Good job I did that distraction therapy on Sunday.
I almost forgot- there was the sound of a loud band playing in the street in Camden, and as I crossed the bridge I could see them- four young chaps in funky street clothing playing paint-by-numbers punk and thoroughly enjoying it. People in the crowd were smiling even though it was bitterly cold. Youth! Noise!
'I know how to do that', I thought, and laughed out loud at the thought of being 53 and punkier-than-thou.
I stopped off and bought a grey shirt, to match my teaching.
I have responsibility for 150 students and 6 staff, 5 of whom are new and need varying degrees of mentoring. Most of the week is spent averting disasters or potential disasters, while the teaching that I love (Songwriting and Production) buzzes along in the background, and I am starved of the pleasures of working on my own songs at home, as there simply isn't time. There is no other word for it but malmusician!
I look at it positively when I can: I currently have a job. But worrying about horror-Thursday (up to two hours travelling either side of a nine hour day) seeps back as far as Sunday evening now and I imagine spinning plates crashing to the ground from their poles.
Gah! That's enough moping.
I am going to see Caroline tomorrow with a picnic (she's got the builders in) and looking forward to a good yak with her: she's full of vitality and could cheer up the most miserable slug on a building site!