Faust Days

I haven't had a really bad day in a while, and I suppose this is not a terribly bad day, in that nothing has really happened, other than that there was a little snow last night, and may be some later today, and tomorrow, which for me means packing my cane, and then going into "snow" mode which for me means walking outside as little as possible, taking buses not subways (because the stairs might be slippery), even a car service if it's windy, worrying constantly about my physical safety when I am outside (and this is reality based, not a groundless fear), and constantly making little micro-choices between my physical safety and my mental health.

I mean I might have stayed in today anyhow because it is a holiday and the after school program I have been helping out with is closed, and I have a lot of work to do and no other appointments.  I haven't spent an entire day at home in a while, which is good, because there is definitely an inverse relationship between my mental health and the number of hours I spend in the apartment alone.

The work I do for a living is deadly boring (and even though once I get Social Security I can do as little of it as I have been doing - about 25 hours a week - without worrying about being out on the street I will probably have to do it until I drop dead) and of course the Devil makes work for idle brains (and for me, anyhow, a brain used to take periods out from between authors' initials or to move the date from the middle of a bibliographic entry to the end is an idle one).

Speaking of the Devil, I have decided to rename these days when I feel hopelessly blue "Faust days" because really what it boils down to is I feel like I would sell my soul to the Devil to be 30 or 40 years younger.  That would solve a lot of problems.  I could be singing as well as I am now and making progress at the same rate, but it would really matter, because there would be a future ahead of me (particularly one that other people would see).  My primary responsibility would probably not be taking care of someone 81.  (Childcare is usually a choice. Eldercare is not.)  I would be young enough that I would be physically mobile, geographically mobile, and not yet weighted down with small blessings that are both blessings, and, yes, small.

How this train of thought got started, of course, was that being bored with nothing to do I decided to look at Little Miss's Facebook page and of course my nose got rubbed in the fact that she is getting endless kudos (from the director, from her prestigious voice teacher) for her latest performance at one of the opera companies that rejected me (this one not only wouldn't grant me an audition, the man who runs it even called me on the phone to yell at me for having the audacity to send a resume to him!!) And I see that she received an award from the opera company that told me I was not a "future investment".  And she now has gorgeous head shots (professional, no doubt).

So it makes me feel how tiny my little crumbs are.  My voice teacher is thrilled with my progress, but for Pete's sake he not only doesn't use Facebook, he doesn't even know how to operate a cell phone camera! I did buy a tripod for my iPad, and made a few videos of myself singing, but they only captured my face, and as they were not made in a real-life situation (like singing in church or even with an accompanist) they are hardly even of the caliber to post on Facebook.

Why do I constantly have to give myself pep talks?  Why is no one doing it for me?  I mean how many 65 year olds suddenly discover an entire high extension they never had (well, I'm talking about three notes, but these are important notes)?

I suppose I should be grateful for small blessings.  Little Miss is too busy with her budding career (who is paying for all this, I wonder? she isn't working) to sing in the choir, so 90% of the time I am the only person with any training in the soprano section and I really do keep it on course (in terms of intonation, etc.) And I may be singing more in the Spanish service.  The Director of Music Ministries wrote a section of the church Annual Report, and one of the things he said was that he was going to try to have more "special music" (meaning solos) at the 9 am service and the Spanish service.  I wrote back to him and said that I would be happy to sing at the Spanish service more often (I would never volunteer to sing at 9 although I will do it if asked) but that I needed some suggestions about repertoire.  So he said we would be in touch.  And I think he means it.  The people at the church like my singing.  And the little girl whom I'm tutoring will be thrilled.  She just loves my singing.

ETA: I had written to a friend about how depressed I was feeling and she sent me a lovely note and an e-card that played the "Habanera".  I was so touched that it brought tears to my eyes.  Now I am practicing.  I just aced a high C sharp.  A few years ago I would have cut off two fingers to be able to do that.