A hand on my shoulder

I can always tell when there's something bothering me or just on my mind, since my subconscious tends to cast my dad in a cameo role in one of my dreams. Usually this is unsettling in itself: no matter what he's doing, his very presence nags at me and tells me there's something not right, all isn't as it should be.

The reasons for this will be obvious to those who might recall previous writings about my dad, namely that he's been dead for well over a decade, in fact closer now to a decade and a half. So whenever he appears in a dream scenario, especially if he appears alive and well, then the residue of feelings I have about him tend to resonate with a disquieting plangency.

It reminds me of another dream I sometimes have, that of a loved family cat. In the dream, the cat is sitting purring, contented, on the hot coals of an open fire. The cat looks well, and happy, but I know it shouldn't be, and I have a sense of dread for what must surely be an inevitability.

Last night, my dad was in my dream, but it was different...very different. I was unsettled by my own circumstances, and here was my dad just nearby. Before I could start to think but...hang on, aren't you already...how come you look healthy? or such like, he stood over me, and put a hand on my shoulder.

A very comforting hand on my shoulder. What was communicated from him to me, powerfully but wordlessly, was, it's ok, don't worry. It'll be alright.

This has never been my dream-projection of him before, and on waking this morning, I was quite startled.

Unmitigated disaster

I've realised that I've got a ritual, particularly the day before I'm due to play a gig. Wednesday saw me enact such a ritual: on getting home from work I plugged everything in and did a final run-through of my set.

Once was enough, I knew it was too late to make any changes. Besides, I was happy enough with what I was playing, particularly after the relatively last-minute adjustments I'd made the previous day.

Thus complete, I put everything away, and then set about giving the bathroom a good clean. Then I set about giving the kitchen a good clean. Then I set about giving my living room and bedroom a good clean. Then I took a few bags of stuff down to the nearest recycling point, then I came back and did some more cleaning and tidying. At the end of the evening I sat down and relaxed with what felt like a couple of well-earned beers before heading off to bed.

Now on the one hand there are straightforward reasons for all these post-rehearsal chores, in that I would be entertaining guests, plus the place was ready for a clean anyway. On the other, I think what it serves to do is to soak up some of the nervous energy by spending time on straightforward tasks which have a clear beginning, middle and end. It gives me a sense of calm solitude which I really appreciate.

The gig itself went well, and I was glad I'd put in all the extra effort to tailor my set to be more suitable for the atmosphere of the event. Just teasing then, in calling this post Unmitigated disaster.

I don't feel particularly vulnerable when I'm on stage: the focus required - not to mention the volume levels - tends to take care of that. (Even so, I can only bring to mind one occasion where I was so relaxed and immersed in what I was doing that I more or less forgot I was on stage, and that was some years ago.)

No, I feel vulnerable afterwards: after all the preparation and the build up, then to play a gig which goes well (and I was pleased with the response I got) is initially a relief and a good feeling. But then, something else sometimes kicks in - a day or so later - in which I feel a bit lost, maybe lonely, certainly in need of some kind of reassurance. That's definitely been the case this weekend, and in some ways I'm looking forward to the normality and the routine of work.

Still, I now have to continue my preparations in earnest for the next gig. There isn't much time and I want to try and get two new pieces finished and ready. I've just done two hours of work this evening and it was very unsettling: back in the mode of feeling like I face an uphill task, like I was starting again from scratch, even.

But then, I have to remind myself: it's ok, and if I don't get all the new stuff ready, it's not the end of the world. I shall resume with it tomorrow, at which point I should be in a more suitable frame of mind for such things.

Observations

1. Apart from the temperature, one clear indicator of the fact that it's turned a bit cold round here is that, mysteriously (and maddeningly), the windows on the buses are open. Whereas during the few really hot and humid days in the summer, people kept them closed. Despite the heating being on.

2. I passed an elderly gentlemen earlier who was in conversation with someone. "It doesn't get any warmer, does it?" I heard him say. I was very tempted to march up to him and call him a climate change sceptic.

3. I'm onstage in a few hours.

Ignorant

Or preoccupied, more like. I play later this week and I've just reached the point where I'm sufficiently ok with the material I'm going to play. Whilst in a waiting room at the eye hospital today it suddenly occurred to me that the final track I'd been working on just didn't quite fit in - or it had something missing which needs to be resolved. It's been bugging me.

In a flash I remembered a track which was in a similarly unfinished state (and has been for some months) but which would sit so much better with the rest of my set: as a result it's been comparatively light work to reach a point of resolve with it, and now I can actually look forward to the gig. At last.

So don't mind me, I feel a little bit neglectful of recent bloggy comments and so on, but I'll pay more attention round here after the gig is done. I'll let you know how it went, too (unless it's an unmitigated disaster).

Fun sized chunks of anxiety

Sort of sums up my week, though not in a negative way: I've an extra gig coming up very soon, and as a consequence I have a set of material almost ready - much of which didn't exist in any usable or meaningful form this time last week.

I also have a slightly changed attitude towards my tinnitus (again, not in a negative way).

The gig will be a very different - and more mellow - affair to the other one that I've been planning for, hence the decision (a very daunting decision it was, at the beginning of the week) to work on material which will be, at least to a degree, more suitable for this particular occasion.

I've a couple of days away from all this though, my grandma turns 94 next week, so I'll be wishing her happy birthday this weekend.

Bypass

Just after I passed by a woman who was selling Big Issue magazine earlier, I heard another woman say loudly (and clearly within earshot of the vendor),

Fucking hell, she's got a gold tooth, and she's selling the Big Issue? How do you work that one out??

Well, where to start?

How about something like, gold teeth and homelessness aren't mutually exclusive?

Yep, that'll do. Not too difficult, was it?

Bananagate

These are not the bananas I'm looking for.











The ones I'm looking for were in focus, for one thing. No, these are a new purchase, in order to address the mystery banana-deficit which recently occurred - and which has yet to be solved.

And (as well as starting a sentence with such a word) I ask again the question (only this time with swearwords as a necessary intensifier):

HOW THE SHITTING CRIKEY CAN YOU LOSE A BUNCH OF BANANAS?

In bold type, as well.