3/1/99

Man. I am still putting off the homework that's due tomorrow in my atonality class. I'm having trouble taking myself seriously right now. Here I am: almost 24, embarking on careerland, guiding the country's youth toward an artistic, compassionate adulthood, and I can't frigging finish the homework assignment for the single class I'm taking. My life should be so easy, why do I do this to myself?

My recital fell apart today, again. Y'all out there have got to be just rolling your eyes. This time, the show was only cancelled for about an hour and a half. I guess it really wasn't such a good idea to schedule the damn thing on the Ides of March. I don't think anything else can possibly go wrong, but I'm knocking on wood just in case.

See, this percussionist came up to me today and informed me that her recital is at 8:00, right after mine, in the same hall. She'd had the aud reserved for 6 to set up (percussionists get extra time in the hall to set up all the paraphernalia) but someone had erased it and I'd gotten the slot unknowingly. And one of us was going to have to move. Naturally, since she was there first, she didn't think it should be her. I asked her to give me the afternoon to straighten out what I could and I'd let her know what I'd come up with. I was in shock.

Then I had the whole of wind symphony rehearsal to brood. By the end I was in tears. WHY doesn't anything go well for this recital? So I went to check the book in the office and see for myself the big mess that someone had caused. The woman in the office (most likely the moron who'd caused the mess) directed me to my advisor, who is the only person who can authorize cancellation of a degree recital. I was sure I'd end up out on my ass. I mean, it's me, a euphoniumist, against a percussionist. And she was there first, as far as anyone knows.

My advisor was busy. I went to see my professor instead. I spent a half hour or so waiting for him to come back from lunch, then he surprised me by walking out of his office, so I felt like a dumbass. When he heard the story he accompanied me to my advisor's office and we determined several points in my favor. For one thing, the slot's mine. It's the other chick's business to figure out when she'll set up her shit. Another thing? She's technically not allowed to have an 8:00 recital time, since she's an undergrad. (I had no idea she was an undergrad--I thought she was a DMA student; if I'd known she's actually younger than me I'd have kicked her ass right out in the first place.) Somehow she slipped through a crack and scheduled her recital at 8, taking that time from any grad students who may have wanted it. Like me, though that's moot now. If she presses the issue, it's likely to come up that her recital is illegal.

So I won out. Much to my semi-disappointment. I've always enjoyed playing the role of the victim. And now I really have to get myself together on my lit, because very few other things are going to come along and try to shut me down. The damn thing is really going to happen.

Do I just keep saying that? I apologize. When you work toward a goal for so long and it finally appears on the horizon, it's horrifying. And something like this, I mean, "the recital" is what has been in the back of my mind throughout my master's studies. You never know what the thing is going to look like. I can guess and plan, anticipate, but a recital takes on a life of its own, and there's a point at which one must relinquish control. A solo recital is not just another band concert, it's all me. There will be people there whom I've not seen in years. There will be people there comparing me to other euphoniumists; there will be euphoniumists there comparing me to themselves. I will be comparing myself to, well, myself. And I almost never measure up.