September 28, 2015

Crashed into bed last night at 9, having already fallen asleep on the couch twice. I need to put a limit on the number and intensity of things I do in a day. Left rehearsal early, the arthritis in my shoulder and upset in my stomach having become unbearable. I thought, “You’re singing. For a stupid concert. There’s nothing in the contract which requires you to be in physical agony.” The man next to me sounded sensational, so my old, vain worry that the basses would be lost without me seemed yet vainer. Went home, took the aspirin, lay down, essentially never got up again. Feel great this AM. Ran 1.25 miles on the elliptical, before dawn, studying my lines.
   
The Bs’ reception went well. All the baked goods, even the experiments, seemed to work, and I’ll blame over-preparation rather than taste for the fact that dozens were left over. The congregation may be eating them after church for the next six weeks. There were probably enough pieces for every person at the event to have ten. The event itself was remarkable– who knew there would be such richness in the repertory for trumpet and organ? Interesting music, layered and contemplative. J sang some of my Baroque favorites. I was happy just sitting and listening. Take-away: sit and listen more.
   
Preparing the manuscript for Austin Macauley. Ocean of typos. I make new ones correcting the old. I’m sometimes a better writer than I remember myself being.
   
Giving up my fight in the Humanities. Not giving up the principle, exactly, but noting that the front has moved, and there I stand alone in an empty field. I was right a year ago. Now– not so much.
   
Glowering sky. I inquired of the garden and it is finally satisfied with regard to the rain, though there still is a way to go before there is too much.