Tailoring balance
The wind is strong and makes the windows rattle. The rain of leaves doesn't reach this height — I live far above the height of trees — but the noise makes me nervous.
Listening to Chopin, I wondered how it was that I only grew up playing mostly Bach and Mozart. Of the two, I was better at Mozart, but apparently sweeping melodies and swaying emotions were more my thing. So I was told, much too much later. Fingers quivering. Memory, anticipation.
These days are all about finding balance ... the part of me that makes a Schumann romance soar and dive is the very part that wears me out. How does one sustain passion? Perhaps it's a simple matter of scheduling sleep.
It was the third time I went to the tailor and she was starting to recognise me even before I reached her workspace. Or perhaps she recognised my coat, which I had brought — for the third time. The part of the zipper that did the zipping was broken beyond repair. The first time, we studied the problem and she asked me to see if I could find parts which slide on the zipper. I came back with a pair, but they were the wrong kind. And so, for the third time, I came back with my coat, and a whole new zipper — but it was one inch too long. Fourth time lucky ...
Then there were the forms to fill. Forms for taxes, forms for immigration, forms to apply for this in order to apply for that. Has our civilization gotten so complicated that we cannot function without pieces of paper with small boxes on them?
Meanwhile, I plough through my inbox, deleting, filing — I am subscribed to way too many listservs, but I am too much of a brainfood addict. (What was that about balance?)
A smoke alarm screeches somewhere in the building, calling for intervention for such an eternal length of time that it becomes a high-pitched pedal note for Chopin. It stops, and the world falls suddenly silent, save for the wind and leaves like notes of an impromptu.
15 October 2003, Wednesday, 10:05 PM
Alter ego of dandruff
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