though, is a stop to this. There must dawn a new age of Pebblez, or I will get left behind. And that I cannot afford.
There's no need to change my character, but there is a need to change my ways, and amend how I act and think. I still don't really know how to relax, and that's a major problem as well. I'm not entirely sure how we'll do anything about that, but we'll see. Who knows! Maybe putting some hard work into relaxing will pay off!
Essentially, I do not change. I think this is mostly down to being autistic again, but I am more or less the same person I was the best part of half a decade ago. How can that be? Does it show strength of character or an inability to adapt?
I'd argue against an inability, because here I am still alive, still going doing things I never thought I'd be able to. I'm not just surviving, I am (with some effort) actually thriving down here. The problems only start when I get a bit down. I'm a massive over-thinker, and I worry. I worry about worrying. I worry more than you could possibly imagine. Being hyperactive has its downside here, as I can get more thinking done is less time. It's remarkable.
This is great when I'm busy. If I have a lot on my plate I have a lot to occupy my mind, and that is a fine thing, obviously. However. When I'm not terribly busy, like...well, right now, it can get a bit funny in here. In an absence of activity I run out of things to think about, and start to invent nightmare scenarios that I then convince myself are true! That people aren't interested in talking to me, that nobody ever wants to see me again...just stupid things like that really... Well, I start there and continue. One thing in particular that haunts me dreadfully is that my uncle will die while I'm at work. Real work at the stall, not this fake work at the desk. I know he will eventually go, but he won't go until it's time. Just sometimes, on a dark day, I can't help it.
This spills over into my relationships as well. As far as I've come in my social interactions, and I am become quite a social animal now, this is my biggest stumbling block, the next thing to overcome. It all stems from my low self-esteem, which while it's the highest it's ever been, is still mercilessly terrible. I no longer see the Monster in the Mirror, but I still doubt myself terribly. I convince myself that I am not good enough as a human being, and hold on to it. I don't know why! I know it's ridiculous but I clasp this idea beyond anything else sometimes.
And it makes everything worse. It puts strain on everything I do, and everyone I talk to, because I bear this self-imposed curse. I interpret social cues all wrong, and it puts other people on edge around me, which I then sense and take badly. This makes me feel even worse, and thus we have a vicious circle. It makes me needy and suffocating, and I've finally realised this. This character fault must be worked through and got over.
Obviously, this has to change as well. There's been so much change recently that I'm in need of some familiarity to help comfort me. This is the first summer since the end of VIth form that I haven't gone home for the Vacation. You may think nothing of it, but it's a big deal to me. My Girlfriend gets to be on holiday too, and the amount of evenings and weekends that I haven't been able to see her has made me less than happy.
I've taken to sitting in my garden (if you can call it a garden) and doing at least an hour's worth of Banjo practice of an evening, which is really a fine use of my time. My fingers are being cut to shreds by the strings, which is of course the point. I haven't restrung in over a year now, and the low C is getting very dicky, but I'm not sure if I'm going to string this Banjo up again! I have the serious I-wants for an upgrade, which at £400 will take some serious saving. It's between that and the holiday fund as the next financial project.
I hate change though. Change makes me feel uncomfortable, like I lose a foundation. I worry about it, and then try to plan obsessively around it so I only have to change as little as possible. What must happen though, is a stop to this. There must dawn a new age of Pebblez, or I will get left behind. And that I cannot afford.
There's no need to change my character, but there is a need to change my ways, and amend how I act and think. I still don't really know how to relax, and that's a major problem as well. I'm not entirely sure how we'll do anything about that, but we'll see. Who knows! Maybe putting some hard work into relaxing will pay off!
Monday 23 July 2012
Every cloud...
Let's get this straight. I am in a poor state.
Long time readers and fans of the Captain everywhere will know that
as an unmedicated depressive, I often have the odd episode of... a less
than satisfactory mood. This has been happening for years and years,
possibly longer than I care to remember. I know VIth form was bad at
times, and we all know that my second year was dreadful... I am coming
clean about my overall experience slowly but surely for that year; I
cannot use my account as the emotional battering ram that you might
expect, usually because it backfires straightaway. I doubt I'll write
about it so directly for a while, it's still a bad time. I still feel
the echoes even now, but what can you expect from someone who eschews
both councelling and medication?
I knew something was the matter yesterday morning, when I started
to write about my new environment. No, I haven't moved house thank God,
more that I have purchased built and made a double bed in my room in
The Scholary. A Double Bed! Turns out 4' 6" is a lot wider than you
imagine. I got it for £50, delivery included from a gentleman in
Redruth. Purchased Sunday previous, and awoken in for the first time
yesterday, I don't think I've done too badly. It is... strange. Having
lived with a single bed for some 22 years, the readjustment is
staggering! I know many of you may have had doubles for a long time
now, but this is very new to me; comfort is an odd concept. But, it is
the bed that Peb built. I earned it, I payed for it with my own money,
and I deserve it.
One day, I will believe that last thought.
However. Just what is the matter with me? Assessing my position
logically leads us only to confusiuon: Accomodation, employment, amazing
relationship. The three things that I've been after for so long now.
Really, under all this, I'm the happiest I've ever been. While I may
not have a megabucks job, waiting tables isn't really all that bad, and
after all, it's a living. My house, is of course The Scholar's Palatial
Apartments, in the shadow of the East End. It will always need a hell
of a lot of work doing, but it's home now, especially after my furniture
shuffle in my room. And the girl? Well, I'm not going to say anything
more than she's really the best thing ever. She has the kindest heart I
know, and the only woman I respect more than her is my mother (I am a
good Jewish boy, after all). I can rely on her to clip my ear when I
get silly, if only I myself could drop things as easily as I should.
I'm still working on it. Promise. Of course, my best work is always
ahead of me.
I've all but lost my appetite, and I don't understand. Perhaps the
solution lies somewhere in my disability? As an autist, I rely on
routines and knowing where my boundaries are. I've completely lost all
my usual routines, and even changed my environment. This change is
massive put together, far bigger than I'm used to. I also don't really have a 'holiday mode' as such, never having really gone on the things. Had I have swapped
my room in term, with services every day (my default mode of being), I
would have taken it easily. Something as simple as no evensong has
upset me, obviously. My new financial regime that I have had to impose
to curtail my monetary ruin is a complete turn around as well. This
isn't as easy as saying that I have over-estimated my own strength, like
that time I started working at Truro School; this is a change with more
necessity behind it. I can no longer afford to bum about in the nether
regions of my overdraft, and at least working my way out is better than
simply being on the Dole.
Working what is technically 6 days a week is hardly exciting
though. I'm going to have to seriously reconsider this job once Choir
term starts again, as working seven days a week will be a serious
drain. But...maybe that's what has to happen in order to improve my
finances. I'm not looking forward to it one bit, especially as I'll be
working indoors all the time as well.
As I've written this, I've actually started to feel better. Just a
little bit maybe, but still. I've been on the phone to both my mother
and my lady, both of whom in their unique and effective ways have chided
me and got me to keep this pitiful chin of mine up. I've come so far
even in this past month alone, let alone the past year. To err is only
human; to admit divine. To fail now though would be the end. To pick
the fight up again is more a personal hallmark, but sometimes tradition
is what you need. I feel pretty ashamed for allowing my depression to
get the better of me at any time, and especially right now. I think
getting it all down has helped: being able to review in such a manner is
helping me to think that I am just being ridiculous, and with a some
corrective effort I can pull this up with a minimum of discomfort.
Not everything can be easy every day, and I can't be happy all the
time. I need to stop taking it out on myself when I'm not though; not
every little thing can be my fault.
Tonight's plan involves some kind of food - I may treat myself to a
takeout of some description to help pick me up. Other than that,
quality time with my Banjo in the garden calls out to me. I put a good
two hours into practicing my Bach suite yesterday, and my callouses are
holding up just fine now.
Hiatus
Now at the final review before publishing,
I do feel much better. I've eaten, I've made the bed, I've made
peace. I'll need some serious chutzpah back soon, if only there was
some sort of fast track? Aha, nothing's ever that easy though, is it?
I've got far better things to do than mope. This may well be a burst of
a good mood, but I must make sure that it is not brief. As ashamed as I
am of not being with it today, I have to move on. There really is no
point dwelling on it, I know, but it is difficult for me to drop
things. But I must, and I will.
How else will I see that paisley
lining?
Friday 13 July 2012
Part Timer
So, another working week draws to a close. This one has been less tiring physically, but not easy emotionally, and I learn to find another way.
This week has been out of kilter; I missed out Monday but came up smiling on Tuesday, in time for my first day on front of house at the Cathedral Restaurant. Monday's timetable was slightly different, being used primarily as recovery from putting a rather large amount of alcohol inside myself in a short space of time. The City Inn, a fine establishment in Truro will, for a price, serve ale from the tap in two pint glass Steins. In the equation of Pebblez plus Steins multiplied by Doom Bar, we know that the only answer is Inebriation.
On Tuesday, the Boy left. Yes, Barrett my one time nemesis to full time sidekick finally left the building, to depart on his summer of European travel. God bless and God speed. We had an emotional and public goodbye in the Restaurant, as thankfully (for him at least) he arrived before the busy time kicks off. I miss him a lot, actually. For all the mess that was made, all the arguing about budgets, however much I wanted to wipe him off the face of the Earth when he told me what to do... I do miss him a hell of a lot. He'll be back! I mean, he promises to return for a week over Old Choristers' (whether he will stay for that long is another question), and the Good Old Days can return. Right?
The rest of the Scholars have been peeling off in their own time. Our Organ Scholar left on Wednesday morning, Mr. McCusker went last night...which only leaves Mr. Lock to go on Sunday. After that, it's just me and the Beeves...until September. Now, the living arrangements still as I type aren't completely secure. At some point, a minor redecorative event is supposed to be happening in the Scholary, which we're supposed to be absent for. I think it might be a case of seeing what happens when we get there, and not having any clue beforehand. Best not say any more before I get myself into trouble either.
Currently though my part time working arrangement is going well. If anything, I could do with more hours to get out of that overdraft quicker, but if I keep to my new budget regime I should be okay... just about. My plan to install a double bed into my room will have to not touch my Bank account at all, or it'll never happen, as will neither my proposed holiday plan...which hasn;t been discussed properly yet anyway. That's another big maybe that's a long way off, but if I prepare for it now I can make it seriously easier. I'll probably have to keep a little brown paper bag under my matress or something for the bed fund (stay the hell away from my matress you hear.) What I could really do with is an infallible get rich quick scheme, or a significant pay rise. Alright already! So could we all!
I've had to seriously rethink my money though. I'm exceedingly close to the bottom of my overdraft, and need to make some real progress. It's...difficult. I looked at the cost of my phone bills for the last 6 months and almost had a heart attack over the appearance of a charge of some £91 a few months ago... Oy Vey! I am going to actually have to be careful this time. My latest bill is for a fair 52 quid anyway, so I'm only at twice my contract this month, right? Ouch. I need to be careful now, because unlike for the last however many years now there won;t be a Student loan to pick me up in September. There is no termly cash drop to keep me from trouble. I have to work now in order to afford to eat, basically! If I even dared another night out between now and pay day I'll be doomed! Now my back's up against the wall I am going to have to turn this one right around...which I should have been doing for ages now but I am after all, a fool.
This is the real character building excercise though, I can't run away now. I've got people to make proud of me again, people who want to see me thrive and succeed, and I can't let them down! I'll always have myself, let down or not...
...But in fact, that attitude is part of my problem. Allow me to explain.
My Girlfriend has gone to Italy for a week with her Wind Band. Well, I say a week. It's more like 4 days there and the rest travelling. I am missing her so much right now, it's awful. It's made worse by the fact that so many people are leaving Truro at the moment anyway, I could do with her being a little closer at least, but I can't win all the time. I know she's coming back, and the birthday surprises I have in store have been well-planned.
Whenever I've taken trips away from girlfriends (or vice versa) I've always gone slightly mad, and got a bit needy. The problem is not that I don't believe that they won't want me still, just that I tell myself that they will see something better than me if I am away, and I'll lose out. Again. I tell myself that I'm just not good enough. I worry and I waste away and I pine and whimper and it's just not very good at all, really. I've done it for years as well, I hardly know any better.
I am turning this around. It's very hard.
I know, heart and soul and strength that there's nobody out there who feels the way I do about her. Imperfect and crippled I may be, but I'm a Bright, and I always do my best and I never give up. That's what I am. Who I am, on the other hand, I am remembering very slowly, and it's down to her that I am, with the right amount of tender support and affectionate chastisement that I need to know I'm doing well. I haven't given up before, I don't intend to start doing so now. I know that one day, we'll be very far apart, maybe through accident of employment or education, but it won't matter. It'll still be us two, together. I know this. I almost believe it. Trust me, I'm trying and God does love a tryer.
Onwards though! I have a new budget plan, and a job that pays. Living through this summer won't be cushy, but it'll be a life that I'll have earned the funds for by myself, and that's something to be proud of. I've done a budget forecast for the next quarter (!), and if I stick to it I'll have made a net gain of some £1200. I'll be...comfortable!
Saturday 7 July 2012
Tales of new Employment
So it's all change again. I'm not coming back to Derby, and I'm not unemployed! BOOM.
For the last week, I have been working as the Kitchen Porter at the Cathedral Restaurant. I seriously and wholeheartedly believe that this is not a job designed for one person; more that it is a sore test for those who do not know what hard work is. Over this week I have earned some two hundred pounds, and have work lined up for the whole of the summer. Over the course of the Vac, I'll need to vacate my house for some ten days only but that's about it.
Here are some things that I have learned this week:
! - The Dishwasher truly is my mortal enemy.
" - The Squares of Ashoni was the best training for plate stacking.
£ - Full trays from tables dumped on the deck are the bane of everything.
$ - The smell of Carrot and Coriander soup makes me want to brech.
% - If you don't ask for a break you'll never get one, regardless of the legality.
^ - Once the cutlery goes through the machine is is literally HOTTER THAN THE SUN.
& - Having a mostly Guinness and Jager based hangover will not help.
? - The sight of the pass closing can cheer the lowest of hearts.
Monday was insane. Like, actually mental. I've been burnt less in baptisms of fire already! (Actually I never truly got burnt, but did scald myself with the ROASTING HOT CUTLERY). Interestingly enough, as allergic as I am to hard work... I haven't been put off totally. I always used to (and continue) to say that once I'm done with all this music rubbish, I'll train as a chef. Where does every one start? At the Porter's station.
It's not great, by any stretch of the imagination, but not awful. There is still a sense of achievement even when all the tables get cleared at once and all the plates ever appear in your immediate vicinity. I only dropped one plate all week, but sadly also knocked the handle off a teapot. Sad times.
Tuesday was just as bad, but I arguably got a bit more help. On Wednesday I decided that the only way to keep the pot wash room sane was to put away dry stuff myself, which once again considerably sped the process up. Thursday was slightly marred by the addition of midnight prosecco to celebrate Mr. Barrett's 19th birthday, but still remarkably busy. The soup was very popular. Not so much Carrot and Coriander but Carrot and Crack Cocaine.
Friday was definitely the quietest. I even managed to get a whole 15 minutes off where I conversed with my disasterously hungover housemate and bought lunch from the Co-op, rob dogs that they are. Anyway, even with a whole quarter of an hour off, I managed to get almost everything finished in time for 4pm! How exciting!
However. Working 9:30 til 4 every day has left me drained and somewhat irritable, and in bad shape for evensong. Granted this won't be a problem from next week onwards, what with this Sunday being the last services of the year, but seeing as these were some pretty hardcore services (Monday Howell's St. Paul's, Tuesday Langlais Messe Solennelle, Wednesday Leighton 2nd Service and Friday Tallis Lamentations), I can;t help but feel like I let the side down a bit by just being so tired. Granted, I wasn't falling asleep at the end of the Nunc Dimittis like I was when I worked at Truro School, but there we go...
The long Vac stretches out before me. I have a month of employment ahead of me before I even consider August. But there will be rest for the wicked at some point, and it's my girlfriend's birthday at the end of this month, which I have been preparing for at least a month now. I had to make sure everything would work out if I wasn't staying in Cornwall, see, but now I am I have some extra wiggle room, as it were. All I'm really going to say about her now is that things are so much different than ever, and I don't ever need to panic any more. Oh. And she's marvellous. And short.* But that's enough for now.
Now, presumably I'm going to do some laundry or wash up in the kitchen now, I suppose.
*This fact included at her request.
For the last week, I have been working as the Kitchen Porter at the Cathedral Restaurant. I seriously and wholeheartedly believe that this is not a job designed for one person; more that it is a sore test for those who do not know what hard work is. Over this week I have earned some two hundred pounds, and have work lined up for the whole of the summer. Over the course of the Vac, I'll need to vacate my house for some ten days only but that's about it.
Here are some things that I have learned this week:
! - The Dishwasher truly is my mortal enemy.
" - The Squares of Ashoni was the best training for plate stacking.
£ - Full trays from tables dumped on the deck are the bane of everything.
$ - The smell of Carrot and Coriander soup makes me want to brech.
% - If you don't ask for a break you'll never get one, regardless of the legality.
^ - Once the cutlery goes through the machine is is literally HOTTER THAN THE SUN.
& - Having a mostly Guinness and Jager based hangover will not help.
? - The sight of the pass closing can cheer the lowest of hearts.
Monday was insane. Like, actually mental. I've been burnt less in baptisms of fire already! (Actually I never truly got burnt, but did scald myself with the ROASTING HOT CUTLERY). Interestingly enough, as allergic as I am to hard work... I haven't been put off totally. I always used to (and continue) to say that once I'm done with all this music rubbish, I'll train as a chef. Where does every one start? At the Porter's station.
It's not great, by any stretch of the imagination, but not awful. There is still a sense of achievement even when all the tables get cleared at once and all the plates ever appear in your immediate vicinity. I only dropped one plate all week, but sadly also knocked the handle off a teapot. Sad times.
Tuesday was just as bad, but I arguably got a bit more help. On Wednesday I decided that the only way to keep the pot wash room sane was to put away dry stuff myself, which once again considerably sped the process up. Thursday was slightly marred by the addition of midnight prosecco to celebrate Mr. Barrett's 19th birthday, but still remarkably busy. The soup was very popular. Not so much Carrot and Coriander but Carrot and Crack Cocaine.
Friday was definitely the quietest. I even managed to get a whole 15 minutes off where I conversed with my disasterously hungover housemate and bought lunch from the Co-op, rob dogs that they are. Anyway, even with a whole quarter of an hour off, I managed to get almost everything finished in time for 4pm! How exciting!
However. Working 9:30 til 4 every day has left me drained and somewhat irritable, and in bad shape for evensong. Granted this won't be a problem from next week onwards, what with this Sunday being the last services of the year, but seeing as these were some pretty hardcore services (Monday Howell's St. Paul's, Tuesday Langlais Messe Solennelle, Wednesday Leighton 2nd Service and Friday Tallis Lamentations), I can;t help but feel like I let the side down a bit by just being so tired. Granted, I wasn't falling asleep at the end of the Nunc Dimittis like I was when I worked at Truro School, but there we go...
The long Vac stretches out before me. I have a month of employment ahead of me before I even consider August. But there will be rest for the wicked at some point, and it's my girlfriend's birthday at the end of this month, which I have been preparing for at least a month now. I had to make sure everything would work out if I wasn't staying in Cornwall, see, but now I am I have some extra wiggle room, as it were. All I'm really going to say about her now is that things are so much different than ever, and I don't ever need to panic any more. Oh. And she's marvellous. And short.* But that's enough for now.
Now, presumably I'm going to do some laundry or wash up in the kitchen now, I suppose.
*This fact included at her request.
Thursday 28 June 2012
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Intermission
Having recently read the work of two friends whom I had the great pleasure to meet last year in Halls, I am somewhat concious of once again, slacking off as far as this blog is concerned! Once more, I am typing off the top of my head at 1am, but this time I'm sober, and this time it won't be about Organs. Well. Not entirely.
Therefore, starting with Organs, I have taken up lessons again! Be in no shadow of a doubt that I am expressly pleased with this, even if my lessons no longer take place on a III/P Neoclassical essay with a balanced tracker...sigh... But they do in fact take place on a very fine instrument, built at the beginning of the Twentieth century, mechanical stop, key and coupling action, with some fine stops inside as well. The trumpet, while without the French grandeur in the bass does not lose power in the treble, with the swell strings being nothing but sheer delight. I have gone back to where I left off material wise, with Langlais' Priere and Prelude Modale, Vierne's Bercuese, and selections from Couperin's Messe pour les couvents. Today on a short crawl with my teacher however, I sightread the Andante Tranquillo from Mendelssohn's A major Organ Sonata, and not terribly badly either. I pedalled! Huzzah! My next lesson is on Thursday morning, and it's bloody brilliant to be back.
But my teacher? Well, he follows on from last year's tradtion, of being a highly skilled and musical man, an excellent improviser, in his mid-twenties... but he's getting married? Certianly not something Saint J of N would be considering? Perhaps not...
But I will be attending this wedding at the beginning of June, sat way up at the front of the nave of Truro Cathedral, not only watching the ceremony unfold in front of me (rather than being at the stall!), but also, it transpires, participating! I haven't read in Church since...well, Mancroft, and certainly not at anything as felicitous as a wedding! I have new paisley tie at the ready, and it's just shy of three weeks away.
The squalid Scholary still stands though, despite all we who live therein. The kitchen needs breaking again, with a rather unsavoury backlog of plates and pans... not withstanding the hob. As I am still unemployed, I pick the slack up in the day (or plan to, anyway), so at least the plates and cutlery are clean and ready to go. As ever, the cutlery box is here, but has been plundered entirely of forks! I plan to reclaim all mine, and see how that leaves us off for cutlery and flatware. It's a mystery what happens to forks at the best of times.
There are many half finished drafts on my books here. Some barely started and abandoned as bad concept, and a few complete essays that cannot be published for various reasons. There are some that have been written in the first flush of anger for instance, that the cooling influence of a computer that sometimes crashes halfway through have saved from public viewing. I really ought to do something more interesting with my life than wash up, practice, and generally slulk about on the internet. I haven't even played any ridiculous videogames for a while now! Life has slowed down somewhat from the whirlpool that almost dragged me under last term...and I am thankful for that. It's certainly no quieter. Different.
Anyway. There'll be some more beardy organ bearding published soon. Next week I'll be recording a CD of the music of Philip Stopford with Choir, the weekend after that will be the wedding...and after THAT (with a few days rest), I'll be back in Norwich, A FINE CITY. Upon my return we perform an Orchestral Eucharist in the Cathedral, and then it's into the last part of Trinity, and the end of the year. A tearful valediction looms at the beginning of July...
Anyway. Time for bed. I have a kitchen to clear and preludes to practice and chess games to win. See you on the other side.
Therefore, starting with Organs, I have taken up lessons again! Be in no shadow of a doubt that I am expressly pleased with this, even if my lessons no longer take place on a III/P Neoclassical essay with a balanced tracker...sigh... But they do in fact take place on a very fine instrument, built at the beginning of the Twentieth century, mechanical stop, key and coupling action, with some fine stops inside as well. The trumpet, while without the French grandeur in the bass does not lose power in the treble, with the swell strings being nothing but sheer delight. I have gone back to where I left off material wise, with Langlais' Priere and Prelude Modale, Vierne's Bercuese, and selections from Couperin's Messe pour les couvents. Today on a short crawl with my teacher however, I sightread the Andante Tranquillo from Mendelssohn's A major Organ Sonata, and not terribly badly either. I pedalled! Huzzah! My next lesson is on Thursday morning, and it's bloody brilliant to be back.
But my teacher? Well, he follows on from last year's tradtion, of being a highly skilled and musical man, an excellent improviser, in his mid-twenties... but he's getting married? Certianly not something Saint J of N would be considering? Perhaps not...
But I will be attending this wedding at the beginning of June, sat way up at the front of the nave of Truro Cathedral, not only watching the ceremony unfold in front of me (rather than being at the stall!), but also, it transpires, participating! I haven't read in Church since...well, Mancroft, and certainly not at anything as felicitous as a wedding! I have new paisley tie at the ready, and it's just shy of three weeks away.
The squalid Scholary still stands though, despite all we who live therein. The kitchen needs breaking again, with a rather unsavoury backlog of plates and pans... not withstanding the hob. As I am still unemployed, I pick the slack up in the day (or plan to, anyway), so at least the plates and cutlery are clean and ready to go. As ever, the cutlery box is here, but has been plundered entirely of forks! I plan to reclaim all mine, and see how that leaves us off for cutlery and flatware. It's a mystery what happens to forks at the best of times.
There are many half finished drafts on my books here. Some barely started and abandoned as bad concept, and a few complete essays that cannot be published for various reasons. There are some that have been written in the first flush of anger for instance, that the cooling influence of a computer that sometimes crashes halfway through have saved from public viewing. I really ought to do something more interesting with my life than wash up, practice, and generally slulk about on the internet. I haven't even played any ridiculous videogames for a while now! Life has slowed down somewhat from the whirlpool that almost dragged me under last term...and I am thankful for that. It's certainly no quieter. Different.
Anyway. There'll be some more beardy organ bearding published soon. Next week I'll be recording a CD of the music of Philip Stopford with Choir, the weekend after that will be the wedding...and after THAT (with a few days rest), I'll be back in Norwich, A FINE CITY. Upon my return we perform an Orchestral Eucharist in the Cathedral, and then it's into the last part of Trinity, and the end of the year. A tearful valediction looms at the beginning of July...
Anyway. Time for bed. I have a kitchen to clear and preludes to practice and chess games to win. See you on the other side.
Monday 23 April 2012
Reconstruction of a Madman
You know, so much has been going on recently that I managed to forget that I've kept this blog active, albiet with several breaks, for two years now! Happy birthday. Or whatever.
Things have been really tough recently though, which is why there hasn't been much publicised activity. I lost my job, my relationship broke down... actually that's kind of it. but in all seriousness when those two things happen within weeks of themselves, you can't help but get battered down.
Like before, I'm not here to talk about the hows and wherefores of what happened with my relationship. It isn't right to air it over the net like this, I won't be bothering. Thing is that things changed, and that's how things have to be. I'm still in an emotionally unstable state, I'm not going to lie, but I'm doing all that I can to remain balanced, especially in public. In all honesty though, I loved her with my whole heart, and did everything I could. I'm so pleased and proud of what we had, so many good things came of it. While I might be desperately upset, I'll never forget that, ever. I know that past the pain lies time for cherishing, and so many memories.
Okay, enough already.
And what about this job then? I've been in all but full time employment as the Music Administrator (read as Departmental Undersecretary) at Truro School, a private day and boarding school some 800 pupils strong. It's been far from easy. Upon starting, I fell to a particularly nasty depressive episode, because unsurprisingly, the incredible gear change from being unemployed for basically your entire life to a full time (8:30am til 4pm, 5 days a week) job is a killer. There's no middle ground, and BAM you're on all day every day. Having to learn how to fit in with the system, meeting new and unfamiliar people every single day. At least I get to wear a suit just like the good old days, right? Right. My core tasks involved sitting behind a desk all day, making photocopies, answering the telephone and generally doing as the Head of Department told me to...except on the odd occasion that I said "No". Let's recount my favourite episode...
Head of Department - "I want you to get all the kids' choir folders, and make sure that every single one of them has each piece of music."
Me - 'No.'
HoD - "What?"
Me - 'Half of them don't turn up anyway, why not leave it to the kids to be responsible for their own music, because then all the people who actually attend will have the right music, and then those who don't come won't have a folder, so there won't be any wasted copies.'
That little exchange went down like a lead balloon. Anyway. I started working there in January, on the 5th, literally the day after I got back to Cornwall. I basically treated myself like I was invincible, not immortal (as of course I am), and fell foul of it. The strain was immense. Things leveled out though, and I carried on. I was an agent of varying success; while things would have gone much worse without me (as a quick fix stand in), everything that could go wrong on my watch did. Basically! I was asked by the HoD to seriously consider my job, and if I wanted to continue in employment there over the half term. I did, and thought (at the time) that I would merrily wish to continue into the summer term, or Trinity as I still know it. Things were moved in powers above my head, however, that confirmed my empolyment would end once my temporary contract had come to a close, on the 30th of March. The decision had been made by the 9th, and official correspondance signed, which was not posted until the 14th, let alone received until the 16th of the very same month. An annoyance, but nothing more; the contract stated that I could be given a week's notice, so a fortnight was no problem really...Okay, I was less than pleased to have discovered it especially after the long schlep down the hill from School to the Scholary, but that's how it goes.
Another milestone from my time at Truro School was my playing of the Chapel Organ in a concert, called Organ and the Word. I opened with the could-have-been-smoother Croft D major Voluntary, and absolutely oafed it out the park with selections from the Couperin Messe pour les Couvents, witch went down like a storm. YES THE INEGALITE! The Chapel organ is the ex-Jesus College Cambridge Instrument, originally built by Mander, and therefore christened in the same way as my excellent friend Mr. Harry Macey would, as the Mandermonium (a name that went down like a storm again...har har), and was built in 1971, an early Neo-Classical instrument.
Now, I would obviously have much preferred an instrument from 1791...but my experience with the Neo-Classical aesthetic drew me, yea like a moth to a flame. While it may be scaled down immensely from the mighty Collins (which I do miss very much), having a chorus up to a IV Fourniture on the Great was pleasing once again. There was even a tierce for my characteristic Dutch warmth... Although I never took the Pachelbel G minor Fantasia to play sadly! The Collins registrations inside my Pachelbel book reveal an eclectic reed building, with a HW of Trompette 8', Oktave 4', Quint 2 2/3', Superoktave 2' and Tierce 1 3/5', with a RP of Dulzian 16', Gedact 8' and Principal 4' coupled up. Gritty, reedy, earthy and downright nasty, especially in that E flat minor moment, flavoured by the Valotti temperament. Delicious!
However. Now is a time for looking forward. This may prove more difficult in some circumstances than others, but there's time. Time is what we all need every now and again. I need some time to reassess. I need a job, yes, but a 9-5 desk job is somewhat outside of my power. I felt stretched to my absolute limits. The number of days where I didn't want to get out of bed aren't worth talking about, so I shan't bother. I do need money coming in, to fuel the lifestyle I have become acquianted with, to fund travel hither and yon, and to keep getting past this overdraft. Originally, the first letter of the title of this post was a 'D', but I figured that it was better to look forward instead. While I might be cut up right now, I know deep down that I am in a position of many opportunities: emotionally, professionally and financially.
I will never give up, and that maxim reflects on everything - I will certainly never stop trying to improve myself in every way shape and form available.
Watch this space, because with the increased amount of free time I have now I shall certainly be finding time and place to write some more. I have several drafts to finish (or actually start afresh...), and Lord knows I've got a lot to say. I'm just so outspoken.
Things have been really tough recently though, which is why there hasn't been much publicised activity. I lost my job, my relationship broke down... actually that's kind of it. but in all seriousness when those two things happen within weeks of themselves, you can't help but get battered down.
Like before, I'm not here to talk about the hows and wherefores of what happened with my relationship. It isn't right to air it over the net like this, I won't be bothering. Thing is that things changed, and that's how things have to be. I'm still in an emotionally unstable state, I'm not going to lie, but I'm doing all that I can to remain balanced, especially in public. In all honesty though, I loved her with my whole heart, and did everything I could. I'm so pleased and proud of what we had, so many good things came of it. While I might be desperately upset, I'll never forget that, ever. I know that past the pain lies time for cherishing, and so many memories.
Okay, enough already.
And what about this job then? I've been in all but full time employment as the Music Administrator (read as Departmental Undersecretary) at Truro School, a private day and boarding school some 800 pupils strong. It's been far from easy. Upon starting, I fell to a particularly nasty depressive episode, because unsurprisingly, the incredible gear change from being unemployed for basically your entire life to a full time (8:30am til 4pm, 5 days a week) job is a killer. There's no middle ground, and BAM you're on all day every day. Having to learn how to fit in with the system, meeting new and unfamiliar people every single day. At least I get to wear a suit just like the good old days, right? Right. My core tasks involved sitting behind a desk all day, making photocopies, answering the telephone and generally doing as the Head of Department told me to...except on the odd occasion that I said "No". Let's recount my favourite episode...
Head of Department - "I want you to get all the kids' choir folders, and make sure that every single one of them has each piece of music."
Me - 'No.'
HoD - "What?"
Me - 'Half of them don't turn up anyway, why not leave it to the kids to be responsible for their own music, because then all the people who actually attend will have the right music, and then those who don't come won't have a folder, so there won't be any wasted copies.'
That little exchange went down like a lead balloon. Anyway. I started working there in January, on the 5th, literally the day after I got back to Cornwall. I basically treated myself like I was invincible, not immortal (as of course I am), and fell foul of it. The strain was immense. Things leveled out though, and I carried on. I was an agent of varying success; while things would have gone much worse without me (as a quick fix stand in), everything that could go wrong on my watch did. Basically! I was asked by the HoD to seriously consider my job, and if I wanted to continue in employment there over the half term. I did, and thought (at the time) that I would merrily wish to continue into the summer term, or Trinity as I still know it. Things were moved in powers above my head, however, that confirmed my empolyment would end once my temporary contract had come to a close, on the 30th of March. The decision had been made by the 9th, and official correspondance signed, which was not posted until the 14th, let alone received until the 16th of the very same month. An annoyance, but nothing more; the contract stated that I could be given a week's notice, so a fortnight was no problem really...Okay, I was less than pleased to have discovered it especially after the long schlep down the hill from School to the Scholary, but that's how it goes.
Another milestone from my time at Truro School was my playing of the Chapel Organ in a concert, called Organ and the Word. I opened with the could-have-been-smoother Croft D major Voluntary, and absolutely oafed it out the park with selections from the Couperin Messe pour les Couvents, witch went down like a storm. YES THE INEGALITE! The Chapel organ is the ex-Jesus College Cambridge Instrument, originally built by Mander, and therefore christened in the same way as my excellent friend Mr. Harry Macey would, as the Mandermonium (a name that went down like a storm again...har har), and was built in 1971, an early Neo-Classical instrument.
Now, I would obviously have much preferred an instrument from 1791...but my experience with the Neo-Classical aesthetic drew me, yea like a moth to a flame. While it may be scaled down immensely from the mighty Collins (which I do miss very much), having a chorus up to a IV Fourniture on the Great was pleasing once again. There was even a tierce for my characteristic Dutch warmth... Although I never took the Pachelbel G minor Fantasia to play sadly! The Collins registrations inside my Pachelbel book reveal an eclectic reed building, with a HW of Trompette 8', Oktave 4', Quint 2 2/3', Superoktave 2' and Tierce 1 3/5', with a RP of Dulzian 16', Gedact 8' and Principal 4' coupled up. Gritty, reedy, earthy and downright nasty, especially in that E flat minor moment, flavoured by the Valotti temperament. Delicious!
However. Now is a time for looking forward. This may prove more difficult in some circumstances than others, but there's time. Time is what we all need every now and again. I need some time to reassess. I need a job, yes, but a 9-5 desk job is somewhat outside of my power. I felt stretched to my absolute limits. The number of days where I didn't want to get out of bed aren't worth talking about, so I shan't bother. I do need money coming in, to fuel the lifestyle I have become acquianted with, to fund travel hither and yon, and to keep getting past this overdraft. Originally, the first letter of the title of this post was a 'D', but I figured that it was better to look forward instead. While I might be cut up right now, I know deep down that I am in a position of many opportunities: emotionally, professionally and financially.
I will never give up, and that maxim reflects on everything - I will certainly never stop trying to improve myself in every way shape and form available.
Watch this space, because with the increased amount of free time I have now I shall certainly be finding time and place to write some more. I have several drafts to finish (or actually start afresh...), and Lord knows I've got a lot to say. I'm just so outspoken.
Thursday 19 April 2012
Vignette XXVIX
Who remembers when I said this?
'Let it be said, "The
Quality of Mercy is not Strained". Once it becomes a strain, what is
it? Ruined? Or maybe a necessary evil, in and of itself. What truth
is in mercy, what mercy in truth?'
I'm thinking of getting that maxim inscribed upon me. No, not on my jaw like where I learned it from. But anyway. On with the show. It's almost as if history is repeating itself.
I'm...recovering from the unexpected and compeltely shattering end to my relationship. While I saw the signs that it might be ending, I never really thought for a second that it would really happen. I saw a rough patch as just a bit of a bump in the road, not as a prelude to valediction. I'm broken and shattered. Now isn't really the time or place to talk about it. Another expression I've heard for a long time was "Go to bed with a writer, wake up with shit written about you", and I'm not about to perpetrate that. It'd be petty, for starters.
But still, everything is so strained. I feel neither mercy nor closure. I am weak from heartache, from lack of sleep, from lack of food. From just the sheer lack of everything.
I wish I could do something. I wish there was something that I could do that mattered. That could help. That could even repair damage. Some wounds may never heal though. And I'll always feel the same.
The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
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