Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

"Note the obsessive use of abbreviations and avoidance of capital letters; this is a system invented by people to whom repetitive stress disorder is what black lung is to miners. Long names get worn down to three-letter nubbins, like stones smoothed by a river." -- In the Beginning was the Command Line by Neal Stephenson.

Wow, what a difference not driving at night makes. I bought gas earlier, and when I went to plug the numbers into my spreadsheet where I keep track of fuel economy and cost-of-operation and such, I noticed to my surprise that the last time I put gas in my car was twenty eight days ago! Which means I missed a lot of rehearsals.

So earlier I mentioned that I'd slept all afternoon but was feeling more alert than I had for a while. Oh, I was more awake, but didn't have much stamina. I went to the auto-parts store, the pharmacy (where they didn't have one of my prescriptions because they'd called the wrong doctor to get the refill authorized), and the gas station, refilled the radiator twice, put the fuse in (yaaay taillights!), came home, talked to the neighbour across the street (who says his nephew is a roofer, so I'll get an estimate on getting my roof fixed and maybe, just maybe, if Mom can afford it and the timing works out, I won't come home from Pennsic with two weeks of thunderstorms puddled in my bedroom), spoke to anniemal briefly on the phone, and promptly crashed hard. Started waking around 2:30 and noticed that Perrine was in a different spot on the bed than usual (she was on my right, between my head and the bookcase, instead of on my left just at extreme fingertip distance), and fully woke around 3:00.

(I seem to keep messing up when trying to give Perrine little treats. First there was the bite of omellette/fritatta thing I fed her back when she first showed up and I didn't have any cat food in the house yet, which I didn't let cool enough so she burned her mouth. Ever since, she's looked at yellow food nervously. This morning I cooked a frozen pizza, and after crumbling feta over it (a luxury, a gift from Anniemal), I had feta crumbs stuck to my fingers. So I offered the cat a chance to lick my fingers. She was interested until she discovered what I'd just forgotten: there was also a tiny bit of jalapeno juice on those fingers. Whoops! (She didn't seem to be in intense discomfort; she just kept licking her mouth over and over, looking at me funny, and looking at my fingers with great suspicion. And she didn't lick my fingers any more.) I felt bad about that. I guess she's not like Velvet, an ex-girlfriend's cat, who actually liked jalapenos after exposure to them as a kitten. Fortunately she didn't get a large enough dose to have to run to her water dish and complain, which is what Velvet's litter-mate did when he got a taste of a pepper.)

Right about now is the stressful aspect of Pennsic for me. I feel so unprepared. I'm not yet in the full War headspace (I won't really get that until I'm on site, honestly), I feel like there's a lot to do to get ready for two weeks there, and I feel like there's even more to do before I can feel comfortable being away from home and the things that need doing here for two weeks. I'm so far behind on everything, so broke, and with so many things to do (including making my shoulder stop hurting, and coming up with money to buy the prescriptions I couldn't afford today that I'll need to take with me). I'll feel better once I've been at War long enough to settle in and stop obsessing about everything at home.

Now to see whether I can manage to print my proof-of-membership off the SCA web site, since I procrastinated too long to get my new membership card in the mail by War. Apparently I needed to download a newer version of Acrobat Reader...

And while I'm thinking of procrastination, I should point out the excellent entry cellio just posted about procrastinating on what God wants us to do. A whole lot more important than renewing my SCA membership.

I'll warn up front that this isn't going to be as good or coherent a con report as some of the others I've seen in the past two days. But here goes... After setting it aside half-written for a couple of days, I've decided to break it up into multiple posts. But let's see if I can manage to get it all done before a whole week has passed.

As I said in the entry I posted when I got home, there were things that sucked and more important things that were good about my weekend at ConCertino. I'll get the sucky things out of the way first because they're quick (they don't inspire as much detail or as many digressions as the good things, and this way I'll end on a positive note): ( badness )

After all, I did get there, I did get to hear some cool music, I did get to catch up with (and hug) some people I don't see often enough, I had some really interesting conversations (the sort that seem to happen especially at conventions), I met some people, I had half a bed to sleep in, and I found a ride home (well, one was found for me) so I didn't have to deal with the bus all over on the way home. Some of those sound kind of small when I put them in words like that, but I know that a lot of y'all will understand how big they really are.

There was one good thing about going up on the bus: ( I met interesting people )

We eventually arrived in Worcester and I set about trying to figure out how to get from the bus station to the hotel. The fact that the person who had offered to pick me up forgot her cell phone wound up being a smaller problem than it sounds like -- an ex-musician (he explained wistfully that he let drugs distract him from a promising rock career) saw my guitar case and the sling I was wearing, heard me mention the address of the hotel, and told me which city bus to catch and where to get on. He even offered to carry my guitar from the Greyhound station to the city bus stop for me.

So I finally did make it to the convention, where I was greeted by friends who made it clear that they were glad to see me. And that's where I'll pick up in my next entry.

SATURDAY: I arrived; I was asked the question I got asked all weekend: "What happened to your arm?" "I have no idea; I woke up on Monday and my shoulder hurt like Hell." I was told to sit down because I looked wretched, and ice water was brought to me, for which I probably didn't show as much gratitude as I felt, because I was too tired to show much more than "tired". With help, I got my bags to the con suite, failed to register for the con, went to watch a couple of concerts, failed again to register for the con, followed folks out to dinner (Indian food -- yum), came back, failed to register, hung out in the con suite conversing, planned to get up and photograph the wenches at the auction then go to more concerts, realized I was rather on the tired side and stayed put instead, finally managed to register, showed off cat (and other) photos, tried to work up an idea I had for recorders with Nancy L., showed off the Homespun Ceilidh Band CD, went to the open filking later than I'd planned and kept getting distracted from it, camera-geeked after shooting some photos, and finally went up to bed when it was pointed out to me that everyone else in my room had already crashed.

Are folks getting a little ... fancier? more adventerous? ... with their vocal technique lately, or was it just the two concerts I watched? It seemed that there was more attention paid to technique beyond the basics of pitch and tone; shaping the vocal style to the song and such.

Once I got past the arriving-dehydrated-and-exhausted thing (a side effect of sitting down for the concerts was that I also got a chance to gather my strength), Saturday was about good food (a nice assortment of tasty food was provided in the con suite as well) and good conversation, with a little bit of good music thrown in just to remind me that I was at a music convention. I was in the mental state I refer to as "con mode", and have lost track of how many people I talked to and the complete list of what all we talked about. I had fun. I also kept losing track of time. (Not uncommon when I'm tired. Also not uncommon when I'm in "con mode". Double whammy. I decided to enjoy the conversations and Just Not Stress about what else I was missing, 'cause worry sounded unfun.

A slightly drunk-seeming mundane came by while I was showing what tiny bit I know about slide guitar in the hall near the elevators, and tried to hire one of us to play music for his wife. Unfortunately I took a smidgen too long fetching my own guitar and tuning up, and when I knocked on their door there was no answer, so I guess they'd fallen asleep shortly after he spoke to me. Oh well. I could've used the extra cash.

When I did crash Saturday night, I was still feeling like I would be missing things by going to bed, and that I Hadn't Done Enough since arriving, but I forced myself to pay attention to my body to figure out how hard I was pushing myself, and realized that yes, it was time for me to try falling down for a spell. Cozy room with more friends.

And thus Saturday ended sometime in the wee hours of Sunday.

SUNDAY: I spent more time catching up with people, saw the dealers' room, caught up with dealers, nibbled enough in the con suite to postpone breakfast hunger, found out who a few people on my LJ friends list are (a couple of folks I knew but didn't know which people they were, and a couple of folks I'd never met in person before), lost track of time and missed programming, got hooked up with a ride home, tried to answer the question Debbie asked me and failed due to each of us getting repeatedly interrupted (I'm just going to have to make a road trip to Toronto one of these days), took some snapshots of all of Urban Tapestry sitting together, was told to get ready to go home, and got my stuff together to load the car.

Okay, there was more in there, but it felt about that fast. I wanted to go to open filking or the n-shots, but wound up spending so much time just catching up with people that there wasn't a lot of time left over for programming. And there was the matter of finding the person suggested as a possible ride (which was solved by our being introduced to each other just as I was about to go looking for her), and fetching my luggage out of the room, and just random last-day-of-con headspace stuff.

I need to see y'all more often, (including the folks I only got a chance to say hello to and never had time to really sit and talk (*pout*)) so that catching up doesn't take quite so long each time. Hell, I need to see y'all more often just because I like you.

Several conversations were started and interrupted and never gotten back to. *sigh* But I did get to witness a performance of the Hockey Monkey song in the hotel driveway.

We pulled out at an hour that seemed way too early based on how little convention there'd been in my convention weekend, the number of folks I hadn't finished saying hello to, and how long it'd been since I'd had a chance to hang out; but I have to admit that it was a very sane hour to start a nine-hour drive home! So my complaint is not that I had to leave too early, but rather that I did not feel ready to leave when it was reasonable to do so.

The ride home went by fairly quickly -- I only slept for about half an hour of it, but the conversation kept me feeling perky-ish and made the time pass easily. If waiting for that first bus hadn't been enough to remind me why I usually drive to Boston, the ride home would've done it. So the weekend that started with meeting interesting people on the bus ended with meeting and enjoying conversation with people in the car. And I'm much more likely to be able to actually keep in touch with the folks from the ride home -- after all, you're both on LiveJournal and both go to filk conventions!

(And I must say, aiglet's car was quite pleasant to drive. Nice and smooth. More so than I expect from something that size. And a lot quieter and smoother than my falling-apart car.)

Then I had to argue with the elevator to the parking garage to fetch my car. Eventually the garage attendant came up the stairs, explained that homeless people like to sleep in the elevator, and led me through the locked fire-exit gate to an elevator platform inside. Doggone it, if they're going to turn off the outside elevator stop, they should POST A SIGN and tell people to bang on the security gate (or better yet, install a doorbell) or something. It took me twenty minutes to get into the garage. It took me five minutes to pay the fee and drive all the way home. (Yes, in the dark, before I got my taillights fixed ... well lit streets, a very short trip, an almost-no-traffic time of night, and I didn't see a good alternative -- so I just kept my fingers crossed.)

And that was my ConCertino; at least the level of detail I can pull up very quickly right now. I'm already looking forward to Conterpoint in June 2004. I should be able to bring a wider assortment of instruments to that. (Even the whole "wall of instruments" / "instrument petting zoo" if the concom would like that.)

I knew there was something I had forgotten to mention here this week: The Homespun Ceilidh Band will be performing at the Virginia Scottish Games (at Episcopal High School in Alexandria, Virginia) this Saturday (tomorrow), 26 July. We're scheduled for "around three o'clock" in the Fiddle Tent. Exact timing depends on how long the fiddle competition takes, I think, so show up early in case we go on early, and check in to get a more exact time.

Yeah, I'm posting a lot today. It's a combination of things I need to get around to writing, things I wanted to get out of the way, and things I felt like mentioning while procrastinating something more important that I'm finding difficult to write. This is in that last category.

I mentioned this in a comment, but wanted to bring it out to the top level so as to damage more brains with it: I just called my pharmacy, and the hold music was an instrumental version of "Makin' Whoopee" (which I only know all the words to the "Makin' Wookies" version of), with the melody on tuba and all the accompaniment on high, tinkly instruments.

bla blah bla blat blat, bla bloo bluh bluuu, bla blah bla blat blat, bla bla bla buuuuuuh...

This is a more difficult entry to write than it probably looks like. I've been meaning to write it since about the beginning of the year; I've been trying to write it for the past two months or so. I haven't completely untangled all the reasons why it's difficult, though I know some of them, I think.

Friends have complained that I'm difficult to help. I don't want to be. Well, first of all, I don't want to need so much help, which is the first obstacle, but realizing that I do need help, I wish I could unlearn the roadblocks. A while back, faireraven wrote about how some people are really frustrating to try to help. I'm certain she wasn't talking about me, but I did recognize some of myself in her complaint as well ... that's a second obstacle, and I hope a much smaller one. And there's this feeling I have trouble shaking, that either I somehow don't deserve a whole lot of help, or that it's unfair to rely on my friends for the help I need. Or that asking for help makes me look bad -- grasping or something. No, I don't claim that makes even the least bit of sense. I'm talking about my emotional upfuckedness.

The thing is, I need help. Actually, I need a lot of help. Friends tell me, "If there's anything I can do to help, just ask," and first I can't think of what help I need, and then when I do think of it, enough time has gone by that it's like starting a whole new conversation and I feel like I'm asking out of the blue instead of filling in the blanks.

I know friends want to help, even though I can't seem to bring myself to ask for help, or to tell them how to help me. And I'm incredibly fortunate to have the friends I have, and I know it. My current car and the one before it were both gifts. Y'all are helping me to care for Perrine. I've gotten other gifts, some of which I'm not allowed to talk about. I've got a lot of friends who care about me. And I'm ... messed up about the whole help thing.

I've gotten some help in the form of advice that I've not been able to follow. Advice that sounds simple enough, but that I for various reasons find difficult. And that probably looks a lot like what Faireraven was complaining about. Obviously I should apply for Social Security Disability Income. And probably food stamps. And maybe some other programs I don't know about. I know this. I've been trying to force myself to do this. I need help. I need someone to hold my hand and lead me through the process. Yes, I know it's not rocket science (actually I've joked that if it were rocket science, I wouldn't have difficulty with it). I can't articulate very well why it's so difficult. But it is. I feel ... like a failed grown-up for not being able to handle beaurocratic red tape on my own, but if I don't [expletive]ing admit it, I'll never get help getting it done.

Gee, I wrote that whole paragraph and the next one before noticing that I described what I need but never got around to asking for it. Isn't the subconscious tricky? Okay, I'm asking: If there's someone who can help me apply for SSDI, MEAP, and other assistance programs, please let me know. And bug me about it once a week until I unscrew my head enough to accept the help.

I need help selling my photographs, and selling my services as a photographer and a musician. Somebody (Nancy maybe?) asked me over the weekend what the difference was between "selling" and "marketing", and I'm not sure what the important distinction is, but I can push the Homespun Ceilidh Band CD and sell it, while finding it very difficult to promote my services or my solo work. If an agent were to take some significant percentage of money I wouldn't have earned at all without the agent's help, I'd still be ahead. And I don't understand the Arts game/business yet. If anyone can help me out in this, I'd appreciate it.

I'm sure there are other things like that, that I need help with and which would then solve larger problems, that I'm just not thinking of right now.

And here's something where monetary donations are a problem-solver: I'm supposed to have a photo exhibit in September. My work is supposed to hang in Xando coffehouse in Baltimore. I need to make prints to hang, and I'd hoped I could just set aside a little money here and there to pay for those, but I've had a bunch of bad months in a row. I would be very grateful for help getting display prints made so that I can actually have this show, and maybe manage to sell a few. So I'm asking. This is not a "really bad things will happen if I can't do this" thing, but it's something I really want to do, which might wind up helping my financial situation (if any of my work sells).

That's something I haven't felt using the bill-paying money from Mom for would be right. So I'm asking my friends.

(And that reminds me -- I need help figuring out how to price my work when trying to sell it through such an exhibit. I really don't know the art business at all. And I've got some insecurity over the "worth" of my work.)

Okay, now I've written this, which has been difficult enough. Next I get to try to force myself to actually post it...

If you can (and are willing to) help me with any of these, please forgive me for being difficult to help. Bug me about scheduling the things that I find scary that you can help me with, or the things I feel shy about. For my part, I'm going to try really hard to notice when I'm avoiding, and nag myself not to do that. If you want to send money, feel free to tell me which problem the money is for -- if you think my photo exhibit is a worthwhile endeavor and want to designate your gift for that instead of groceries, I'll honor that. (And this is part of the reason I wanted folks to tell me when the money they send me for Perrine is for her care; so that I and you both know the cat money is for the cat, not for the "me" stuff.)

It feels so very strange to be asking, "Please send me money for ____." Even stranger than, "Please help me wade through these processes." And I don't expect help for myself, but I also know that if I never ask, anyone who does want to help won't know.

Okay, I told myself I was going to send this today, and if I start picking apart all the ways this makes me feel (or tweaking it because I don't feel it's well-enough written), I won't finish it until after Pennsic. First step: force myself to send it. Second step: convince myself not to delete it in embarrassment ten minutes later. Wish me luck.