| Bad seeds out. |
[Dec. 4th, 2011|11:42 am] |
Change has taken place, and in a good way. My mornings are early, and while burning CDs frantically before my band's set, I've realized how good it can be down here, if you do it right; kind of a reminder of lessons learned last season. There's a sense of community between performers down here, between each other and even between us and those who just watch. I may not be getting paid a salary or have health benefits, or designing for a semi-renowned arts organization, but I feel down here like I'm more successful and in tune with my accomplishments than anywhere else. That is to say, I feel really good about what I'm doing with my life, and I feel I get a good amount of validation for it too.
I've started playing bass in a new band called Yes, Ma'am!, and we've somewhat surprisingly been taking the French Quarter by storm. Many of the songs are originals, which is a nice change of pace from Banjo Blues or Hesitation Blues or any of those songs that end in the word Blues that literally made me want to stab my eardrums with forks at the mere thought of having to play any of them again. My bandmates are of an easier variety, communicative and group-oriented, rather than putting one person in a spotlight or catering to only one type of listener. What I mean to say, I guess, is that no longer playing with my blues-obsessed ex-boyfriend has lifted a musical weight from my shoulders that's rid my busking experiences of negativity and complication. And we make good money, because people can tell that we're enjoying ourselves, which makes them enjoy themselves too. Isn't that the whole point?
I moved into a new house with my bandmates; a small single-shotgun that's pink on the outside and even pinker on the inside. We call it the Yes Ma'amsion. Upon arrival, we were greeted by a painting on the door from the previous owner, a notoriously insane lady who was apparently lacking seriously in fan club members, that read "I got a dog, I [♥] got a gun, ya best think twice and RUN," which we painted over promptly, but left the heart. I wake up here every morning to the scuffle of three dogs, two of outrageous sizes and one resembling that of some grossly adorable woodland creature, climbing over my limbs, sleeping on my feet, or licking my face. No objections here. I'm living and spending my time with people who are genuine to me; honest, loving, and caring, rather than spending all my time with someone who I'm constantly having to stick up for and who's actions I'm always having to justify or rationalize to people who "didn't understand." I realized that many of the people close to me had very few nice things to say about the person I spent the last nine months with, and that a flat tolerance for bullshit had left me in a dying relationship with someone who was so jaded that the possibility for happiness was long since misplaced. I used to say that while my glass was half full, his was bone dry. I realized perhaps I'd made the right decision when my mother, upon hearing the news that we had separated, couldn't even get through the sentence "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry" before she fell into an involuntary fit of cackling laughter that lasted about five minutes.
I'm an overly involved person, but usually only in one thing. It's not a bad trait, I guess. But when I'm in music mode, I'm far from photo mode, and vice versa. Hence only posting the occasional photograph here once or twice a month. I won't complain though; I spend almost every day playing music with this band on Royal Street and am making more than a living with it, while enjoying it, genuinely, every day. Even on the stressful days, it's better than the alternative, and it's better than forcing myself to play music that I don't like for the sake of saving something not worth saving. It's an amazing change in lifestyle when you finally start putting yourself first again, and let other people deal with their problems in their own ways, be it in some productive way, or by throwing their cell phone across the house or punching a hole in the kitchen wall and complaining that they're "forever alone" (Reddit, anyone?). To each their own, I suppose. I'll take music, art-faggy movies, and a bike ride over whiskey-induced butt-hurt aggression any day.
I'm happy again. My old roommate read my tarot once before I left New Orleans in the Spring and had a hard time giving me the news that things looked like they'd get worse before they got a whole lot better. And they did. But I'm two steps forward now and learning how to move on with my life without being sucked into the mud by bad seeds, and it already feels better. I won't say it's all bread and butter, nor has it been the easiest transition, but it's easier than I thought it would be. I mean, who doesn't wish their ex would just disappear off the face of the planet sometimes, especially freshly after the divorce? I'm sure this feeling is mutual. But really, the only big difference between waking up with him and waking up alone, is that it smells better.
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