Tag Archives: singing

Breaking Promises

Hello, little blog. It’s been a while – a month to be exact. I got a little tired of walking to the lake at lunchtime to blog frantically for the last fifteen minutes of my lunch break. It wasn’t terribly relaxing.

Not much to report as usual. Same old dead-end job; broke; tired, depressed; self-hating and self-defeating. The cherry on the top of my shit cake is that our landlords, and their evil property management company, are absolute cunts (I mean, seriously, that word was invented for them), and they’re trying to get rid of us…for what? For standing up for our rights really. It’s all a bit stressful. Of course,  I suppose I could just roll over and let them shaft me up the arse, but, nah, I don’t think so. I’ll be seeing them down the JP Court, thank you very much.

The one bright light in my tunnel of doom is that I am in a new musical project. I met a musician on Craigslist (is there anything you can’t find on that website?!) and we’re getting along very well, both musically and personally. Well, he could be a bit more emotive, and say what he means more often, but, well, you can’t have everything.

My only concern about this project is that I have neglected my “own music”. I was supposed to be coming home at night and practising piano, and making my music. To be honest, though, I prefer working with somebody who challenges me and tells me what to do. It’s not that I don’t have ideas; oh, I have plenty of ideas, and that’s the problem. I have a hard time focusing on just one idea, and I get terrified and overwhelmed by them all, and then I don’t do anything. It’s a relief to let somebody else steer me a little.

I feel guilty that I don’t have enough gumption or “get up and go” to make music on my own, but maybe that’s just the kind of person I am, creatively. Maybe I just need structure. My life kind of fell to pieces after university because I wasn’t used to not having a place to be, an essay to write, a book to read etc. In my last year, when everybody was freaking out about our final exams, I was a little oasis of calm. I must be the only person who actually enjoyed finals. And I’ll tell you why – it was the fucking papers we had to write throughout the year that terrified me because, technically speaking, there was no fucking end to the amount of research I could do. And that’s what happened. I would research a paper for weeks, and weeks, and weeks until I had so much fucking information I didn’t know what to do with it. In comparison, two weeks of finals, which had so much ridiculous significance for my overall grade, were nothing. A three hour exam in which I have to write something about Goethe? Pfft. Bring it on. I loved the fucking time limit. I loved being limited.

It’s the same thing when it comes to writing. I have so many ideas, but I just don’t know where to get started. I just wish somebody would fucking hire me, and tell me what subject to write about. Sigh.




People who don’t like animals are weird.

I’m not sure how long I have until the battery on my iPhone dies, so I’ll make this quick. I’ve decided to do NaBloPoMo again, so it would be embarrassing if I missed the first day.

Sitting in a café, sipping on yet another soy chai, and listening to the Velvet Underground, and to the overly-tattooed barista say “dude” and “man” too much. I’ve just returned from a volunteering session with this high school senior I’ve been mentoring since last October. I helped him pass the reading section of the SAT’s, and now I’m helping him find and apply to scholarships. He’s a good kid – very polite and responsible.

My meeting with the musician didn’t go terribly well on Monday. Well, he was nice enough but we just didn’t click. I could tell we wouldn’t as soon as he walked through the door. You may call that overly judgemental; I’d call it intuition. He was one of those people who don’t like revealing anything about themselves, or care to ask you much about yourself. How the hell are you supposed to have a conversation in that kind of situation? People like that scare me, to be honest. I have realized, through experience, that some people are like that because they’re shy or socially awkward, but this guy wasn’t like that. He was just guarded. Why be guarded? What are you hiding?

I also didn’t like the fact that he completely ignored my cats and dogs. I have well-behaved animals, so it wasn’t like they were all over him, causing mayhem. My dog did sniff around him a bit, and, for some reason, decided she liked him, and lay beside him on the couch but again…nothing. Didn’t acknowledge her existence except maybe a slight sign of irritation. I don’t expect people to love my pets anywhere near as much as I do, or to pay them as much attention, but I find it off-putting when people treat them as an inconvenience, or just simply ignore them. I realize that some people are scared of animals or have alleriges, but this wasn’t this guy. I can’t help but think that people who don’t like animals are missing the compassion gene.

What do you think? Have I got a point?


My depression seems to have lifted, and I am feeling much more energetic and hopeful about the future. The day I wrote the last blog post (Tuesday), I ended up going to a café to write in my journal, and I inadvertently stumbled in on an open-mic night. Generally, I hate these things, especially so in this town where every man and his fucking dog is a “singer songwriter”. It did, however, really lift my spirits just to get out of the house (even if someone did cover “Tears in Heaven”, one of the most nauseatingly schmalzy songs in existence).

Photo by Jillyspoon

It nearly always improves my mood if I can just force myself to leave my bedroom, and make an attempt to see other people. I don’t necessarily need to interact with other people; it’s just good to be amongst my fellow human beings. Of course, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. Don’t they always advise depressed people to force themselves to do something? The surprise is that, despite knowing how much I need other people, and how going out and doing something different and spontaneous improves my mood, I can never seem to see the point in it at the time. I’m just no good at practising self-care. I’ll spend far too much time being a hermit, doing nothing, seeing nobody except “MM” and my pets, and then I’ll plummet into a depression for a few days. Why do I find it so hard to remember that I need people?, that I need to do new and interesting things?!

At the weekend I placed an online ad to find a musician to do some music with. I’m not entirely sure what you’d call the kind of music I want to do, but I suppose it would have jazzy/folky elements, enhanced by synthesizers. The response to my ad has hardly been overwhelming, and most of those who have responded are the usual flakes and time-wasters who, if they’d read my ad carefully, would have realized they’re not who I’m looking for. After I told one guy I didn’t think we were compatible, he sent me a petulant email back telling me it was a shame I didn’t have the self-confidence to embrace working with a professional musician such as himself! Ha! I’m glad for such emails, though, because once they’ve crossed the line into dickheadedness, I can wash my hands off them completely without having to worry about their fragile egos.

One guy does seem very promising, however, and we’re going to meet on Monday night. I get a good feeling from his emails, and the brief phone conversation we had yesterday. I’m trying not to get too hopeful because we might discover we have no chemistry, or maybe he won’t be as good as he seems.

I hope it works out, and I hope I can sustain the momentum and enthusiasm to do something creative.

Still a moany wee shite.

Wow, I had no idea that the last time I posted on here was January 6th! I thought my last post was in mid-February. I should have realized it was a long time when I attempted to log into WordPress, and had a hard time remembering my user ID and password. Thanks to those chipmunk aficionados, though, my stats haven’t taken much of a beating. In fact, insultingly, my busiest day ever was January 7th with over 300 hits!

Since I’ve been gone, lots of things have happened. “MM” and I passed our immigration interview, and so now I have a two-year green card. I’ll get the ten-year one at the end of next year (if we haven’t got divorced, that is!). I also passed my driving test about a month ago. Both of these things mean that it will be much easier for me to find a teaching job. I’ve been substitute teaching in a neighbouring school district in the hope that that will help me get my foot in the door there.

You’d think I’d be happy, wouldn’t you? But, well, I wouldn’t be the same moany wee shite you know and love if I was happy. I still have days (like today and yesterday actually) when I’m crushingly depressed, and I wish I could just stay in bed all day. I fantasize about slashing my wrists, or putting a bullet through my head. I don’t know why I feel this way. It just seems that nothing ever changes. I feel hopeless.

Last week was a particularly difficult week, as it always is in Mid-March, because there was a massive music festival here. Every year I’m reminded by all the musicians floating around of how I’m a talented singer and yet I do nothing, absolutely fucking nothing, with my talent. It’s the same thing with writing. I have all these ideas for articles, but I never do anything.

I picked up my copy of “The Artist’s Way” this morning, and read through the first chapter with the intention of working through all the exercises. Maybe this time it’ll help unblock me. I can’t help but be discouraged, though, whenever I look at the date I wrote on the inside cover when I started using it the first time – January 15th 2007. 2007! More than three years have passed, and still I’m completely artistically frustrated and blocked. Admittedly, I didn’t really follow the book properly, so it’s no bloody wonder I failed.

At the weekend, I posted an ad online to see if I can find musicians to collaborate with. Every so often I’ll realize that I’m wasting my vocal abilities, and I’ll frantically spend about a week or two trying to find somebody to work with. I’ll meet up with a few, but nothing ever seems to fit. I shouldn’t let that discourage me really, and should keep on looking…but I don’t, and then I forget all about making music. If I can forget so easily, maybe I don’t even want it enough.

Even blogging is a chore these days, another stick to beat myself about the head with. I find it hard, if not downright impossible, to keep up with all of the other blogs I read. I don’t know how you do it, but everybody else seems to manage it. They manage to write a post per day, read and comment on other people’s blogs, and then respond to comments on their own blogs in a timely fashion. All that, and they’ve got a life as well! If I did that, my life would consist only of blogging! Yet another reason to feel guilty and “less than”.