I’m totally confused for a moment

November 16, 2007

Right under the category “Rules for Let’s Shall,” there’s a rule that goes, this blog shall not become a dream journal. If you follow this break, I am breaking that rule.

I’m a little undone right now, just sitting down to my workstation in digitization, and to make it worse it’s Five for Fighting that’s doing it to me. F4F on the radio station that the rest of my office is listening to at a high volume because they’ve decided that as a group, we are all participating in some call in contest where you might win a thousand dollars once an hour when they play a Christmas song (preferably, the cheesiest version of that Christmas song available–Jon Secada’s Jingle Bell Rock, anyone?)

The F4F song in question is, of course, 100 Years, which got really popular right in the doldrums of winter my senior year in college. This was a year after my grandma died and the year in which I was confronting my first set of really adult choices, so it hit me at a vulnerable time. Now it is playing on the godawful radio station I am being forced to listen to.

Yesterday, as I have many days recently, I got kind of overcome with an urge to play my oboe. I wanted to play it so badly I almost cried, but I was in the middle of poetry workshop, and if I had cried I never would have gotten any good feedback on any of my poems ever again. Playing the oboe is harder than it sounds now that we live in an apartment. Either I risk the neighbors knocking (that happened the first time I tried it) or I risk their silent fury and not so silent phone calls to the association. Neither of which I really want to deal with. Plus, the few good reeds I have, I’m afraid that I’ll use up. I certainly would use them up if I tried to get back in shape. I don’t know who I’d get more from, because I’m in no position to start up my own reedmaking operation again, even if I was good enough at it to be happy with what I made.

As you can probably guess, I’m also having more than a little bit of life-planning turmoil. As I told D in the car on the way home from the pub yesterday, with all of the lowered inhibitions that a single pint can get you, the only reason for me still to be obsessing about the fact that his sister is about to have a baby (the in-law’s first grandchild, which they formerly looked to me to provide) is that I’m still not happy with what I’m doing right now or what I plan to be doing when I’m finished with right now. If I was happy with it, if I didn’t feel like I’d auctioned off my professional life to please other people, I would be able to say that’s unfortunate that you are having a baby, send a shower gift, and stop thinking about it. So there’s something not right, at least not right to me, which is not my way of saying that everything’s wrong. A lot of things are right, there’s just some piece that isn’t quite yet.

The dream I had was this: I was visiting Kenyon during the school year, for a wedding or something, I don’t know. For some reason my immediate family was there, notably my mom, who felt that she needed to go to Kenyon with me to make up for the fact that she missed my graduation. I tried to call Prof. L, but she didn’t answer, and I felt sad that I hadn’t told her ahead of time that I was coming. For some reason, I had brought my oboe, and for fun I thought I’d just stop into one of the empty practice rooms and play a little. It turned out, though, that it was the same evening as their winter semester honors recital, and so students playing the recital were warming up in some of them. But I found an empty one, and I got set up, and I started playing. Then a knock on the door came–it was someone running the recital. She told me that they needed this room for their cellist to warm up. I said okay, can I have just a minute to pack up? And she said, no, we really need you to leave right now. I said okay, but then when I started packing up everything kept falling out of my bag. Like three times everything fell out. Eventually I did leave, and the cellist came in, and he bent over his cello and began to play passionately, with no attention to anyone else.

Am I supposed to think that this means that 1) if I want back into a real creative life, I need to make it my priority, not just visit once in a while or 2) I need to get over the person who I hoped I would be when I was in college?

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