Before everything went to hell, it was not uncommon for me to practice piano and voice 3 or more hours a day. Sometimes, it would be more like 7 or 8, or until it felt like my fingers were literally falling off, which I now know, technically they were (thank you EDS). I would just get so lost in the feeling, the joy, the experience, and I especially loved the feeling of learning a new piece and then, after much practice, nearly perfecting it. In fact, I would get a sense of sadness upon realizing that I was now proficient in a piece, to be replaced with the enjoyment of knowing that I have many, many music books, with things that I had either not worked on before, or had not worked on in a very long time. I wish that I was able to express in words just HOW much music means to me. I almost feel like English is my second language, and a major scale is my first. These little squiggles on the paper, to one who is unused to reading it, can seem meaningless, but to me it is at least as beautiful as any work of art by Michaelangelo or painting by Monet. I eat, sleep, and breathe music.
This summer has nearly killed me, it seems. There have been, so far, more than 50 days with highs of 90F/32C or more, with indexes reaching 105/42. The heat, and especially the HUMIDITY, has been just horrible. It contributes to fatigue, and since I'm so tired, I haven't been tensing my muscles around my joints nearly as much so they're more prone to dislocate, especially when I am so unsteady on my feet, again, because of the exhaustion. I have barely been able to function enough to ensure I get a shower at least a couple times a week, much less practice. If I've been able to get more than 30 minutes a day of practice, it's been a bloody miracle. It's also killed me inside, a little more every single day, piece by piece being hacked off by my cruel masters of EDS and POTS.
"Today, you cannot stand up to sing. I won't allow you!" Of course, being the stubborn lass I am, I will try (although not as often as I once did), but I am reminded very quickly who is in control, and it isn't me. "Today, you can play organ for 2 hours (used to play over 4 at a time), but you will constantly know I am in charge by how often you'll have to reduce a dislocation." On Tuesday, I did play organ, and I was so happy that I only had to take care of a joint 15 times. I WAS EXCITED I ONLY DISLOCATED SOMETHING LESS THAN EVERY 10 MINUTES. I miss the days, before that !@#$(*% knee surgery in November of 2009, that the state of my wrists and fingers weren't constantly in the back of my mind, and I could completely lose myself in the music. I hate that it is such an anxiety ridden time for me. Music used to be my refuge from that anxiety. Continuing to play it has become one of the biggest sources of it.
What's strange is just how much I don't care about everything else I've had to give up because of this. I don't care that I can't work. Although I worked at Starbucks at one point in time since I couldn't afford my habit [baristas get free drinks during their shifts], I don't care I can't have more than a sip of coffee without my heart feeling like it's trying to be the newest member of Stomp. I don't even care so much about those "friends" who cannot handle me being sick jumping ship. I know how overwhelming it can be to see a constant reminder of one's own mortality, and unfortunately the past 70 or so years in "westernized" cultures, death is to be avoided at all costs, including talking about it. I break that folkway on a somewhat regular basis. Death does not scare me, because I know there are things much, much worse than that.
I have had a regular wish these past few months that I had never started piano lessons (that's where it all started) so, so long ago, especially with knowing what I know now. This pain of seeing it being taken away, piece by piece, bit by bit, and knowing that there is not a damned thing that I can do about it... indescribable, just fecking indescribable. However, I am not so certain that I would have survived some very unpleasant events in my life without it. And, yes, if I had never started, I would be avoiding this great pain right now. I would have also missed out so much on everything else that music has given me, including indescribable joys and peace. And, I hope I can mean that if I had to stop playing forever tomorrow, it still would be worth it. I just don't know. I wouldn't quite call myself depressed right now, but I also wouldn't call myself a bundle of joy right now either, would I? This whole business of grieving is just so difficult, complicated, and confusing. I hope I make it out intact.
