Sunday, May 7, 2017

this strange and mournful day.

Today is the birthday of my dearest friend ever, the one who jumped off a bridge in 2006. He would have been 52 years old. I think about him every day.

Today France voted for the non-fascist Macron and against the fascists Le Pen. Some hope, finally, this year.

Today marks a just-about-a-week since my dearest (living) friend's husband died. There will be a memorial service on Friday. I hate memorial services with multimedia slideshows meant to commemorate the dead. To me, these presentations seem as manipulative as tv commercials, and what's worse, they are public. The slides summon memories, but you don't get to savor them at your own pace. You're at the mercy of the showrunner, the curator of grief, and if you're not careful, you're liable to find yourself bawling in a room full of acquaintances. I wish I felt differently about this.

Today I had a good music lesson with the teacher who comes to my house. He liked the etude I picked (from Palaschko Op.55) and made some suggestions that a) were really good and b) were within my reach. I really needed a lesson like that.

Later today I worked on some stuff for my other lesson tomorrow. That teacher has me in a children's etude book which - I discovered to my great dismay - is too hard for me. I spent part of the evening on this stupid maddening Frere Jacques derivative, and the rest of the evening wondering what the fuck I've been doing for the past eight years, how ridiculous I must have looked, how that teacher must be laughing at me. Or cringing. He lowers the bar; I sink to that level, or just below it. I dread tomorrow's lesson because I'm afraid I will lose my shit.

Today I received an email out of the blue from someone I never knew well but who developed a big dislike for me around 25 years ago when we were young. The email was basically an acknowledgement and an apology, and it came as a big surprise, really the least-expected thing I can think of.

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