Friday

I played duets with S (U, downstairs, not SB who I went to the square with, I'd better start distinguishing between them) today after playing by myself for about 2 hours. She is good, and has a fine, mellow ringing sound that I like very much. It reminds me of B's viola playing, only more controlled. In timbre it makes me think of a light cello sound. She reads very well, and she certainly has a way with compliments. I hope to play with her often.

We ate dinner at the Lucky Garden with the As. Spicy dishes, the majority of which I liked, but all too much the same. I have indigestion now. I still don't like S's manner, a sort of know-it-all bravado. Maybe I'm being unfair. I do like M very much though. Strange that I should react to the two of them so differently. The moment there were more than two of us in our dining room he sat down at our piano and started to bang out one of his pieces. (I think it was one of his pieces, either that or some equally corny semi-modern music.) Then he started to sight-read (or mangle might be more accurate) one of the English Suites. Ack! I wouldn't play my newest piece for him, on the unbased fear that he might steal the ideas. I wish I didn't have such an uncharitable view of the man. I don't even like the way he talks politics.

There is something weighing on my mind, pressing heavily on my skull. I wish I could identify it and relieve it somehow. I don't know what's the matter. Perhaps it's worry over my French or school or something like that. I feel like calling up B, I don't know why, but I have nothing to say to her except "hi" and would probably just hang in the air after that.

I think I just figured out what it is that's bugging me. I heard a very distressing piece of news today ~ EC bought a house down in the South End? What will it mean for K and J? Poor kids, they've got enough problems without moving to a strange neighborhood on top of it. I hope it means that G is going to take charge of them, but somehow I doubt it. Oh God, that's all I need now, to have another miserable pair of friends. I don't know why I said that ~ I don't think it meant it that way. It's not for selfish reasons that I'm upset, I hope. Mom says she's been weepy alot lately. I wonder what's bothering her specifically, or particularly I mean. Am I getting more touchy, or are things getting worse? I don't know, I've been feeling pretty together myself lately.

I keep thinking of a book I read earlier this summer (probably because it's lying right out on the desk where I can see it) Heroes and Villains by Angela Carter. Very powerful and disturbing, it's one of those books that makes you wish everything had turned out alright, even though it wouldn't have. Also two books that need a third, Roger Zelazny's Nine Princes in Amber and The Guns of Avalon. I think I'll reread part of the latter. Right now I'm reading And Quiet Flows the Don by Mikhail Sholokow. I like for its broad sweep and stylistically colorful writing. It gets you interested in the characters even while dealing with major events in history. It never deals with major political figures, but deals mainly with a few of the cossacks and other people living on the Don. I read some short stories by the same man before. Earlier I also read The Word by Irving Wallace, in its own way thought provoking. I look at the picture of the undistinguished man on the back cover and smile at the torrid sex scenes. It's entertainment anyway. I also read One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and enjoyed it very much. Maybe enjoy isn't the right word. I became engrossed, I sunk myself in it, and I was affected emotionally by it. I sound like a rave book review, but I was very impressed by it. That is to say I liked it. Oh God, one gets the point anyway. Everyone has the urge to talk of write or act out clichés every now and then, perhaps that's what I'm doing here.

Rereading some of the the things I've written I find myself qualifying many of the flat statements in my head, like "in a way," "sometimes," "not always," but..." However I have promised that I will not delete anything I've written. And I won't add anything or change any of the mistakes in spelling or grammar except on the date I've written it. I don't want to edit it "after-the-fact." If I wrote it, event if it's dumb or hateful or just plain silly there must be a reason for it. I might as well let it hang out all the way. RIght? Right! I sound like something out "A Teeny-Bopper's Diary" written by a fifty-six year old man for public consumption on the best-seller list.

[commentary | previous entry | next entry]

© Copyright 2002 Pascale Soleil.
Last updated: 11/10/02; 2:21:28 PM.
Comments by: YACCS