This isn't strictly about singing, but it is about me, and I really need an outlet right now. As I no longer have the pseudonymous blog, this is it. So now to keep it honest yet discreet.
For someone who is - OK I will say it - basically narcissistic and diva-esque, I am not sure sometimes how I ended up where I ended up. I never wanted to save the world or rescue people. One exercise in The Artists Way asked you to list five imaginary lives/professions you could see yourself in and not a single "helping profession" was on my list. I am not a compulsive caregiver. (When I was in that dismal LGBT caregiver group a number of the members referred to themselves as having a caregiving addiction, something I had zero identification with.)
I do have a strong sense of ethics and feelings of compassion for the people who are in my life. Well, the person who is in my life. I haven't noticed myself jumping to help people in my broader circle, mostly because I feel like a rubber band stretched to capacity.
Although we never legally married, my partner and I did have a commitment ceremony complete with vows, and although in the physical sense when I got too lonely I chose to ignore the one about "foresaking all others" I believe that it is my duty to honor the rest: to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, 'til death do us part. And I will not waver.
But when you add up limited funds, limited time, a livelihood spent at home at a laptop editing articles many of which are about people dying of cancer, much time with significant other spent at her home, doing chores, and making plans around her various health challenges it can be very wearing.
I don't know why (maybe it was my upbringing?) but everyone I know is what I would call "terminally serious". No matter what my mother talked about, it always felt like listening to the New York Times Op Ed page. She could take almost any potentially juicy topic and wring the lust and laughter out of it by turning it into a polemic.
Then, Heaven help us, because as a young adult I decided I was attracted to women, I got dragged kicking and screaming into The Women's Movement, which was really just a suffocating multiplication of my mother haranguing at me not to buy cosmetics.
Most of the friends I have now want to talk about politics, their health, or their money problems.
Where has all the laughter gone?
Yes, I have political opinions but I rarely talk about them, unless I start to get scared that my senior entitlement programs are going to be taken away. I don't define myself by them. Many of my friends, particularly from other parts of the country, define themselves as liberals in a sea of conservatives (their families and childhood acquaintances? neighbors?) whereas I have always defined myself as a bimbo in a sea of intellectuals.
So why now.
I have known for a while that my partner was having cataract surgery on the 20th, but it was only today that she found out that this means she can't bend over to tie her shoes for 10 days. She often stays in the house for that many days, and I always go over on Friday night and do chores for her on Saturdays, but this means that not one but two weekends, the second one being my birthday, will be taken up either with waiting on her, or staying in the house with her. She will not expect me to be there during the week. That is my work week. But still. Is it childish to care about my birthday? For a long time I thought birthdays were primarily for children. Mine is in July and I remember being reprimanded by a camp counselor (I was 9) for, in response to her asking me what my favorite day was all summer, saying it was my birthday. But then suddenly in the "greed is good" 80s I would hear many of my coworkers rhapsodize about the expensive jewelry they got from significant others. Jewelry (unless it was arty costume jewelry or something ethnic) was totally frowned on in the circles in which I moved even if someone could afford it. In all fairness, during that brief period when my partner was working she did buy me a few pieces of jewelry, but those days are long gone. I am lucky to get an inexpensive lunch and a discounted theater ticket (we are going to see "Mary Poppins" as a joint birthday present, sitting in discounted seats for the disabled).
What are all these young people giggling about in all these pictures on Facebook? One of the nicer readers of my pseudonymous blog said I probably was envious of people having a good time, which is absolutely true. Maybe I have "a good time" once a month if I'm lucky. How do I define that? Doing something totally frivolous where I don't have to be constantly poised to take care of someone else's needs, worry about their well-being, slow my pace, go gently, not overdo, take lots of breaks, cut out early, be home before dark....something where I am not worried about money or time, where I am by myself without my partner (whom I sometimes laughingly refer to as "the cleavage police") censoring what I'm wearing.
I will try to do something for myself over these next few weeks. I will have to give up a trip to Giverny in the Bronx and one to a concert at the Met Museum, but maybe I can go to the women's Moon Circle (a place I can wear bright colors, engage in sacred play, and honor my pagan self). (My love for this activity is one reason that no matter how much I love singing Bach and respect the social outreach at the Lutheran church, I am not converting to Christianity any time soon. Also pagans can be nonmonogamous.)
On a more cheerful note, I am finding the Seguidilla much easier. I just had to sing it into my voice. I can do the ending up to the high B well enough to keep the role in my repertoire. I mean it's one note and that's not really what the role is about. (God would I love to sing this role in full costume!!) And FWIW, I was just listening to a recording of Carmen with Grace Bumbry, and she transposed the Seguidilla down a half a step!
ETA: Right after I posted this I spoke with my partner. She is really quite frightened about the cataract surgery (it usually goes smoothly, but she had to sign a waiver that mentioned blindness and death) and I want to be there for her. I suggested going this weekend to get her another pair of sneakers that has a velcro closing instead of ties, that she can put on with her reacher. In addition to the cataract surgery there is also the issue of her having an artificial hip replacement and not being able to bend into certain positions. She also cried and said it hurt her when I invited her to go with me to do things at night. One thing I have very poor judgment about is when I am being unreasonably selfish and when I am being unreasonably self-abnegating. I grew up thinking I was much more selfish than most people (the kids I grew up with, even the rich ones, were punished if they acted greedy about, for example, wanting an expensive birthday present) but as we moved into the Reagan Era and beyond, I continue to be surprised at how selfish and self-absorbed many people are, regarding wanting presents, treats, etc., even middle aged adults, who expect expensive birthday presents from spouses, etc. or the younger performers who endlessly post photos of themselves in various outfits. So I have no benchmarks that I trust.
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