Serve the Dustbunnies some Cheese with their Whine...

I haven't a clue. I think I disappeared into the fear. I mean, I know I was doing things, although, some days, not much. Yesterday morning I blew off my oa meeting and stayed in bed, watching TV and playing games on the laptop. I eventually got up, squeezed in a hot run at the gym, showered, got late to the therapy group and managed to talk about nothing for 2 hours (ha ha! Pulled one over on them!), stuffed down some dinner, ran to costco, ran to the florist to get flowers for Fuzz's mom's birthday, stopped briefly there, and ran back home to vote in the federal election (fat lot of good that did, but I felt that at least I was flipping a metaphorical bird at the winners). Whew. When I finally got home, Fuzz said, oh by the way, there's a new job up in the next town (where we want to move) which starts in a couple of weeks, should he apply? About then I was aware of my head spinning and a headache coming on. Overload, abort, abort... I had no clue, and wisely told him it was his job, he was the best job of what he should do.

I think I was running from the discomfort. I am very aware of the irony that while I discover that I can run physically, I still run from my thoughts. Unfortunately, I don't seem to wish to run by doing housework! I feel helpless, therefore I am? I feel selfish, lazy, blahdeblahdeblah...

Funny thing is, smack dab in the middle of this miasma, I had some really great experiences. My community choir gave a performance of songs by Canadian writers, some known, like Joni Mitchell, some unknown, and it was hosted by Tom Lips (great name for a singer, eh?), an Ottawa folksinger and storyteller, who deserves to be much better known than he is.

The choir backed him up on a couple of songs, but for a couple of his more solo pieces, they realized at the last minute it needed just a few backup singers for harmony, so 3 days before the concert I was asked to come in with some gospel-like harmonies with four others. Tom called us "The Jordanaires" a reference to a group that backed Elvis, of all people. I hammed it up, as you can see full well in the photo, pretending I was in O Brother Where Art Thou, and had a great time. Got lots of good feedback from audience and choir members.

For a day or two afterward I had dreams of trying to find more small group roles, I love being a backup singer. Then the shame kicked in.

I don't enjoy talking about this part, you probably don't want to hear it, but I've got to write it out. Feel free to switch to stuffonmycat.com. I felt like I was too hammy. Some of my friends, sitting in the back row, said they could hear my voice even when I was singing in the general choir. Am I too loud? I know some of the choir resents that they weren't asked. My turn is up, nobody will want me to perform again. I want to perform, but at the same time I want to hide. Maybe that's the conflict that seems to paralyze me, and I end up back in bed. It's safe. Nobody will see me.

Ok, some things are becoming clearer. I need to write more regularly, before those dust bunnies build up in my brain... maybe the housekeeping needs to be more in my head.