May 13, 2023

Croaking like a frog after last night’s long and grueling rehearsal. Pollen and overuse attack my throat at the same time. Trying to figure out why so much effort is expended selling a mediocre composition. The Beach Mass is not a great lost masterpiece, but a formulaic, uninspired (though learned) exercise that has had precisely the renown it deserved. My mind keeps going back to Germaine Greer, who, in The Obstacle Race, set herself the task of discovering great unknown Baroque paintresses (her word) and concluded there were none, that female artists of the time, though disadvantaged in several ways, were known and celebrated because of their novelty, often out of proportion to their achievement. All the ones that were are already known and evaluated. 

Evening: morning rehearsal was less grueling than the one last night. My body was in broad and severe pain, which I tried to hide from the people around me. A couple of Advil sent all that on its way. Why don’t I remember that? Exhaustion=Inflammation. 

Looking at photos of my cats, weeping bitterly. I always felt grief at their passing, but loneliness was never before part of it. There will be no more sweethearts. An evening, I see now, given over to melancholy. It must happen from time to time.