Tuesday, February 25, 2014

more little things

I have not yet turned into a 14-year-old girl, though it might be said that I have the figure of a 14-year-old boy. Depression affects people in different ways, and I have little interest in food unless my blood sugar is low.

Yesterday I made a point of using vibrato all the damn time, but it just sounded silly and affected to me. At Sunday's lesson I botched the Telemann so badly that my teacher pretty much gave it the thumbs-down as a recital piece, and assigned an atrocious cutesy baby piece instead. But, he said, give the Telemann one more week before we throw it in the trash and deem it impossible. So last night I tried working on it, but I'm afraid it's ruined for me, for now anyway - I kept remembering how badly I played it in the lesson, when I would add more mistakes while trying to fix mistakes. At one point (in the lesson) I had managed to turn one mistake into 3 or 4, and as I was struggling with all of those my teacher remarked "can't you put any curve at all into that thumb?" And I just thought, "no, no I can't put any curve at all into that thumb when there are a million other things going wrong." Anyway, all this replayed in my head last night as I was trying to save the Telemann from the trash can (or the top shelf, if you want to look at it that way).

Someone jumped off the skyway yesterday, and the newspaper reported it. Why? It just provides an opportunity for people to talk, to make bad jokes or comments about stuff they know nothing about. When people jump off the skyway, I am always reminded of my greatest friend Mike O'Neill, who jumped off the skyway almost 8 years ago. He was sick, he was manic-depressive, he thought he knew what life held in store for him and he didn't like what he saw. Actually, it's not just when people jump off the skyway that I am reminded of this. I think about it every day.

Only mid-morning, but I can tell it's going to be a long, long day...running did seem to help, though it stopped helping after I stopped running. Since I am not running competitively anymore, the only real reason I run is to avoid the early death that my father had (fatal heart attack at 51). So running for me is no longer about goals or achievements, no better/faster/stronger or you-don't-measure-up/you're-a-failure. It's just running, just pushing myself until the exertion takes up all the available consciousness and there is no room for the big bad stuff, for a little while. I never thought I could enjoy running at all without there being some kind of goal-oriented aspect to it.

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