Do not contact ... or so it seems

Last September, I started taking viola lessons again. I was timid, but was enjoying it immensely - so much so that we talked about me re-entering college and once again pursuing music as a career. Last November, my father died in a car accident and I lost my spirit, my joie de vivre. How could I make music? My soul felt crushed. Naturally, my teacher understood, and lessons ceased.

Several months later, she called. How was I doing? How were my plans progressing for school?

Many things had happened since then, not the least of which was my Christmas present to my partner, Merry. Her entire adult life has been spent at one job or another, never having the means to go to college ... and yet she had been willing to work a menial job to put me through school. On Christmas eve, I told her that it was time for the tables to turn - regardless of whether I got the promotion I had been gunning for (which, incidentally, I did get), it was she who would go to school first.

And so it went - we prepared mentally and emotionally for the momentous change that was about to take place.

.: Fast forward to the phone call :.

How was I doing? Was I excited for school?

I was faced with a decision: do I tell her over the phone, or do I make small talk and schedule a time to meet in person? I plunged ahead - I told her over the phone that my education would once again go on hiatus so that my beloved could go first. I was not eloquent. I stuttered and stammered. I was under pressure - she of all I did not want to let down, but I felt convicted, and remain so, that these new plans feel right in my heart.

Though she offered her congratulations, it sounded strained. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I wish I had told her in person, so I could read her better, and she me. Would things be different if I had?

That conversation in February was the last time we've spoken, though I have made a few attempt at contact since then.

I tell myself she's a busy woman. She has a studio within the college, as well as a thriving one outside of the school.

But I can't help but wonder ...

I feel I've been a problem child. My departure from Academia was not graceful in the least; rather, a hasty exit Stage Left. I know she invested herself emotionally into my education - she's an amazing teacher, very involved - and felt disappointed when I left. When I resurfaced, she seemed beside herself with excitement, as was I.

So it isn't a stretch to imagine she felt disappointed once more when, on the verge of starting lessons again, I told her my news.

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Something to consider, too, is that I am prone to spells of paranoia by times. This could all be in my head, and I fully recognize that. When I think about this, I feel sad, frustrated, but not obsessive.

I have held out the hope that she'll contact me again, but I fear the time of waiting has passed. I am practicing - again, timidly - and if I am ready for lessons, I have another teacher I can contact, one that would be closer to home.

But I miss my professor.

Good grief...

I used to believe everything happens for a reason, across the board. I mean, everything is a learning experience, a new challenge to grow and think outside of the box. And then my dad died. I can't think of a single good thing that has come of it. And yet I still look at situations in my own life and those of others and see learning experiences, things that happen - and had they happened any other way, life would be completely different. That doubled fact, that death has no reason and that everything has a reason, has shattered my faith.

I used to believe in an afterlife, that everything continued on in some sense, whether through reincarnation, being a spirit guide, or by going to a final resting place. But with my shattered faith and broken heart, I cannot see my father as living on in another plane. And yet, I believe in an afterlife.

I don't know how to move forward. I mean, if I believe in an afterlife, shouldn't that be a balm, a reassurance that my father is ok? That things will be ok? That he sees me and loves me and wants the best for me?

I just can't wrap my head around it, and it eats at me when I think about it (which I don't often let myself do, as a coping method I suppose).

I feel lost, lost without my papa.

Sometimes I wonder ...

Have I lost it?

You know, it - bits of my personality that I once cherished, which seem to have fallen by the wayside over the years.

I feel I've lost my ability to look at the events in my life as a third party; one who is able to pinpoint the dramatic irony of it all with an acerbic wit rivaled by none. Lard knows that I've been through hell in a hand basket and I'm feeling a little worse for the wear, a little embittered. Once upon a time, I was at least wry and embittered. I could sit down in front of a monitor and spew my bile to anyone who would listen, but still make it funny. At least to me, and that's what's important. (Isn't it?) It made things bearable. But ... what happen? (Someone set us up the bomb).


I'm petrified to play the viola.

I just read that sentence and nearly changed it to read "... my viola". I stopped myself. Why? I thought it was telling. I've distanced myself from it. I feel far removed from the music that once swelled in my breast, saddened at a time long past. I feel something akin to sexual frustration regarding my instrument. I yearn for it, but feel I have no outlet. I could blame a million things for the fact that I've not been playing it. I shouldn't blame anyone but m'self, but I do. I want to take private lessons again, but haven't been able to reach my professor. I'm tired from my new-ish job. There are so many things to do around the apartment. I'm embarrassed to play in the apartment since the walls are so thin. If I were dedicated, would that deter me? Am I ready for it?

Merry says I should set manageable goals, so that when I reach them, I feel victorious. Rather than saying a general, "I should practice. I really want to practice", say, "I'll practice once this week". When I reach that goal, set another manageable goal.

But still, I'm scared. I don't know what of exactly, but I am. It could be as simple as fear of commitment, or of the unknown. Have you ever been so used to just "getting by" that a break from the mundane is frightening? Mediocrity is easy. It's the aspiration of greatness that scares the shit out of me.

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I think I'm too hard on myself. I just don't give myself the chance to utilize what I view as talents. When I become too busy to explore myself, it is then that I feel emotionally dry. Y'know?

So. Forgive this excessively negative First Post Back. Things are better than I paint them.

the little prince and the fox

It was then that the fox appeared. "good morning" said the fox.

"good morning" the little prince responded politely although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here" the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."

"I am a fox", the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince, "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said, "I am not tamed."

"AH please excuse me," said the little prince. But after some thought, he added: "what does that mean---'tame'?"

"you do not live here," said the fox, "what is it you are looking for?"

"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean---tame?"

"Men,"said the fox, "they have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean---tame?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."

"To establish ties?"

"Just that," said the fox. "to me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world. . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower. . .I think she has tamed me. . ."

"It is possible," said the fox.

"On earth one sees all sorts of things."

"Oh but this is not on the earth!" said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious. "On another planet?"

"Yes"

"Are there hunters on that planet?"

"No"

"Ah that's interesting! Are there chickens?"

"No"

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox. But he came back to his idea. "My life is very monotonous," he said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat. . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time. Please---tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me. . ."

"What must I do, to tame you? asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox. First you will sit down at a little distance from me -like that- in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day..."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If for example, you came at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is ready to greet you. . . One must observe the proper rites. . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "they are what make one day different from other days, one hour different from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they danse with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."


So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near---

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you. . ."

"Yes that is so", said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes that is so" said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added: "go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses. "You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made a friend, and now he is unique in all the world." And the roses were very much embarrassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you --the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is MY rose."


And he went back to meet the fox. "Goodbye" he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose-- "said the little prince so he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose. . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

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po'tree

MaKE . YOuRS . HeRE

cuppa joe

I had to stop at Starbucks on my drive in this morning, because it was getting scary to see how drowsy I was behind the wheel.

Anyway.

Their Mocha tasted worse than the "makeshift mocha" I make at work, out of a packet of hot cocoa mix mixed with coffee that tastes like it's the spawn of a chemical experiment gone horribly wrong. Yes, Starbucks' coffee this morning tasted that bad.

The most painful part? I had to pay three and a half bucks for the damn thing.

numerology and dreams

My best friend, Nykki, wrote an e-mail to me this morning giving me a link to a Numerology website. My Numerology report took me by complete suprize. It said :

YOUR LIFE PATH AS AN 8:
As an essential 8 your primary purpose in this life is to accept power, success and affluence as you apply yourself in service toward a higher good for all. You will most likely learn to reach a position of power or success in this life, but first you must come to accept and recognize your own successes for the good and positiveness that they hold. There may be issues of money, power or control that you will face throughout your life as you learn the lesson of material success. Eventually you will see that your own powers and earning potential are your unique key to achieving the prosperity you need for purchasing tools and acquiring skills for helping others. In your own success is for the good of others and this helps to drive you on toward a new awareness of your true life purpose. Because of any feelings you may have to be in extreme control of others you will eventually come to lead those around you to the same success, but this is not the same as attempting to control those who do not follow your directions or do things the way you do. Remember that all is "as it should be" and that you can lead best by being silent and providing an example for others to follow.

It made us both remember my dreams of teaching viola, performing in symphonies (as a soloist, natch) ... Said Nyyki, "You have the kind of mind that would work well in constructing either musicians or instruments", and I tend to agree.

My response?

Especially after the dreams I've had lately where I felt like flying because I was so happy to be performing, I'd like to see me get back into music again too. I envy my peers who are living off of loans or off of mommy and daddy and don't have to face the things I'm facing or do the things I'm doing. Maybe they just choose to turn a blind eye to reality - but I, I feel weighted down by constant reality, and I long for the days, short lived though they were, where I had few cares or worries. Mind you, I realize I have it relatively easy now, but my goal is to get debt behind me, get savings under me, get travel in me, and then go back to school.

Look at me. I'm happy enough to be dreaming again. And not only that, these dreams could easily become reality, and I'm taking steps to make them so. (insert corny star trek joke here).

Life's not so bad right now. Yes, I feel weighted down by the pressure of coming to a job, day in and day out, that doesn't stimulate me mentally, and yes I feel the pressure that only debt and constant penny-pinching bring, but I'm content with waiting this phase out, weathering through it and learning from the things that are there to teach me - about dependability, budgeting, maintaining (relatively) rosy spirits in the face of extreme monotony and soul-crushing boredom, facing stress with grace, learning to interact well with peers ...

Still, I miss school. I miss the outlet that only pouring one's heart out through a well-prepared performance can bring. I miss it. I miss it.