Losing track of days .. how do people do it!??

 

Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-8-25 8:00am & Drudgery

I'm actively losing tack of days; I've had to backtrack in my memory to remind myself how these 24 hour periods are linearly connected. It's both daunting and freeing.

On one hand there is relief, freedom from the drudgery of habitual behavior, but noticing a telescopic perspective embedded in 'freedom from drudgery’; makes we want to look a little deeper in he nature of the 'drudgery'.

Oxford defines drudgery as "hard menial or dull work". Looking at that I have to wonder to myself if 'drudgery' is a bit extreme, and in the wondering allow myself to become curious about the disaffection with 'shiny glittery things'. Like work for example. And how does sitting in a chair talking with people about their mental wellness constitute 'drudgery'? Truth be told, it's not the work, but my perception of how it holds me hostage in a prison of my own narrative.

What is that prison, pray tell?

It may feel like solitary confinement, and maybe that's the ticket? The associative inertia embedded in the prison of the life's frame. I've worked hard to pursue the dream of this particular 'prison' —- for years in fact. And now that I've tried it, I have decided it's too confining and has yielded a net result of 'drudgery'. Same thing happened in my previous 35 year career in music.

This is not new, it’s an age old attachment there —- and many people experience the situation where a passion becomes a demand, the love affair fades. But thinking more broadly, is this how all romances begin and end? In my song "Let's Not Talk About Love", I referenced this process as being a tongue in cheek nod to the stage frame of love (not only romantic but all cathected connections) and its envelop :begining to end.

"Let's Not Talk About Love  (©Ron Schulz 1985)

Let's talk about hearts and flowers

Let's talk about romantic hours

   spent in the dark

   lovers by heart

But let's not talk about love

Let's talk about your indecision

Let's talk about my tunnel vision

    My periscope eyes

    Will tell you no lies

But let's not talk about love.

     Let's not resort to vague expressions

     Of worn cliches and true confessions;

     Let's talk about a simple progression:

     Inspection to Affection to Connection to Defection

Let's talk about your inclination

To try to steer the conversation

     to rings and bells

     and organ swells

But let's not talk about love.

Before we cease communication

Just let me make one proclamation:

      "I had a great time--

       the pleasure was mine"

We didn't say a word about love"

And so all things end as the once began and we move on to the next shiny object that catches our attention and promises hope for another new, next revival of one's psychic state.

When next in the lineup of new, next revivals for me and my aging 72ish self???? That question is not only rhetorical, but also expects some recommendations from others who have faced this dilemma. How have others done 'it'. How have you graduated from the school of drudgery, retiring successfully FROM something TO something?????  

And you thought retire would be easy? think again ...... and again...... and again, and again etc.

More Harp Journal stuff:

I have been digging into my repertoire folder lately (since I've had the time.....) and revisited this lovely tone poem (as I like to think of it) Gymnopedie by Erik Satie and dedicated to my pal Franciose Severin across the pond. 

 

I'm currently working in the D Major folder and polished up Enya's Watermark recently, and currently tackling "Canon in D", which will soon be ready....... in about a month..... at a snail's pace....