cello practice

cling

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The left hand is a busy guy. And a bit conflicted.

While you’re exerting pressure downward into the string, you are also doing a variety of other actions. Shifting, vibrating, bridging between strings, playing chords or double stops, and God knows what else that I can’t think of off hand.

How is all of this possible? By not doing any one of those things to the point where it overtakes the others. Hold on loosely, but don’t let go, as the rock song advises. That should be my cellist’s motto.

Of particularly frequent concern is combining pushing down notes and vibrating. Those actions are extremely contradictory. My friend tried to show me how they work together. You actually use the pressing down as an anchoring device, around which you can vacillate for vibrato. That has always been a problem for me. Maybe it’s too complex and my brain isn’t able to send the correct information to my hand. It gets shorted.

Recently I’ve been enjoying great benefits from practicing basic scale exercises. My guess is that it takes all of the musical layers and emotions out of the equation, so that my body functions in its simplest and most efficient manner. That’s my guess. There I am playing my Klengel — it’s interesting to think of how many cellists over the decades have played the exact same thing, including Klengel himself. I guess if it worked for them, who am I to question it.

everyday observations

exhale

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Breathe. That was the advice I was giving myself on one of my OA phone calls, one of the first ones.
I didn’t sneeze at the concert. That’s good. I must have not subjected my body to the toxins I have been known to do, which cause my body to try to rid itself of them.
Hate and love.
If a power greater than myself might see fit to restore me to sanity, then it probably is more interested in love than hate. If I can consider believing in that power, then I can also consider believing in the possibility that it doesn’t hate me. And if It doesn’t hate me, then maybe there’s some hope of me not hating myself either.
I guess I don’t expect any readers of this writing to come away chock full of brilliantly thought out ideas. I would just like to think that they would be able to breathe a little easier. To feel less trapped inside of their own fears and neuroses. I guess there’s a difference between just making yourself take a breath, and breeeaathing. Breeeaathing. There’s also a difference between trying to quiet your chattery mind, and experiencing a natural quiet and peacefulness from another place.

hypotheses and philosophies

harmonie

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I am amusingly forgiving in regards to my particular brand of overdosing. My brand of bingeing. My brand of self poisoning. My brand of the death march.

What am I doing on Earth? I wonder if I’m getting any closer to figuring that out. I seem to have been put here to confuse, hurt, and please people. I was put here to eat an inordinate amount of food, junk or otherwise. Just as long as it’s inordinate.
I was put here to watch an inordinate amount of tv. I was put here to be unproductive. I was put here to spend. I was put here to be sore in my left arm. I was put here to keep wisdom to myself.
Isolating should also be mentioned.
Listening to oodles of music from a variety of sources has been a lifelong pastime.
I have written some journals, I guess. They cover the gamut. Although there is certainly a lot of repetition.

When will I find out why I was really put here? Tonight? How’s tonight? Was I put here to help build and run a few restaurants? Was I put here to keep a house in order? I wonder if the 12 step program can elucidate these questions for me. It’s tricky though, isn’t it. I don’t give myself to this program. Maybe because it really is a tall order. It certainly isn’t what I have typically done in my lifetime, as a whole. I am more likely to do Mad Libs and eat chocolate til the wee hours than do the soul searching and higher power opening up necessary to be a program role model.

everyday observations

twined

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If I am desperate enough, what will I be willing to do?…to salvage myself.
It is like everything is a puzzle that I must figure out. Mr. self sufficiency.
Do I ever ask for help with anything? God forbid a higher power. I think if I can just unravel these puzzles set out before me, then I will be alright.
Step two involves sanity. What if the definition of insanity is thinking you are totally self sufficient? Another definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
The way I’ve been taught, Step two is insane in itself. That a power greater than myself could affect some sort of change, restoring me to sanity. What??? That’s nuts.
If only all of my efforts on my own behalf have exclusively gotten me the desired results.
Things must seem altogether different to someone that puts themselves in the hands of a higher power on a regular basis. And not out of some sort of desperation. But because, why not? Why not hedge your bets? Why not direct their faith towards something that has seen them through some tough times, so it seems. Is analyzing and puzzling things necessarily the end all and the highest calling of one’s mind, let alone spirit?
It’s really hilarious that I am sitting here writing this at 1:33 in the morning. Hilariously strung out. I string myself out with my addictions, never letting it go, never regrouping, until I have nothing left but exhaustion, utter solitude, pure discomfort. What can it be worth at this point?
I guess it’s worth something. But look at the exorbitant price paid.

hypotheses and philosophies

enviable

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What’s the point of writing? I immediately see the point. What’s the point of not writing? I rarely see the point. We are at the Y. At her behest. I like to come here, but not for me.
I need to get to work. Work inside and out. Writing is inside work. It can lead to good outside work. I need to use the tools, the OA tools. They are a better plan than what I seem to have come up with from my own personal history.

I heard that gluttony and perhaps sloth are too judgmental to be productive ways of inventorying myself. Not forgiving. I don’t know. Dick suggested the 7 deadly sins as a starting point, didn’t he?
I would say it’s safe to say that gluttony and sloth are close bedfellows. Avarice? Hmmm. What is your potential? Where is the bar? An outside program helps to provide a non moving bar. Or any bar. An outside philosophy. Don’t rely on your own shaky will power.

I think anything that keeps me on track and isn’t hurtful is helpful. If it’s the sins, the Y, the meetings, the fellowship, work, friendship.

reflections within

and then

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Yesterday and today my mind has been opened. I am rereading Love Is A Choice and responding equally strongly as however many years ago when I first read it. I imagine I have a different array and even a different level of things to reflect the information against now. I have kicks that I get on with different books and authors, or different people, and like I said in the last blog, I wish I knew where my central beliefs and passions lay so as not to sway with the breeze so much. I love a book (or a person) that states its ideas unwaveringly – I always have. When will I get to that point myself?
I do feel like this particular book has many of the ingredients to help me dissect and then reattach myself to the world and to a life less based on ups and downs and confusing, fleeting passions. It speaks of a life which accounts for all the many layers and interests inside us all.

originally published on 9/23/06

everyday observations

35, and counting

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Being my birthday, it seems timely enough for a blogaroonie. I will quote from yesterday’s “feelings journal” entry.
Right now I’m a little tight, tightly wound. I spent the last few hours at home, alone, watching Clerks and taking a nap, eating tortilla chips and orange juice. I was entertained but still immersed in solitude. I was feeling okay, as far as I was aware. But I was also kind of walled in. I guess I chose to be in that isolated place. It feels familiar and safe. But it also tightens me. Now I’m aware of the tightness. Now that I’m sitting in the library at the Phil, writing, and in the vicinity of others, other warm bodies, warm personalities.

Then later I wrote this:

I finished the concert – it was a proud experience some of the time. I wore my earplugs to preserve my hearing, which was a comfort. At some point I guess a fragrance wafted to my nose which reminded me of my dear friend Rosalie S. The reminiscence was probably enhanced by the fact we were playing a Brahms symphony, one of her favorites. So for a few seconds I had that good feeling, good association. I actually tried to retain it, but it dispersed. I spent the later part of the concert partially beating myself up about my left hand tension. Perhaps ironic. Perhaps self-defeating.

So, the fact is I have been writing a fair amount, but privately. I don’t allot myself enough time to do that and blog. It requires a different mindset. It’s similar to playing the cello with or without an audience. I also feel different depending where I am when I write. Maybe I should try to relish all these differences instead of having my good ol’ buddy inside my head criticize my circumstances every step of the way.

originally published on 10/29/06

everyday observations

wherewithal

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Mmm, it smells really good in here, like garlic ‘n friends. It’s warm for the cockles around here, with sleeping people and subdued lighting. I will be off to sleep soon, wide open to the truer workings of my soul.
I like reading my own previous blog entries once in a while. I’m glad I say what’s on my mind. It’s perfectly possible that I am the one most likely to benefit from my own thoughts. And I do, apparently. I haven’t been told by anyone I don’t think (possibly one person?), that my writings are benefiting them in any way. That’s okay. Perhaps that’s none of my business. Perhaps the people whom I benefit are precisely the ones who prefer to be private about their feelings. I can definitely respect that.

originally published on 4/17/07

everyday observations

Poor

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I’ve been discussing with my friend the merits of different laptops. It’s a strangely entertaining topic. I guess I like tech-y stuff like cell phones and radios and dvd/cd burning equipment, blah, blah, blah. I don’t feel I’m very adept at it, though, but the rudimentary things are handy enough to grasp.
I have a small rash on my thumb. I don’t know if it’s a bite or what. It’s annoying.

I’m tired, in case you can’t tell. I should go to my mushy bed soon. There’s no particular reason to stay down here on the couch. I ought to also do my PM yoga, but will I?

I hope (you) don’t mind if I just make an entry.

originally published on 8/6/07

everyday observations

All, Most

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By the way, the same also applies to food. I couldn’t remember before, but I knew there were other uncontrollable issues. I cannot stop my food intake once I get started much of the time. So one of my solutions is to not get started in the first place. As you might surmise, that doesn’t always work, or I would be dead.
Let’s also not forget television watching. Again I try the not starting approach.

The annoying thing (one of them) is when I observe others who have far more ability to gauge what is their natural zone of healthy behavior. It isn’t a constant uphill battle for many, at least as far as I can observe. And I do observe quite a bit when I’m in a group. I don’t really bury myself in myself. I think I would get sort of claustrophobic without that outlet.

originally published on 8/12/07