To talk of many things.
I love the creative process. I love it so much that I’d marry it it if I could. But sometimes you have to sit back and take things in before you can contribute to the conversation in a way that doesn’t make someone want to serve you a nice, steaming cup of shut-the-fuck-up. Which is why I’m going to forgive myself for my five-month absence from blogging.
In five months, I’ve managed to DO some shit. I went to Mexico for a week and drank my body weight in mojitos and margaritas. I reconnected with a long-lost friend who called me her “divine intervention” because she decided to follow suit, quit her job teaching music in public schools, and go independent like I did. I directed yet another musical, and for reasons I have yet to fathom I may have committed myself to another show to take place in February. I completed my first arts management class and realized how awfully I’ve fucked some things up in the past that I hope never to do again now that I know the right and legal way to do them. I also napped a lot and spent an undisclosed amount of money on old-people purchases like mulch and perennials. So my yard looks awesome (or rather looked, before the 110 degree heat indices hit) and I’m magnificently well-rested. Like, Sleeping Beauty-level, but without the luscious golden locks, as my hair tends to dry out and lay lifeless near the end of each summer.
I’ve also not done a lot of things recently. I did not get through the summer without getting through the cold to end all colds. Only I would get sick in July. There were unspeakable things leaking out of my eyes. This happened on July 4th, our nation’s birthday, which happened to fall on a Saturday, and I happened to be out of town. Yep. It wouldn’t be vacation if someone in the Anderson household weren’t getting raging sick and desperately googling backwoods urgent care centers with weekend and holiday hours. I got two shots in my ass and was 75% better in 24 hours, but lost a good week of my summer to the chilly-shakes and fever dreams (the kind that do not end well or really seem to end at all).
I said I would write a song cycle this summer, and that didn’t get totally done. I did notate a lead sheet to two new pieces, but they need a lot more work. Strangely, though, I feel more ready to dive into that now than I did eight weeks ago, and sense that project will come to fruition when I’m not napping, gardening, or yelling at teenagers (and, lezzbehonest, some adults) for four hours a day to enunciate like you mean it and for god’s sake, we’re cutting measures 160-168!
I also didn’t teach one private lesson for almost 12 weeks. Do I miss being productive in this way? Am I ready for school (and thus, the studio) to start back up again in two weeks? Sure. Am I crying myself to sleep at night because I just couldn’t stand to be away from work for so long? Eh…not really. The nice thing is, I still got paid because I’m savvy and know how to salary myself through extended breaks. That’s balance.
So now, it’s time to say things again.
Oh believe me, much will be said.
And just like that, she was back.