Monday 21 October 2013

Out of the Deep

To say that I've kept this blog at arm's length for the past month would be an understatement.  

I've been struggling with block since the new choir year started actually, not least because moving out was dreadful, but also the impact of actually being a "grown up" (in the loosest usage of the term to date) is quite... disquieting?  Is that what I mean?  It's new and unfamiliar, like learning to walk again.  The refreshing sensation of being able to leave the Scholary behind outside the east gate is still a novelty, this only being the second month of living away compared to the previous twenty four.  Even though I am yet to fulfill any societal concepts of adult life, I feel much more positive on the whole.  Things have improved, and continue to do so.  

Something that I recently identified that was having an negative effect on my writing is how deeply attached I am to the outcome.  This is not fiction (sadly?), and knowing that friends and acquaintances regularly read sometimes makes me dreadfully nervous.  I never used to be afraid.  Well, not so much.  Years spent trying to keep all the people happy all of the time have wasted what emotional strength I do have, and in fact when I am not able to do so I feel disappointed in my own self.  The monster may no longer stare back out from the mirror, but who is there now?  A sycophant?  Please.  How awful.  Even though I am no stranger to controversy or confrontation, it is almost as if I shy away deliberately these days.  It's like I am trying to project an image that I simply have no right to.  Oh spare me a little, that I may recover my strength before I go hence and be no more seen!  Even after three years, no names and a slew of cultural references, I am still worried that people might find out not just what I think, but also what I feel - almost seeking out mediocrity as a mode of expression to keep all the secrets from everyone.  Including myself.

Of course, the outcome that I fear the most is rejection.  An almost paralysing fear that keeps me from taking any sort of chance you could imagine: financial, professional, dietary... The most mundane things.  The biggest fear of course, is being rejected in a romantic way (sorry this is stilted but I'm trying to search for a better expression).  It's one of the things I try to keep secret from myself, with questionable success rates.  I go through awful psychological loops where I can even feel ashamed sometimes to be attracted to somebody.  Why bother even looking?  What woman would ever look at me?  I am the lowest of the low, but still haven't hit Tyler's "rock bottom".  Of course, long time readers and fans of the Captain will point out that in the past things have worked out, but really they haven't worked out for very long and have shown increasing patterns of (ding ding you guessed it) borderline sycophancy on my part.  Maybe self destruction is the answer!  All the time running in the background is that critical fear of rejection.  Of upsetting the status quo.  It makes me weak, and dreadfully so.  It is as if I have nothing to be proud of.  Boo hoo how sad!  It remains far easier to hide in the shadow of platonic and familial relationships with men than actually admit to one's desires for a woman.  I'm sure I can't be the only human being who feels like that, let alone the only autist.  Sometimes, normal people don't have every thing easy after all, which I am slowly learning. 

Vomit.  How close to the truth we came but swerved away!  I'm sure we'll be back here soon, as once again, it's the biggest problem on my mind.  Even living in a climate of self-imposed austerity isn't actually that much of a problem, and as luck would have it have often found time and place to earn a quick buck to keep the booze rolling in.  Turns out that what could charitably be described as Truro's one and only Dive Bar found so far has just as much place in destroying my liver as does the classy cocktail joint where everyone knows my name.  My domestic arrangement continues to improve, and I'm pleased to say I get on very well with my Landlord!  As much as I would like to live in my own place rather than just a rented room, there have been a few episodes already where having another person to talk to has made all the difference.  Critically, I do not feel lonely even half as much as I have before.  It is like I've finally got chance to sure up the walls of the cracked edifice that I am, which is a true Godsend!  Even though the weather is dreadful, things are looking up, but don't worry!  I'm not going to finish on some sort of blitheringly hopeful note.  It's more the fact that...

...It isn't that bad.


Postscriptum

New schedule coming.  Alongside singing every day, I've taken to transcribing une grande messe d'orgue to fill up my time.  I'm trying to finish it in time for the Chief's birthday, so fingers crossed!  In the meantime, I think I'm finally going to try my hand at a little fiction, and might even publish that epic in Haiku form I've been working on...

Tuesday 1 October 2013

Tabula Rasa

See, the thing about having a block when you're me, is that flashes of inspiration come and go, making their arrival unannounced and often unwelcome, perhaps in the middle of putting a knot in a necktie, or perhaps waiting for tea to brew to the optimum point, or even (most annoyingly), the fine mean-tempering of my Tenor Banjo.

This is not one of those times.

This is one of those times that I think that actually I just need to sit down and actually get something out and published because Jesus Christ I am supposed to be writing a regular blog and did you know I managed to set out at least a thousand words a day in May, and it's been all quiet for a month.  A month!  Terrible.
The short answer is that a hell of a lot has happened, and actually, I don't really know where to pick up.  Where could I even begin?  I've moved house, received promotion, welcomed a new cohort of scholars, installed a harsh yet justified financial regime... But what's really interesting about that?  Obviously a lack of interest in even reviewing my own situation, let alone anything else, is indicative of some kind of... primordial unhappiness, and to be honest, having only moved in a month ago to my new lodgings I'm actually hardly surprised.  Things are still deeply chaotic, and compared to previous moves, much more stressful.  I bloody hate moving, and I will not move from that platform.

However.  Why not try something... New age?  Dip into the pot of pop psychology and focus on the positive HA HA but no, actually things are pretty okay.  Although things are...less than ideal at my new lodging (household animal companion allergy and hit and miss with the hot water), I am very happy with my new domestic lodging.  I am looking to expand the ancient feast of the Thursday night curry, with the help of a small subscription fee and the dining room to bring new levels of culinary excellence and the fellowship of having a good meal together.  Hmm.  What else is good?  The new Scholars!  Yes. 

I am fond of telling people that things are different this year.  All sorts of things taken for granted in former years have fallen away: the frequency of curries, which bars we visit post-evo, even down to the fact that there's no television in The Scholary!  Everything changes, I suppose, even we who hate change.  I am now, as previously stated, a Lay Vicar of the Cathedral Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Truro... but to be perfectly honest spend almost every evening with the Scholars.  Things are different this year, with the Scholars being much younger on the whole, with only one member being incumbent of his post.  We have a new, slightly international flavour to this year, with scholars coming from as far afield as Sweden, Canada and most notably, Oxford. The house has seen some improvement, and while the current denizens are still working out the kitchen, the atmosphere is much clearer generally (which may or may not have something to do with the use of air freshener in the toilet...).  On the whole, voices are quieter than they have been the last two years, but the blend hasn't suffered for it; if anything, the back row's tuning has improved across the board, even if the front row is still raising blood pressures all round.  Of course, my behaviour as a probationer was dreadful as well, and there's no point from shying away from that... But I do remember being clipped round the ear, which is somewhat unfashionable these days.  Or illegal.  I don't know.

I'm looking forward to how this year pans out.  All six of the new scholars, including (or should that be especially?) the Organ Scholar, have their own strengths to bring to the table.  This is my third year in Truro after all, and who even knows where I'll end up (will it be here just like my forebears?), perhaps I'll manage to get back to England one day or just maybe I'll make it across the Atlantic.  If I'm ever going to get anywhere, I really need to address this utterly fatal lack of confidence that I have.  It's almost as if I never quite manage to catch a break and really get everything back together before the next wave comes along or I need to put my social face on and go and do the Lay Vicar thing or even go and work in the Office all day... I dunno.  Finding a balance is difficult.  More difficult than you think.  But... That's my life.

So!  This hasn't been too bad.  Perhaps a month hiatus is what I needed to pass the birth pangs of the new age.  One thing that I did think about as I was buttering toast last week was that I can't really write because I have no idea what I am, or what I'm doing.  Last year I was a Scholar who hung around with the Lay Vicars, and this year I'm a Lay Vicar who hangs around with the Scholars.  Living off a pittance, but this time so I can actually pay off my overdraft and not spend the rest of my life languishing in student debt.  Hopefully, I might find more chance to actually flex my writing muscles.  One of the biggest issues in my life is having to acknowledge my disability, which is something I am taking a huge amount of time to come to terms with.  Even elementary social cues still escape me, after all this time and all this effort I'm sure you could understand how frustrating that could be.  

Back to the grindstone though, as once again I must awake the first Cello Suite and get back to preparing the second for Lent.  I would much rather prepare Banjo recitals than sing, because anybody can go hear some Countertenor hoot through some hit parade of classics... But Bach suites on a Banjo?  You heard it here first, folks.