1. I am veryvery tired. I fell asleep on the couch.
2. I am veryvery tired of the internet. I can’t control things on the internet
3. I am veryvery unprepared for my show tomorrow
4. I am veryveryvery much more paranoid now than I have ever been.
5. I go from heights of joy and happiness and peace and a feeling of safety to knowing that I am not safe at all and that I definitely counted the chickens before they were hatched.

Nothing is secure and I can’t count on anything. I have to watch myself at all times. I’m tired and sleepy and achy and scared. I don’t have a set-list. This is the main problem. The frickkin set list.

I’d been in the chat last evening and then I practiced piano for a while. It was a wonderful chat, we were all funny and I’d been back and forth with some people about some neat stuff. My practice, after that, started to NOT suck, which was distinct from this morning. I started actually learning to play my tunes and do it intuitively, not needing parts or plans. And I started loosening up on the fingerings for the fugue. The left hand of the polonaise was even starting to trickle in. I smiled a lot. Things were starting to go in.

I went to pick up Mike when he called back, I’d apologized for leaving my phone downstairs and off during upstairs computer time chatting/doing pianos. I’m planning three new recordings so I’m making another piano and actually trying for a wurly-vibe-xylo-thing hybrid. While we came home I told him some about what had happened that evening. I said:

“I’m free.”

I smiled.

He knew EXACTLY what I was talking about. Because we had both been trapped. A lot. For YEARS. The one I was talking about was professional. It was personal. It was a looking over my shoulder. It was a haunting. And for some reason I just relaxed the last muscles of it tonight. It was like a letting go. I felt the last bonds of the old attachment to 2006 and its horrors leave me.

I could write about it.

I want to feel safe in this. I know I let go because I felt safe. It’s a bit like the votes in the contest? Were they really mine? The incessant need I felt between rounds 2 and 3 to prove they were my own shiny votes. The long week of stressing and perfectionism and how damn competitive I get about all that just with myself. I kept asking this … maybe it’s a male/female thing. Maybe the male/female thing exists inside of me. Maybe this is all just some kind of mental exercise of some sort. I know I raked it in at the end.

How much piano do I really need to play tomorrow? Why didn’t Mike like my idea? Why didn’t I ask about my setlist idea yesterday? Did I chicken out about it because Mike made a face in the afternoon when I talked about it, so I didn’t ask any of my colleagues, even in PMs?

Why am I super afraid?

And why, at ANY second now, I am right on the edge of just RUNNING away from it all to the next thing as if I was NEVER there?


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