December 20, 2013

Though I personally stumbled more than once, Cantaria and our guests from Greenville sang beautifully last night to an absolutely packed-to-the-rafters house. Paul said my contra-bass in the Tchesnakov was “seamless” and “perfect tone.”  It is his ear one wishes to please. Interesting moment when I was dressing and put on my new tuxedo for the first time, and discovered that though the pants were marked with the right waist size, the actual cut was about four inches too small. Thank God for a random pair of black pants. I do remember picking up the tux–after extensive fitting a few weeks before– and, being asked if I wanted to try it on, saying, “Oh, I’m sure it will be all right.” Anything to cut out a step. One comes up against one’s faults from time to time massed and concentrated. One problematic aspect of my character is that I’m sometimes finished with a process before it decides it’s finished. I refused to revise my dissertation the “one last time” Dr Sutton called for. Thank God the rest of my committee were behind me on that.  If Karen and Cameron were not prodding from their separate corners, I’d refuse the process involved with buying a new house. I neglect to try on clothes, sure that it will be all right. The possibility of bending the process to my urgency now is worth to me the possibility of mishap further down the road. I never once in my life have said, “I wish I’d had more time for that.” I descend into rage at the extenuation of publication, of production, seeing where it will end and having no patience with the road that gets me there. Usually this results in unthinking depression that sends me to bed after a storm of rage. Sometimes I am able to think, “you’re an impatient brat.” I consider the world and myself as equal partners, that things should manifest somewhere in the middle of my tempestuous need and its glacial disregard. It’s only fair, right? It doesn’t work that way. Even as I write words of resignation, I feel my mind seeking for a new strategy, a new approach to circumvent the process and arrive at the goal even one second faster. I tell God horrible things in order to make Him hurry. I want the things I want more than I want peace, so there is not much calm in the forecast.

Stan working at Avenue M, telling me about his wife after Mickey. He is older than his new wife’s father. I’d brag too.

Later: OK, so the tuxedo pants have adjusting buckles on either side and fit perfectly well. In my rage I didn't even see them. Calm down. . .  take a deep breath . . . .