Yesterday was a wash. I barely remember it. I touched down, picked up my too-big-for-the-overhead-compartment-so-it-had-to-be-checked carry-on, and there was Joe, bleary-eyed, waiting with the car to pick me up.
I barely made it through my solo at my second church job… for some reason, the gods saw fit to bless me with one that was an entire page of passagio singing and four full slow measures of repeated G5s. It is Murphy’s Law that of course this solo should occur in the rotation when I am at my most tired, most dehydrated, and most…zzzzzz wait, I fell asleep while I was typing that. When I got home, I threw my coat on the floor and got straight into bed, only to awaken about an hour before my evensong call.
At evensong rehearsal, I kept making embarrassing rhythmic mistakes and generally mortifying myself in front of the whole soprano section. I wanted to wear a sign that said: “Don’t mind me, I got up at 3:30 am.” The good news is that I did finally get it together for the service. The minute it was over, I practically ran to the nearby bar for a vodka and club soda. I’m pretty sure I’m not an alcoholic, but boy did that make all the difference in the world.
Today I made it to work, barely alive, hoarse of throat and dull of mind.
But I’m so glad to be home. I really love home.