March 27, 2006

11:04 p.m.

The Beginning of the Week and 1/2 from Hell

The sinus headaches are back with a vengeance; I had to take half a hydrocodone last night because it wouldn't subside. I feel it again a little tonight.

Today was only half as productive as I planned, owing to forgetting to bring the book document files to Rose's. I did do a couple of loads of laundry and a few errands, and Carol and I talked for nearly two hours on the phone, researching venues in the UK for a 2007 tour. But I didn't print out book copies, and the covers I had printed at Staples not only weren't finished in time, but looked to be of suspiciously poorer quality than the last run, so now I'll have to stop there tomorrow on the way to rehearsal to compare the finished run to the last one. I have a feeling something's low in one of their ink tanks. It means I won't have covers tomorrow after all. I also have to divert to iParty and get a mass of balloons for Rose's surprise restaurant birthday party tomorrow night. We have so much to do at rehearsal, and the weekend positively from hell coming up, and our first school workshop gig Monday and Tuesday -- we're all rather nervous about it -- it's no wonder I'm getting headaches.

After the garbage went out last week, one day after to be precise, I suddenly remembered I'd thrown out that guy's card who proposed to me after the gig in Pennsylvania. I didn't feel differently about the matter, really, but I was suddenly aware that I wasn't open to any friendship or other life adventure that could have resulted from keeping in touch with him. That seemed different for me. This being closed for business has its downside. It made me terribly lonely and a little scared, a little hopeless. I had a meltdown over my dinner last night, after the six hour drive from upstate New York, just me in my kitchen thinking maybe there isn't really any full resolution to wounds, just a moving on and a keeping busy because the alternative is stagnation. I hated men in those moments; I cursed all the ones who had been part of my emotional misfortune. I was a sorry case, indeed.

Sometimes I think I really ought to cry a lot more often than I do. But it's not convenient when one is in public, or singing in church, or waiting for copies at Staples, and I get so busy at home I forget to set aside time to cry. And then there are the sinus ramifications; who wants to be plugged up for an hour afterwards? Goodness, I don't have that kind of time.

Well, thank God for chocolate.