If I had to liken my life to an art form I’d say I am a sculptor. One who once more has managed to slice her thumb open whilst finally being nailed to the cross of her involuntary own making.
I am faced with a stark choice: Begging, bankruptcy, prison (or, naturally, as discussed recently, prostitution). All of them intense in their own ways. Only one an option I can stomach whilst still blushing.
The damage I can’t service this minute in one fell swoop? £1,285.48. Yes, I know. In the scheme of things it’s nothing. Nothing. But then in some countries they chop your hand off for stealing a loaf of bread. The second time round you are left without either of your tools.
Some headline tells me that we need to address the lack of female composers.
Be still my beating heart. Why don’t I just lie down and die instead? Has the world gone completely bonkers? Why do we NEED to ADDRESS the LACK of FEMALE composers?
Sweethearts, there is a reason [why women – on the whole – don’t compose]. Mainly – try not to reinvent the wheel – that men and women are different. We have to get to my life time to be told that we can, should and are all able to do the same? Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrleeeeeeeeeese!
So glad I don’t have a daughter. What would I tell her? “Address the lack of female composers, girl.” Here is a Bechstein for you. Try not to sleep with your piano teacher. And, whilst you are at it, I have also installed a glass ceiling on top so you can prepare for a time when you’ll be pushed to push through it. Try and time it so you don’t give birth at the same time and on the board room table. Men might faint. And then who will make you push? To the right beat. Who? That’s right. Your female comrade losers. The ones who can’t distinguish between a hearth and a mine.
I am sick of it. Sick of it all. Even sicker of women who tell me, WOMAN, how to live my life. If I wanted to be a man I’d go to Canada and fell trees. In the meantime can you please leave me and my inner as yet not unleashed brain surgeon in peace. Please.
What prescriptive times we live in.
Napoleon remarked (why did he make that common mistake of trying to invade Russia – in winter) that a general is NOTHING without “fortune” (French pronunciation) on his side. True. And Lady Luck is fickle. In fact if Lady Luck were so unlucky as to be my daughter I’d tell her a few home truths. The way she grants favours, or not, isn’t the way to go about it.
First of all: She has no sense of justice. None. In fact, if she was that child faced with a marshmallow she’d be out of the door before she could chew it.
I dislike many sayings. Not least the one and only: “Du bist der Schmied Deines eigenen Gluecks”. Loosely translated: Everone is master of their own luck. Bah to that. I do take responsibility for myself (and others) but don’t give me a horse’s hoof. That way you’ll limp on the home stretch.
Anyway, IT’S ALL RELATIVE. “It’s all relative” is my mantra. You can apply it to anything in life. That way (relative) happiness lies. Naturally the likes of Looney and his mind will point out to me that in order for something to be relative you need something to measure it against. True.
I measure ‘it’ against, say, fairy tales. Particularly on a Sunday afternoon. Or a particular Maupassant novella, the title I won’t name lest it’ll break your heart on reading. Yes, fairy tales, as opposed to Maupassant: You briefly, emphasis briefly, spend many an hour cleaning the castle’s hearths under the malevolent eye of your step mother. One hundred years later you either go to a ball and leave your dainty shoe behind and/or are being kissed by a prince. No wonder I only eat apples vetted by me and in the privacy of my own company. And go barefoot.
I won’t tell you which one is my favourite fairy tale. It’ll give too much away about me – even to the obtuse among you. Instead let’s settle on another one. A grim one as the Grimm Brothers go: “Von einem der auszog das Fuerchten zu lernen.” One who went out to learn fear. Not a difficult task you might say. Take it from me. It is [difficult]. Particularly if you are not afraid of the dark. Anyway he did find something he was afraid of. Lucky him. And no, it wasn’t that which we all fear, it was – nemesis of my own life: A COLD FISH.