Realized that I haven’t given any updates about this, so you know, here’s one.
Was terrified by list. Thought of list perpetually and refrained from glancing at music even once. Forced hubs to sing each excerpt a cappella whilst holding grapes as I drifted into slumber each night.
Maintained vibrant terror of list. Realized serenades had not dulled fear in the slightest, despite hubs’ robust and manly tenor. Commenced frenzied cleaning. Unearthed several raccoon nests and our second dog, plus her now fully grown litter of 7 beagldoodles. Was relieved not to be a hoarder, as hoarders never clean. Guzzled several mugs of coffee.
Faced list. Copland was a sketchy bitch for many moments. There was, eventually, enough relenting for a shallow amelioration. Then Schoenberg made me watch while he sucked a bucket of lemur dicks. It was unpleasant to all my senses.
Drank a vat of wine.
Awoke late after several sleepless hours of not remembering the Schoenberg excerpt. Overdosed on albuterol due to everything in the Deathcrack consipiring against my lungs. Realized my increased heart rate from aforementioned drug was exactly the cardio I required; it is important to exercise during such times of stressful preparation.
Decided to warm up with Don Juan. Realized ten minutes in that nothing gets warm when you are on the dead end of relentlessly one sided jack rabbit sex and any moistness is probably just coincidence.
Moved towards Mendelssohn Scherzo and achieved a beautifully clean and light hearted spiccato stroke whilst fantasizing over repeatedly stabbing various colleagues in the eyeballs with a toothpick.
Began Brahms’ Fourth Symphony with high expectations and was quickly rewarded with both the inability to play anything remotely intune and a vibrato reminiscent of a rust encrusted dildo tied to an understandably irate walrus. My panic attack was accompanied by one of my dogs barfing up part of a sock.
Ate a large meat lovers pizza.
Felt sad that the pizza was gone and distracted myself by listening to recordings of Prokofiev’s Classical Symphony whilst feeding the rest of my socks to the dogs. To challenge them, I flung the socks on shelves and dressers every time there was a forte or accented note. Spontaneity is important in music.
Realized the dogs were dehydrated from all the sock eating. Also that it was dark outside. Went to bed.
Practiced religiously every day. Most people say a bunch of pious shit in churches and then proceed to do whatever the hell they want absolutely everywhere else in life. Clearly, ‘religious’ is a valid term that has just been widely misused.
Ran list for some friends. Two of them forgot I was playing midway through and began doing tequila shots. One of them smiled widely the entire time. I only realized afterwards that his stable grin was due to shitting his pants and staining my couch. The fourth one took copious notes the entire time, and after I’d finished, gleefully informed me that I had her pity, my goodness aren’t excerpts hard, and perhaps I should just never play chords or attempt to memorize anything.
Got new friends
Practiced carefully. Narrowly avoided meltdowns at least three different times. Enjoyed the compliments of my very delightful students who arrived for their lessons early and overheard some of my stuff. Was patient when hubs attempted a vocal accompaniment with the Bartok Concerto for Orchestra excerpt, even when he launched into a cadenza that involved throat singing and hand farting.
Ran list every morning, mostly through the shredder. Hubs finally told me not to waste paper, so I compromised by scream-peeing on his pillow. Decided soggy bed linens were exactly the textural ambiance Debussy wanted, and launched into La Mer with reckless, albeit squelchy, abandon. Apparently the sea is neither squelchy nor made of pee, and I was tossed from wave to disinterested wave, each surge making me wish I’d put pants on before choosing a soggy pillow as my stage.
Bought cat shaped shoes because necessities and also another set of wine glasses. Let’s be real, you probably need more wine glasses. Briefly acknowledged the triplets in Beethoven’s whatever, and debated popping pimples in lieu of attempting pianissimos.
Got a good night’s sleep, aka watched every episode of Criminal Minds and then cried because why can’t Derek and Garcia just fall for each other.
Got up early, as never went to sleep. Did math for an hour to figure out when to get to the hall to play my round, ran late, and obliterated local economy and wildlife getting there; have car insurance/moving on.
Got to hall. Warmed up. Pretended like other people are decent folk and everything is fine. Mentally promised to hunt down and slaughter chirpy 20 year old chewing gum and prancing about with her stupid fucking BAM case and even dumber pants.
Walked on stage. Forgot everything, including angst. Decided to play. Let go, breathed, and saw light everywhere. Looked at the brown in my fiddle, and the shine of the strings, and remembered my favorite phrase in the concerto.
Played. Some things made me not crave arsenic. Finished. Left. Grabbed phone and immediately looked up the next audition. Drove home smiling.
Let’s do it again!