Ok, never mind
No, things are not going too well after all..
It all started with Friday night, when I went to the band in a slightly bad mood, because it was raining and I had had a long week made of lessons and errands, so without any time to think or act for my future, as in no time to think about it seriously and researching, and at the same time with mum’s look of “I’d like to ask you but am afraid of it”, because I am still trying to make sense of it all, and the sense is simply not there. Also, no time for writing: I am running from place to place, with the house to clean and the lessons to prepare, and I am still a fit-a-holic, so thanks, I would like to have my daily run or work-out session, if you don’t mind. Just because I am back to having a kind of dinner it doesn’t mean that I am giving up on training. Anyway.
Now, it’s been two weeks since I left my job, and still no time to investigate or think about any way to improve this situation: and this week I have got a full afternoon busy with that stupid game at the shink’s, and I am not happy about wasting a whole afternoon when I have lessons and I need time to think. Peace.
It annoys me that mum said that this would be my time off to find myself, but still she presses me over what I would like to do, over what I have thought or am thinking, over all this. I don’t seem to be getting any real time off my oppressing thoughts.
So Friday nights saw me at the band, where I arrived and first of all was told off by the conductor for not being there during a gig on Sunday afternoon; for god’s sake, I replied, I told you I was going to Trieste on Saturday, and it takes 5 hours to get there, did you want me to arrive at the station, say hello to my friend and jump on the first train to be back on the very same day? Just for playing a lousy hour?
So then I am told about the bassoon, because a teacher has been found and the cost of his lessons will be divided in two between the other band and us. Our conductor starts saying that maybe the day after (Saturday) I could…And that’s when I say that now, I would not be there on Saturday either, because I had forgotten about the small gig we are to do in the morning and therefore had set an appointment.
You will not be there tomorrow?
No, I am busy.
What is it that you have to do?, asks me sax partner, also member of the board. And this annoys me sooo much. Mind your own, hu?
I have to go away, I reply.
Conductor’s mad at me, and says that then what’s the point, let’s not even begin.
I go and put down my case which so far had weighted on me and my tense shoulder.
I go sit down and I am not happy at all. I think about going home, about telling conductor that ok, let’s not even begin, because by the way, I’ve quit my job and am seriously considering to move somewhere else, which could be an hour away if I am lucky, or 5 if I am even more lucky and get that job in Trieste. At the moment I am not happy at all. No.
Baby sax partner arrives and I ask for a hug, because she’s my hugging friend, and that is when the tears are back and I break again. I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom, crying and saying that nothing is going to be fixed, nothing. I really feel that. I still do.
I go back, take my sax and play for a whole hour.
Drummer friend, my sweet, comes over after playing and we chat for a while, sexy shoulders joins in and I feel strange but slightly well.
Then conductor comes and gives me the bassoon, shows me the five pieces that make it a whole, makes me play a couple of notes and gives the book so I can start practising this week, because the first lesson will be on the 19th.
Then another guy of the board comes to me while I am chatting with shop-a-holic friend, and asks me if I am set with the bassoon, and if this is going to be the right time, the time when our band will have a bassoon at last. I think this is done purely out of courtesy, then I realize that it’s some sort of moral threat, as in “we are going to invest money and time on you, don’t you dare…”.
When I leave the band I feel heavy and trapped again.
I’ve been feeling this bad since, going over the possibility to tell them that we should just give up, before it’s too late. I think maybe I will.
This week I am going to look for..things. Just to see if I find some option for the months to come, some job, SOMETHING. One thing is sure, I am going to move. That. Is. For. Sure.
Because I feel even more trapped here at home, with parents asking me things every minute, commenting, suggesting. I cannot breath. I feel guilty if I sleep too much even when it’s a non-teaching morning, if I spend some time at home even if I spend it cleaning and tidying and ironing, I feel so bad when mum says goodbye before going to work and adds how tired she feels, I feel bad because I am taking this time to find a way that makes me happy, serene, calm, somehow, and even if I have no debts to pay, and I am half working after all (these lessons give me about 100 euros a week, which is like a part-time job), I feel as if I had thousands of euros to pay back, and I found myself opening a job magazine looking for jobs, the same kind of jobs I swore I would never do again for the sake of my mind. You understand that this is not good.
At the same time I don’t want to run and make the wrong decision, like I was thinking last night, when I thought about moving to a city where there is the most important university of psychology, and enrol, and work and study. I don’t know. Jesus, I am so confused.
I am not writing, except for these confused, depressed, schizophrenic posts. The thought of spending a couple of hours writing for fun, for the stories that are clogging my brain, the thought of taking some time off for myself without working makes me feel guilty too; the same thing happens when I go to the gym, or I take my run. Ok, my mind switches off and concentrates on the training, then, but as soon as I am in the shower, or getting changed, it’s crazy, and I think about mum saying “well, if you really have to run then run”, as if my only duty in life were to help her in the house and think about finding a job, after being so crazy to leave a “job for life” that was giving me money and confidence for the future, etc. etc.
On Friday night I was reading a letter from a friend of the band who now lives in Peru and works to build schools and improve life there. The guy says that there is the need for more hands to help, and more enthusiasm to put together the new children of the town, and as I was reading I thought “maybe this is what I should do”. It’s the first time I think such a thing, and I was almost shocked when I realised it. But again, I don’t want to take decisions in a hurry.
Now I will post all this, and work a bit more. Lessons are prepared, because I am quick, and maybe I could write a bit more for my own fun. It’s Sunday, after all, I am allowed. I think.
It all started with Friday night, when I went to the band in a slightly bad mood, because it was raining and I had had a long week made of lessons and errands, so without any time to think or act for my future, as in no time to think about it seriously and researching, and at the same time with mum’s look of “I’d like to ask you but am afraid of it”, because I am still trying to make sense of it all, and the sense is simply not there. Also, no time for writing: I am running from place to place, with the house to clean and the lessons to prepare, and I am still a fit-a-holic, so thanks, I would like to have my daily run or work-out session, if you don’t mind. Just because I am back to having a kind of dinner it doesn’t mean that I am giving up on training. Anyway.
Now, it’s been two weeks since I left my job, and still no time to investigate or think about any way to improve this situation: and this week I have got a full afternoon busy with that stupid game at the shink’s, and I am not happy about wasting a whole afternoon when I have lessons and I need time to think. Peace.
It annoys me that mum said that this would be my time off to find myself, but still she presses me over what I would like to do, over what I have thought or am thinking, over all this. I don’t seem to be getting any real time off my oppressing thoughts.
So Friday nights saw me at the band, where I arrived and first of all was told off by the conductor for not being there during a gig on Sunday afternoon; for god’s sake, I replied, I told you I was going to Trieste on Saturday, and it takes 5 hours to get there, did you want me to arrive at the station, say hello to my friend and jump on the first train to be back on the very same day? Just for playing a lousy hour?
So then I am told about the bassoon, because a teacher has been found and the cost of his lessons will be divided in two between the other band and us. Our conductor starts saying that maybe the day after (Saturday) I could…And that’s when I say that now, I would not be there on Saturday either, because I had forgotten about the small gig we are to do in the morning and therefore had set an appointment.
You will not be there tomorrow?
No, I am busy.
What is it that you have to do?, asks me sax partner, also member of the board. And this annoys me sooo much. Mind your own, hu?
I have to go away, I reply.
Conductor’s mad at me, and says that then what’s the point, let’s not even begin.
I go and put down my case which so far had weighted on me and my tense shoulder.
I go sit down and I am not happy at all. I think about going home, about telling conductor that ok, let’s not even begin, because by the way, I’ve quit my job and am seriously considering to move somewhere else, which could be an hour away if I am lucky, or 5 if I am even more lucky and get that job in Trieste. At the moment I am not happy at all. No.
Baby sax partner arrives and I ask for a hug, because she’s my hugging friend, and that is when the tears are back and I break again. I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom, crying and saying that nothing is going to be fixed, nothing. I really feel that. I still do.
I go back, take my sax and play for a whole hour.
Drummer friend, my sweet, comes over after playing and we chat for a while, sexy shoulders joins in and I feel strange but slightly well.
Then conductor comes and gives me the bassoon, shows me the five pieces that make it a whole, makes me play a couple of notes and gives the book so I can start practising this week, because the first lesson will be on the 19th.
Then another guy of the board comes to me while I am chatting with shop-a-holic friend, and asks me if I am set with the bassoon, and if this is going to be the right time, the time when our band will have a bassoon at last. I think this is done purely out of courtesy, then I realize that it’s some sort of moral threat, as in “we are going to invest money and time on you, don’t you dare…”.
When I leave the band I feel heavy and trapped again.
I’ve been feeling this bad since, going over the possibility to tell them that we should just give up, before it’s too late. I think maybe I will.
This week I am going to look for..things. Just to see if I find some option for the months to come, some job, SOMETHING. One thing is sure, I am going to move. That. Is. For. Sure.
Because I feel even more trapped here at home, with parents asking me things every minute, commenting, suggesting. I cannot breath. I feel guilty if I sleep too much even when it’s a non-teaching morning, if I spend some time at home even if I spend it cleaning and tidying and ironing, I feel so bad when mum says goodbye before going to work and adds how tired she feels, I feel bad because I am taking this time to find a way that makes me happy, serene, calm, somehow, and even if I have no debts to pay, and I am half working after all (these lessons give me about 100 euros a week, which is like a part-time job), I feel as if I had thousands of euros to pay back, and I found myself opening a job magazine looking for jobs, the same kind of jobs I swore I would never do again for the sake of my mind. You understand that this is not good.
At the same time I don’t want to run and make the wrong decision, like I was thinking last night, when I thought about moving to a city where there is the most important university of psychology, and enrol, and work and study. I don’t know. Jesus, I am so confused.
I am not writing, except for these confused, depressed, schizophrenic posts. The thought of spending a couple of hours writing for fun, for the stories that are clogging my brain, the thought of taking some time off for myself without working makes me feel guilty too; the same thing happens when I go to the gym, or I take my run. Ok, my mind switches off and concentrates on the training, then, but as soon as I am in the shower, or getting changed, it’s crazy, and I think about mum saying “well, if you really have to run then run”, as if my only duty in life were to help her in the house and think about finding a job, after being so crazy to leave a “job for life” that was giving me money and confidence for the future, etc. etc.
On Friday night I was reading a letter from a friend of the band who now lives in Peru and works to build schools and improve life there. The guy says that there is the need for more hands to help, and more enthusiasm to put together the new children of the town, and as I was reading I thought “maybe this is what I should do”. It’s the first time I think such a thing, and I was almost shocked when I realised it. But again, I don’t want to take decisions in a hurry.
Now I will post all this, and work a bit more. Lessons are prepared, because I am quick, and maybe I could write a bit more for my own fun. It’s Sunday, after all, I am allowed. I think.
Labels: depression
posted by Peggy @ 3:27 PM
1 Comments:
At 3:53 PM,
Musawwir said…
Hi, I ran across your blog and read much of it. It's funny but I just wrote on my blog about the very thing you seem to be searching for - how to make sense of the chaos and demands of the world. Anyway, I like how you write and am going to add you to my faves for revisiting.
Regards, Phillip
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