For the past few days I have been very tired, much more so than usual. Yesterday, after teaching, I had planned to go the gym. But when I got home, after walking Mabel, I had to go to sleep. I slept for 90 minutes, and then by 10 pm I was back in bed. Now, at ten to seven in the morning, I could easily sleep another three hours. So odd, especially since normally I have such a hard time sleeping.
In addition to working on OEDIPUS I have been writing a trio for flute, viola and piano for the Monadnock Festival in New Hampshire. I am quite pleased with it so far, which is not something I am used to; I usually feel like I am going nowhere fast. Of course, I am superstitious in a way, and so I won't write another word about it.
Strange weather, like Chicago: pouring rain, then sun and wind, then scudding clouds, then more rain, then blue sky...
My neighbor who suffered the aneurysm last week died late last night. I got the news as I was going out this morning to walk Mabel. Just yesterday I had been talking with some other friends of his, and we were thinking that maybe there was some hope; there had been a few promising signs yesterday. But maybe they were just his way of saying goodbye.
I feel like this trolley car looks, worn out, rusted. I just want to sleep. I think--no, I know--that I am fighting off an incipient depression. I can tell because I am short-tempered, irritable, exhausted, feeling antisocial. I would like to disappear temporarily, til this passes. If I could sleep all day I would.
I wrote of John Dowland's songs that the melodies are "elaborate yet simple." Reading that now, I think, "what on earth does than mean?" Can something be elaborate and yet simple? I think not. Or perhaps it is possible. Sometimes language fails.
Last night I fell asleep before ten pm. I slept a long time, but Patsy woke me up every hour or so. She would cry in my ear, lie on top of me, knock something off of the desk in my bedroom. I was at the end of my rope. She is adorable and sweet, but sometimes I wish I could make her disappear.
This is one of those odd days during which I have very little interaction with other people. When I walked Mabel this morning it was still early and almost no one was out. No one I knew, anyway. Later, around noon, I went to the grocery store and there were throngs of people, families mostly, and I rushed through my errand because I felt acutely aware of how I was by myself, buying my meager bits of food for me only, going back to my apartment to spend the day by myself. I was quite tired for some reason--melancholy?--and so after I ate something I took a nap. I slept for almost 90 minutes, too long for a nap, and woke when my dream took a disturbing turn. I was looking at my mother's old white Rambler station wagon, but it was filled with dead leaves. When I woke I felt shitty and useless, but I cleaned up a bit and paid my bills. I talked to Y (he is in LA) and this made me feel more isolated still because he was tired and sort of wordless and so to compensate I talked too much and then felt like I was being neurotic and so I ended the conversation. As my melancholy grew the sky grew darker with clouds. I still have some work to do for tomorrow but I can't seem to get started. But I do not feel depressed. Just down. There is a huge difference.
Yesterday I drove upstate. Early in my trip I encountered the most vicious rainstorm, with howling winds, so bad that I had to pull the car off of the road. It was scary. After it calmed down I resumed my drive. The road was nearly blocked in a few places by felled trees. Nature is powerful and mean sometimes.
The country was wonderful. I built a roaring fire, since it was quite cold. I read the entire time. I finished THE EMPEROR'S CHILDREN by Claire Messud. A former student of mine had reviewed it for the cover article of the NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW, giving it a rave. I knew I had to read it. I couldn't even wait until it was returned to the school library; I bought a copy and read it voraciously. I could hardly put it down. It speaks of the transitions one makes from post-adolescence to adulthood; it speaks of transformations, of how reality is so mutable. It was beautifully written. The sensibility was almost Victorian, like modern Brontë.
I drove back today, in the mid-afternoon golden sunlight. My new car is like a sports car; it handled the twists and turns of the Taconic Parkway magnificently.
I relished my solitude in the country, and the stillness, the absolute quiet, and the stars in the sky at night. And Mabel was thrilled to run in huge circles and play with her friends the horses.
I am going to see my friends, the horses, upstate. I will leave this afternoon. I can't stay long, and will probably return late tomorrow or early Sunday morning. The leaves will have turned colors. I am told they are magnificent. Maybe I will build a fire in the fireplace.
Today was a difficult day. I slept fitfully last night and felt tired when I woke up. When I went out to walk Mabel an ambulance sat out front, lights flailing, pointing against the traffic (which meant it had come racing up my street going the wrong way on a one-way street) and the EMTs were loading my neighbor into it. He had a severe stroke and had somehow been able to call other neighbors, who had gone to his apartment immediately after calling 911. This evening he had surgery. He is a wonderful guy, ten years younger than my dad, a generous and kind man who always smiled when you saw him. I will see his smile again.
So, shaken, I had to finish AIFF files to send to my collaborators, so I mustered up my energy to do so. Then, half in a daze, I went to teach. I did so with manic energy, further exhausting myself. I came home, walked Mabel, and then went into Manhattan, to my brother's office in the Woolworth Building, to return the keys to his house. His office is in Johnny Cochran's firm; it is very nice, distinguished, more spacious and more posh than his former office. Then I got home around three and passed out for a while before waking up and moving the car at five.
I have felt a little crazy and a little tremulous today. Just two days ago I was thinking that it had been a long time since I felt my mood get whacked, and I think I jinxed myself.
It seems that my fellow bloggers have faded away. I persist, stubbornly, as is my habit.
Something is happening to me. I had an appointment with the doctor last evening, so of course I left early so that I could take a romp through Barney's first. But I didn't buy anything! I am glad I still have the capacity to surprise myself.
Apropos my post regarding Sting, yesterday while doing some work in my department office I mentioned hearing it. Several of my colleagues had also heard it, and were equally repulsed. We are not a bunch of classical music snobs. We just recognize when a musician has crossed the line of musical decency. Sting recording the songs of John Dowland is like me recording the complete piano sonatas of Beethoven. I could do it, but why would I, when so many absolutely brilliant people have already done it? And my piano technique is far ahead of Sting's vocal technique.
Yesterday I took Mabel and Y to the top of Bear Mountain. The weather was perfect. It was crowded. Mabel ate popcorn. Here she is, begging for some.
I have two pairs of Blundstone boots, the ones from Australia. They are indestructible, waterproof, comfortable, and I like the way they look. One pair is dark brown, the other--which I recently bought--is black. This morning as I stumbled out of bed in half sleep to walk Mabel, I put my boots on and took her outside. When I got back in, freezing, I noticed that I had one brown boot and one black boot on.
Saturday and Sunday I was in PA. Y and I drove down Saturday morning while the sky was still overcast. Shortly after we reached Upper Black Eddy the sky cleared, the sun came out, and it was a beautiful day. It was cold, and colder in the house (the heat was out of commission). I loved sitting on the porch watching the Delaware River flow past. Mabel enjoyed being outside. Horribly, my cousin's dog attacked her when they stopped by, in the late afternoon. It was terrifying; the dog is huge, a pit-bull mix that was abandoned so that my cousin had to feed her from a bottle when she was a baby. Let's just say the dog has issues. Luckily Mabel was physically unscathed but definitely strung out. The next day, spaceman me drove a third of the way back to NYC before realizing I did not have my wallet, which had my car registration and driver's license, among other important things. I drove back to PA only to discover that the wallet had been in the car all along. I do stuff like that too often.
I went to BAM last evening. Y's friend from Tokyo was visiting, and two other friends, H (artist, from Hiroshima) and DC (art world luminary) came over to Ft. Greene early. It had been DC's birthday a week ago, so we had a little celebration. I was quite tired, and our celebration activities did little to wake me up. Y lives around the corner from BAM, and so we walked over and got our seats. It was a dance performance as part of "Steve Reich@70." Reich turned seventy this year, and there are countless concerts all over the world. I met Steve Reich when I was in college. He came to lecture and I distinctly remember that he was testy and intense. The late Robert Middleton, my harmony teacher and a distinguised composer himself, asked a question--I can't remember it exactly but it was somewhat naive--and Reich got nasty. Later I taught his child, for many years, and saw Steve Reich regularly. He is down to earth, short-tempered, and extremely energetic. I think his music is important. He is by far the most interesting of the so-called "minimalists." Some of his music is stunning. I have no admiration for Phillip Glass's music, which is turgid and dull; John Adams is one giant cliché, but Reich has a great sense of color and form, and his music shimmers and jolts. It is both incredibly subtle and powerful. And you can hear, in his work, that he has worked extremely hard.I had a horrible day yesterday. It started out fine. I moved my car (don't ask) and taught two classes. I had a two-hour break before my next student, so I went home and did some work, paid some bills, etc. Then I headed back to school to get some lunch (there is lunch for faculty, often quite good) and to see a piano student. When I walked into the faculty lounge a shrill voice screamed my name and proceeded to berate me. I won't go into the details but to say that there was a scheduling confusion, that I was supposed to be somewhere but had not been told, and that the person yelling is one of the most unpleasant people in the school. I have remarked before that I really like my colleagues generally. This person is an exception.
I was furious, although I betrayed nothing, and went off to attend to my responsibilities. Later on, after a very good meeting with an administrator who had actually witnessed the encounter, I felt better. And I know that the matter will be addressed with the screamer. I am utterly responsible in my work, and it is clear to everyone that I would not blithely ignore some assignment. But these things do not occur to the screamer. She treats us like we are children, bad children. It's a good thing I am a strong believer in karma.
But still that little episode just plunged me into a deep dark mood. Some people would let it roll of of them. But I already had little respect for the yeller, and to have her treat me as she did felt like an injury. I only wish the head of the school had been there to witness it. There would have been some real fallout.
I am still not sure about my facial hair. I have passed through the itching stage, though, so it seems silly to shave now. I will let it continue. It does make me look older. But one friend said to me that "it looks more like you." I contemplate what that means, but I don't have an answer yet.
Yesterday I drove to Jones Beach in the early afternoon, after the morning's heavy rain had passed. At first the car felt so strange; I am still not accustomed to its handling and fast reflexes. Y said it felt so much closer to the ground. I agree. But once settled, I enjoyed driving very much. It is quite speedy, something I am not used to, and it has a very high-tuned suspension so it is less pillowy than the Volvo. It holds the road quite well. Jones Beach was beautiful. Crisp cool fall air, blue sky, amazing clouds, roiling water, seagulls, few people. I will go back as often as I can.
