In Which Our Heroine Whines Repeatedly
I guess I’m just another spoiled brat. Or maybe it’s that my summer depression is just hitting this afternoon, hard, and all at once.
I was just driving home from DS’s disaster – uh, I mean apartment – and it hit me. I’m not having any fun. I’m not enjoying having an empty nest cause I’m still parenting, only long (ok, short) distance. And with fewer results.
I’m not enjoying my women’s chorus. All the music is too hard for my skills. It’s not in English. Oh, it *says* it’s English, but it’s like Olde English or Middle English or something that is more German than English. And it’s too hard and too fast. It’s not pretty. There’s little nice harmony or melody. It’s not fun to sing and the rehearsals are not fun. We used to do at least *some* fun music. Where’s the fun music?
I’m not enjoying choir. The main reason I joined, because a friend of mine was in the choir and said I should, well, she’s not there any more and shows no signs of coming back. The music we’re doing for our Christmas choir concert is too hard and it’s not in English. (Do you sense a trend? I sense a trend.) It’s too fast for me and it’s not pretty. There’s no real melody and no real harmony. We’re doing some god-awful thing to do at another church that, at this point, I’d rather slit my throat than work on, plus this no-fun-all-the-time music. Why am I putting myself through this? Most of my friends aren’t in choir any more and we’re not doing anything that’s any fun. We used to do *some* fun music. Where’s the fun music? I love my choir director, but at this point, I’d prefer jumping off the nearest high bridge than go to choir practice. Which is, of course, tonight.
Then there’s my newsletter. It’s no fun, either. There are any number of people that need to have their heads knocked together. (Go ahead, pick a number. I can easily find that many names.) I don’t enjoy working with people who refuse to cooperate or even follow simple rules that are set for *everybody*. Everybody except them, apparently. They’re all special cases. And we won’t even discuss the word “deadline”. These folks walk right on past them. I read, a while back, about the origin of the word deadline and with some of these people, I’d like to try the original meaning. (Look it up.) There is no cooperation. Well, that’s not true. Some people are simply lovely and appreciative. They turn their stuff in on time, if not before, they follow the very simple guidelines I’ve set, and they give me no trouble. But it’s the others I’m going to be hearing from when they discover I’ve not treated them as special cases to whom the rules don’t apply. I’m not enjoying this any more. Why am I doing it? Goddess knows it’s not the money. The money is, literally, laughable.
So when did I decide that everything in life has to be fun? Sounds like a spoiled brat to me. But is it really asking so much to get some enjoyment out of the things I committed myself to because they’re fun? Like the chorus and the choir?
At this point I want to quit everything that I’m clearly not enjoying and am finding too hard, like choir and the chorus and the newsletter. I should just stay home, mostly, and do the things that I am capable of and find fun, like knitting and taking pictures of the cats at the shelter. The cats appreciate it. My son doesn’t, or at least doesn’t seem to. I took him some things I’d ordered for him, including the ever-necessary pizza cutter, and didn’t get so much as a thank you. The chorus didn’t notice I wasn’t there for a month. Choir won’t miss me – we actually seem to have enough altos at the moment, which is a rarity. I should stay home and knit and watch TV. That’s fun.