about the talking fish

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Writer. Wheelman. Occasional DIY mechanic. Walking collection of hang-ups. Hopeless romantic. Old-school. Analog soul in a digital world. I am all of these things and more.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Spoken while trying to keep out of a trance

Now that the holidays have ended, I feel the pressure building on me to make something of myself. I am unemployed, after all. Unless I do something I remain a bottomless well of expenses.

Soon it will be time for me to decide for myself if I want to be productive and proactive, or bored, stagnating and on permanent summer vacation. That’s not even a real choice. Still, I am mulling over my chances of getting employed. I dread the chances of landing in a job I do not enjoy.

Until then, I should be like my friend Julie from PETA, always on the lookout for new part-time gigs.
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It’s 2 am in the morning and I want to sing my heart out. I can’t help it. I want to develop myself, to be as good as the singers of Hangad. Unfortunately my choir friends surely must be asleep.

The kudos has heaped on me. They were telling me how amazing it was that I was a fast learner, that I picked up notes quickly, that I had a good voice with volume, that with a little work I could be soloist in a few months.

While I appreciate and am thankful of all the comments, frankly I’d rather not hear them right now. I am new, I am untested, I have little of the confidence of the others (especially the sopranos). There is still so much I need to learn. Edith said I needed to develop vibrato or tremolo, and hoped that I could stay on for a long time—“we really need boys.”

The only thing I don’t like about this so far is that some “active” individuals in my parish whom I detest may think I joined in the choir because of their suggestion so many years ago. I have no love lost for them, and I joined this time simply because this time I truly wanted to. Forcing me into things will usually not work.
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A happy happy birthday to my dear sister, Bianca.
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I feel hollow. Hungry, even. I do not understand. I am yearning for something I cannot identify. The only thing I know for sure is the more I yearn for it, the more it is impinged into my psyche that I can never truly have it.

What is ‘it’ then?

I am sick of nights of half-baked sleep. Now as I type this post, staring into a malfunctioning monitor, I wonder how nice (and how wasteful) it would be to fall into a relaxing trance...

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