So! Back to the grind. Excellente.
Indeed, the grind. What sort of life is it where the second thing you do after sorting the first tea of the day is the washing up? I don't know...
Things are no longer drastic, at least. I no longer have any desire to pen and hand in a letter of resignation, but my sleeping pattern has become one I'd describe as 'transatlantic', being a perfect 11pm-8am... 5 hours behind GMT. Yes, I know how irresponsible that it, how unhelpful it is to have completely shifted my sleeping pattern like that, I really can't wait until we get to Sunday and I'll have basically napped for four hours before getting up for Eucharist... When it gets to about 3am it can get a little boring but I'm surprisingly upbeat when I do wake up properly in the afternoon, my usual routine notwithstanding.
But let's talk about something interesting! My lack of sleep will stand for ever and eternity unless I bite the bullet and finally ask the doctor for a scrip of knockout pills, which especially after the chat I had recently about anti-depressants... no no, I'm not going on them either, as I still have on my old methamphetamine attitude... which is a brilliant story, allow me to tell it. And no, I haven't been taking anything illegal. Not even remotely.
For years and years and years and years I used to take medically prescribed amphetamines to treat my hyperactivity. I know, looks ridiculous doesn't it: uppers for hyper children. Somehow it makes a difference. What most people don't know is that amphetamine is also a powerful appetite suppressant, the effect of which was nothing short of a disaster: I have been underweight for years and am only now, some 5 years after stopping taking them that I'm beginning to eat again. Anyway, one particular permutation of this dreadful chemical left me dazed and confused, and hearing voices in my head (THAT DIDN'T BELONG TO ME) all day at school... It was absolutely fucking awful. It wasn't even a heavy dose particularly, but it wasn't right, and oy gevalt was it terrible already. Long story short I got put on a different set of pills entirely and turns out those were okay! Big capsules, but still...okay. I ended up taking myself off them purely upon the advice of an ex-girlfriend and her mother. I know, what sort of idiot does that make me? Ignoring the advice of medical professionals in favour of rebelling against my mother? Completely witless.
I had to take at least one pill twice a day, almost every day for... 11 years? Seriously. Yeah, about 11 years. I hate taking pills, beyond belief. I'm pretty thankful that Paracetamol is a fast working emetic as far as I'm concerned (well, for me personally of course), because it means I get to fight my way through headaches and hangovers chemically unassisted, a process I rather enjoy.
The weekend was moderately thrilling as well, with a gala performance of Thomas Tallis's greatest work, Spem in Alium, known by a number of rude names to Choral Scholars the country over. The forty part motet was sung alongside a concert programmed with music for the Men's choir, the Gentlemen of Truro Cathedral, whom I shall still be joining in September. Russell Pascoe's Missa Brevis was of course the centrepiece that the rest was hung on until Spem, as we're really focusing on commissions this year because the Cathedral and Choir are 125 years old! The Senior Lay Vicar is only 124, after all (LOL). Due to my new body clock, getting up in the morning was bad enough, but I was ready to throw the towel in by the time Evensong started, let alone finished, and then there was all the rehearsal to get through... But it was really good! I really enjoyed having an evening of just Men's voices music with the full team, which is something we lack every day. The Scholars also performed as a group, with some crowd pleasing classics, The Bare Necessities, a six-part Steal Away, a solid SATB arrangement of Let's Do It that we've flipped so it's Barbershop style with the tune in the centre, and finishing with Blue Moon, and arrangement reminiscent of the 'Gents of Johns', the A Cappella group formed of the Choral Scholars of The Choir of the Chapel of the College of St. John, Cambridge University. While the skill and technique of such a group, much like 'The King's Men', The King's College equivalent and of course the ubiquitous 'King's Singers'... You know I just don't like it that much. I'm a Barbershop kinda guy, that super tight four part harmony, and those ridiculous hanger tags... That's the good stuff!
Then of course the second part of the concert was made up entirely of Spem in Alium. Now this is no small undertaking, with eight choirs of equal voices, no consecutive octaves or fifths in the whole damn thing... Actually a work of genius when you get down to it. I worked from a 40 part score in A4 because I'm that arse. Yes, somebody had to do it, but to be perfectly honest I think it worked much better than having a partbook for saying I spent so little looking at it. I only listened to it once before the first rehearsal and I was pretty much sight-singing at that.
As ever, my weekend-centric, unemployed existence continues unabated. I have a new haircut, a new coat, but the same worries. It's almost time to get back in season down here though, so jobs are being advertised left right and centre, so I'm going to update my CV (SEE MOTHER) and get my best "I'm a great candidate for this job!" face on and sound out the current opportunities available. I'm even going to see if I can actually make a job appear with my own two hands, quite literally as well.
The title of this week's post, is of course a shout out to almost every conversation I have with G, where we remedy any problems we have primarily with pictures of Cats from the internet. I'm definitely going to own a cat, allergies be damned, I shall name it Absolom so at least I'll be happy one day!
Thursday 28 February 2013
Tuesday 26 February 2013
Vignette XXXIV
Oh Yes!
I gave it to you to keep
safe for me. Safe for when
I came back to visit everyone, the grand return.
I remember when you sent it before I came back.
It seemed like the perfect reason at the time, but alas...
I shouldn't have really, at least after that time it was returned.
I didn't even have chance to get anywhere near it last time.
Can you imagine how terrible that would have been?
Truthfully... Yes, I think that it's yours now.
Don't even try to tell me off, silly.
Don't even try to tell me off, silly.
Maybe I should keep it?
But you can have it.
Just a little
part of
Me.
Monday 18 February 2013
"Dereliction of Duty"
So... Sorry about the drop in the schedule last week. To be perfectly honest I was too depressed to write about anything other than being depressed and really... we've all had enough of that. The sporadic posting behaviour I fell into over the past summer is really all we need to remember about that little chestnut. Even thinking about it is making me less and less inclined to keep writing. OY VEY.
A week previous, I had survived the Three Spires Charity Ball at the Headland Hotel, Newquay. I feel like I'm still tired from only having got back to Truro at 5:30am, and having to sing Zoltan Kodaly's from 9am that particular Sunday morning. There was also a lot of Gin. A huge amount of Gin that I put inside my body. And then the mud fountain that we made by pushing a car out of the filthy ground. To be completely honest, it was still a fun night, with the singing and the fabulous venue and the delicious meal and the conversations I remember with a lady called Wendy about bread makers... Being still actually drunk and in fact, late for rehearsal (because I got up at 8:59 and managed to forget my robe was hanging on the back of my room door) left me feeling horrifically embarrassed and definitely like I let the side down. Turns out I didn't actually do half as badly as I thought, I mean, I could have sacked it off and then lied about feeling ill now THAT would have been letting everyone down but you know I just don't do that sort of thing. Subsequently working through one of the worst Gin hangovers ever led to an host of advice, from the usual take aspirin...(or was it paracetamol?) to laying in a steaming bath of salt all afternoon. I will be trying the bath...probably tomorrow, in all seriousness. The ultimate mid-term afternoon treat, right? My clothes have come back from the dry cleaners spick and span, in which having a hand made dinner suit makes all the difference.
Ah yes, we're now in half term, to use the more familiar term. This is the famed 'halfway point of the year' (so sayeth the boss), with the comparatively slow journey through Lent, before the freefall to the end that is Trinity. Recently, as I said at the top, I've been feeling pretty down. I've gone a little off message, and really doubted what I'm doing here. I don't have the greatest self-esteem in the world even at the the best and most high-functioning of days: I am more likely to question myself and my own motives before anybody else...and I know that I am far and away in the minority in doing so. I look to myself and usually end up with more questions and doubts, and send myself into a vicious circle. Fun times! Yeah.
Funnily enough, last Thursday (the 14th no less), I woke up and remembered that I was in actual fact a human being (it's not often that I do that, so mark it down guys). I don't even know why or how, but I did and I am doing pretty well so far okay you guys! My sleep pattern is still shifted from last Saturday, especially after having gone clubbing to the local, uh, club venue for the last three nights in a row. I like to think I can still cane it with the best of them, what with my ultimate remedy of literally two pints of tea and a hot shower... I tell you what though, I am never going out until three in the morning on a work night (that's a Saturday, folks!) again. Okay, give me like three or four weeks to break that but seriously. While I finally seem to have found my clubbing legs (as it were), it's still deeply expensive, massively tiring and ultimately, a waste of good sleeping/practice/cleaning time. YES I SAID CLEANING TIME. I am rapidly moving towards finding less ironic and more genuine joy in cleaning up. Obviously I'm one step closer to becoming a homeowner, and several steps closer towards insanity.
Right now though, things are calm. The house is quiet, with only two of us here, and I feel pretty relaxed overall. Sat here writing into the early hours after a pretty up and down week seems so much easier having talked out the major issues with my furthest but still dearest. The future's still terrifying and doing nothing but getting closer. Trying to find employment is...difficult, and for one primary reason: I have no confidence. I've added a page to this very site, you'll find it right there at the side, where I'm forcing myself to talk about...myself! I find it a real test, because everything I do is... what I do. So what I've sang here, done that solo, met this artiste... I don't really see any great glory in it because that's what I do, it's my daily bread and I don't really believe in shouting it from the rooftops (or, more accurately putting it on my CV or similar)... but actually maybe it's time I considered the alternative. I'll add to the page (which will become the ultimate jumped-up autobiography) as and when I can/see fit. I'll be looking forward to a quiet week, where I can support local business and get back to some practice. I will also be detoxing the tiniest bit. Reprioritising, and of course... Making a difference.
I am becoming more aware of my differences, and indeed the other Scholars. Our career paths are moving in different directions, and as I often return to, perhaps that makes more difference than I am aware of consciously. But then again, variety (or indeed, viarety) is the spice of life; it'd sure be dull any other way...
A week previous, I had survived the Three Spires Charity Ball at the Headland Hotel, Newquay. I feel like I'm still tired from only having got back to Truro at 5:30am, and having to sing Zoltan Kodaly's from 9am that particular Sunday morning. There was also a lot of Gin. A huge amount of Gin that I put inside my body. And then the mud fountain that we made by pushing a car out of the filthy ground. To be completely honest, it was still a fun night, with the singing and the fabulous venue and the delicious meal and the conversations I remember with a lady called Wendy about bread makers... Being still actually drunk and in fact, late for rehearsal (because I got up at 8:59 and managed to forget my robe was hanging on the back of my room door) left me feeling horrifically embarrassed and definitely like I let the side down. Turns out I didn't actually do half as badly as I thought, I mean, I could have sacked it off and then lied about feeling ill now THAT would have been letting everyone down but you know I just don't do that sort of thing. Subsequently working through one of the worst Gin hangovers ever led to an host of advice, from the usual take aspirin...(or was it paracetamol?) to laying in a steaming bath of salt all afternoon. I will be trying the bath...probably tomorrow, in all seriousness. The ultimate mid-term afternoon treat, right? My clothes have come back from the dry cleaners spick and span, in which having a hand made dinner suit makes all the difference.
Ah yes, we're now in half term, to use the more familiar term. This is the famed 'halfway point of the year' (so sayeth the boss), with the comparatively slow journey through Lent, before the freefall to the end that is Trinity. Recently, as I said at the top, I've been feeling pretty down. I've gone a little off message, and really doubted what I'm doing here. I don't have the greatest self-esteem in the world even at the the best and most high-functioning of days: I am more likely to question myself and my own motives before anybody else...and I know that I am far and away in the minority in doing so. I look to myself and usually end up with more questions and doubts, and send myself into a vicious circle. Fun times! Yeah.
Funnily enough, last Thursday (the 14th no less), I woke up and remembered that I was in actual fact a human being (it's not often that I do that, so mark it down guys). I don't even know why or how, but I did and I am doing pretty well so far okay you guys! My sleep pattern is still shifted from last Saturday, especially after having gone clubbing to the local, uh, club venue for the last three nights in a row. I like to think I can still cane it with the best of them, what with my ultimate remedy of literally two pints of tea and a hot shower... I tell you what though, I am never going out until three in the morning on a work night (that's a Saturday, folks!) again. Okay, give me like three or four weeks to break that but seriously. While I finally seem to have found my clubbing legs (as it were), it's still deeply expensive, massively tiring and ultimately, a waste of good sleeping/practice/cleaning time. YES I SAID CLEANING TIME. I am rapidly moving towards finding less ironic and more genuine joy in cleaning up. Obviously I'm one step closer to becoming a homeowner, and several steps closer towards insanity.
Right now though, things are calm. The house is quiet, with only two of us here, and I feel pretty relaxed overall. Sat here writing into the early hours after a pretty up and down week seems so much easier having talked out the major issues with my furthest but still dearest. The future's still terrifying and doing nothing but getting closer. Trying to find employment is...difficult, and for one primary reason: I have no confidence. I've added a page to this very site, you'll find it right there at the side, where I'm forcing myself to talk about...myself! I find it a real test, because everything I do is... what I do. So what I've sang here, done that solo, met this artiste... I don't really see any great glory in it because that's what I do, it's my daily bread and I don't really believe in shouting it from the rooftops (or, more accurately putting it on my CV or similar)... but actually maybe it's time I considered the alternative. I'll add to the page (which will become the ultimate jumped-up autobiography) as and when I can/see fit. I'll be looking forward to a quiet week, where I can support local business and get back to some practice. I will also be detoxing the tiniest bit. Reprioritising, and of course... Making a difference.
I am becoming more aware of my differences, and indeed the other Scholars. Our career paths are moving in different directions, and as I often return to, perhaps that makes more difference than I am aware of consciously. But then again, variety (or indeed, viarety) is the spice of life; it'd sure be dull any other way...
Tuesday 5 February 2013
"Constitutionally incapable."
Another week rolls on round, start and finish all in one. I tell you what, watching my statistics has been very interesting; my American readership seems to have skyrocketed, as has the audience in Taiwan? I can't exactly do anything about it, even if I'd want to... It's just very curious!
I've received a few personal responses from my last post, all of them complimentary! What a winner I'm onto here, eh? Thinking back, I'm not even sure what made it such a success, but I guess the new pattern will tell. This week's been...slightly different. I managed to survive an extremely extended panic attack which peaked on Tuesday, I guess it lasted for about three days. The only time I do episodes really are upon meeting my number one phobia head on and having my blood taken (these are two totally different things, I hate both but I'm not scared of blood weird huh).
So I'm writing this totally in the grip of possible insomnia and definite body clock shifting, vaguely considering what I have to do when the sun shines upon Monday in old Truro town. Squinting dimly around the room offers no clues, except for the Banjo hanging on the wall: I'll be playing in the Rotary club's Victorian Evening, fusing historical facial hair with an anachronistic instrument (the Tenor wasn't standardised until the early 1920's) and the repertoire of the solo baroque Violoncello. WHATEVER. It gives me an excuse to roll out the barrel once more dear friends, and god damn it do I really love that Banjo sound. The strings are a bit worn, but we're coming up to the annual clean down and restring date anyway, even if it is after tomorrow...
In between panicking and avoiding dairy products... Oh yeah. I'm suddenly lactose intolerant. Like, violently. I'll leave it at that, but identifying potential sources of illness in my diet has composed a surprisingly large percentage of this week's mental activity (the physical partner was of course, avoiding such produce). I went to the Doctor to just check it with him that I was allowed to be sick after cheese, to which I was told I'd need to get a new set of bloods done juuuuuust to be sure. You can forget that chummy! I can quite happily spend the rest of my life avoiding cooked dairy produce (although I'm even beginning to suspect that my milk is plotting against me...) without having to go for another set of panic-inducing blood tests! But where was I? Oh yes! In between panicking and avoiding dairy products, I have started to feel the squeeze of a lack of financial resources.
Of course I'm moaning about not having any money, but it is really my fault and nobody else's. I went out and spent it all, so it's my fault! Finally, a mature attitude to money! HA HA. I did my week's shopping spend and then paid my phone bill within days, which basically took a hundred pounds from me straightaway. The rest, as usual, has gone on going out. Almost every weekend since coming back from the magical island kingdom of Derbados I've been out til all hours (even on a Saturday, foolishly enough), pushing myself socially and alcoholically to almost breaking point, and somehow coming out of it alive. Alone, perhaps, but alive. Don't worry folks, I've gone back to the good old days of being unable to pull in clubs (after the brief flowering in the LCR, late 2011), or indeed unable to get anything approaching a date at all. Funnily enough, I have been trying as well.
Obviously I don't understand this whole romance game - I proved that over the past twelve months really, going through two relationships that struggled over the 12 week mark. If this were still at university, a semester's worth of dating would be a legit turning point, I suppose. Three months is actually a long time, especially when the days tend to stretch on forever and ever and ev... Sorry.
Last term, I was in a funk and didn't know what I wanted; it wasn't until Christmas that my head really leveled out and I felt that I was in a position that I could be sincere with not only others but myself. I like to know what's going off.
Finally, I led a workshop with an after school group as part of the Cathedral Choir's outreach programme this term. This really did fill me with dread, especially after finding myself frightened to leave my room in case I saw anybody else at one point on Tuesday. Turns out that I made the right choice leading this hour, as it was actually quite life-affirming: a necessary boost for my dreadfully low self-esteem. Having no formal training in planning a rehearsal, warm-ups for young voices, leading choirs or other handy tools, I was justifiably nervous to begin with. I also refuse to demonstrate anything not in falsetto, because God Damn it that's who I am and there's no way I ever want that to be muted.
Things seem to be leveling out into one permanently cental-heated, washing-up centric way of being. After last night's Victorinian evening and the short sojourn to the Rising Sun, I'm not sure if anything exciting lies ahead of me. Life can't be all go all of the time, I suppose, but a week is a long time after all and a lot can change!
I've received a few personal responses from my last post, all of them complimentary! What a winner I'm onto here, eh? Thinking back, I'm not even sure what made it such a success, but I guess the new pattern will tell. This week's been...slightly different. I managed to survive an extremely extended panic attack which peaked on Tuesday, I guess it lasted for about three days. The only time I do episodes really are upon meeting my number one phobia head on and having my blood taken (these are two totally different things, I hate both but I'm not scared of blood weird huh).
So I'm writing this totally in the grip of possible insomnia and definite body clock shifting, vaguely considering what I have to do when the sun shines upon Monday in old Truro town. Squinting dimly around the room offers no clues, except for the Banjo hanging on the wall: I'll be playing in the Rotary club's Victorian Evening, fusing historical facial hair with an anachronistic instrument (the Tenor wasn't standardised until the early 1920's) and the repertoire of the solo baroque Violoncello. WHATEVER. It gives me an excuse to roll out the barrel once more dear friends, and god damn it do I really love that Banjo sound. The strings are a bit worn, but we're coming up to the annual clean down and restring date anyway, even if it is after tomorrow...
In between panicking and avoiding dairy products... Oh yeah. I'm suddenly lactose intolerant. Like, violently. I'll leave it at that, but identifying potential sources of illness in my diet has composed a surprisingly large percentage of this week's mental activity (the physical partner was of course, avoiding such produce). I went to the Doctor to just check it with him that I was allowed to be sick after cheese, to which I was told I'd need to get a new set of bloods done juuuuuust to be sure. You can forget that chummy! I can quite happily spend the rest of my life avoiding cooked dairy produce (although I'm even beginning to suspect that my milk is plotting against me...) without having to go for another set of panic-inducing blood tests! But where was I? Oh yes! In between panicking and avoiding dairy products, I have started to feel the squeeze of a lack of financial resources.
Of course I'm moaning about not having any money, but it is really my fault and nobody else's. I went out and spent it all, so it's my fault! Finally, a mature attitude to money! HA HA. I did my week's shopping spend and then paid my phone bill within days, which basically took a hundred pounds from me straightaway. The rest, as usual, has gone on going out. Almost every weekend since coming back from the magical island kingdom of Derbados I've been out til all hours (even on a Saturday, foolishly enough), pushing myself socially and alcoholically to almost breaking point, and somehow coming out of it alive. Alone, perhaps, but alive. Don't worry folks, I've gone back to the good old days of being unable to pull in clubs (after the brief flowering in the LCR, late 2011), or indeed unable to get anything approaching a date at all. Funnily enough, I have been trying as well.
Obviously I don't understand this whole romance game - I proved that over the past twelve months really, going through two relationships that struggled over the 12 week mark. If this were still at university, a semester's worth of dating would be a legit turning point, I suppose. Three months is actually a long time, especially when the days tend to stretch on forever and ever and ev... Sorry.
Last term, I was in a funk and didn't know what I wanted; it wasn't until Christmas that my head really leveled out and I felt that I was in a position that I could be sincere with not only others but myself. I like to know what's going off.
Finally, I led a workshop with an after school group as part of the Cathedral Choir's outreach programme this term. This really did fill me with dread, especially after finding myself frightened to leave my room in case I saw anybody else at one point on Tuesday. Turns out that I made the right choice leading this hour, as it was actually quite life-affirming: a necessary boost for my dreadfully low self-esteem. Having no formal training in planning a rehearsal, warm-ups for young voices, leading choirs or other handy tools, I was justifiably nervous to begin with. I also refuse to demonstrate anything not in falsetto, because God Damn it that's who I am and there's no way I ever want that to be muted.
Haitus
Things seem to be leveling out into one permanently cental-heated, washing-up centric way of being. After last night's Victorinian evening and the short sojourn to the Rising Sun, I'm not sure if anything exciting lies ahead of me. Life can't be all go all of the time, I suppose, but a week is a long time after all and a lot can change!
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