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May 3, 2007

My husband is working through his comps process this week and it is like the rest of the world, and my life, has suddenly entered a Jell-O mold. I’m just hanging here in space, cheering as loud as I can, as he goes slo-mo into the breech. PhDs, my friends, are for suckers.

As soon as this is over, I can stop my nervous baking and chicken-salad-making and all around boot-shaking and get down to the writing of this second song for the piano dude. It’s got to get done, and I am nervous about it.

I’ve also been having some weird vocal problems lately — just something I’ve noticed while singing in my car. Actually for the last few years, I have noticed a change in my voice, not in the tone, but just how it physically feels to sing. I worried for a while I was unconciously doing something different and straining myself, but I am afraid now that this weird feeling in my throat may actually have something to do with my thyroid. So, I will have to get that investigated.

Meanwhile, I have a strong urge to return to my first love, choral singing, after a three-year hiatus. I had a staff job at a very, very good church for several years when I moved to Atlanta, but when we moved north of the city, I eventually gave it up. The reason had mostly to do with the travel time required, but also to do with the unbelievable vocal pressure I was under every week to show up at rehearsals and performances and blast like a foghorn while the director did the minimum amount of work required to teach, say, the freaking B minor mass to an amateur, albeit devoted and talented, choir.  The guy just hated rehearsing and every week I left there feeling like someone had hit me with a sack of nickels, my knuckles still white from gripping the score. I don’t mind hard work when it comes to such beautiful works of art, and it paid pretty well, but when the upshot is me and three other people having to sing everything ffffff while everyone else hangs on for dear life, the experience is not artistic for anyone.

Atlanta has an excellent symphony chorus, but after singing in Dallas’ for many years, I have avoided entering that life again. It’s such a commitment; I don’t know. I was about to write a big diatribe about enjoying my life without a choir director controlling it, but dang, I just looked and they are doing some good stuff in the coming season. A couple of things I’ve never done before. Hell. I will have to think on it. Auditions are in August.

Meanwhile: pretty, cheesey songs for the piano man and damn sad songs for my band. Please kick me in the pants, Internet, I need to get going.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. betsyfp permalink
    May 4, 2007 2:20 am

    Would choral singing work for songwriting the way keeping a journal is supposed to work for writing? Keep the wheels greased and everything? (Or does keep a journal work for songwriting the way it works for writing? That makes more sense, now that I think about it.) It seems like singing without having to be responsible for choosing lyrics or music could be sort of freeing.

    Good luck to the whole house this comps week. Dr. FP took Boards in lieu of comps, but he spent six weeks leading up to it living with his brother in New Mexico on academic lockdown with highlighted study schedules and homemade flash cards, and, while I missed him, I think it was best for all involved that he was several states away. Just think how nice it will be when life can resume and it’s time to start kicking a dissertation’s ass.

  2. lhstories permalink
    May 6, 2007 5:41 pm

    Dr. Carol Greenlee seems like a good endocrinologist to me, if you need one. She works out of Piedmont. Her office is not very organized but they are slowly getting their stuff together. She doesn’t
    try to rush you out of the door, but takes time to explain things. Good luck!

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