memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
Quick update from work.

I'm not going to do the concert. The way I have the concert planned in my head doesn't match the artist I want to be.

I'm gonna refocus some activities on my YouTube channel. Do covers, but only on piano, and put them out so that everybody can see them. The idea is to come in early (or stay late) at work tomorrow and get a bunch recorded so then I have a backlog. Maybe Music Mondays or something? Music of all types, pop songs, classical music, you name it, I'll do it, but also with the anime thing. Finally get people noticing me again, and then I'll decide what kind of concert I want to do.

I should get my pants done before the open mic. I know people will laugh at them, but I don't care.

I guess I don't know what Project Tradewinds is without Carolina? I still want to be in Carolina. But I don't think NYC is done with me yet. So off I go.
memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
Starting this at work although I don't know how long this is going to take me. Yes, I mean the first job, not the second. Read more... )
memorialrainbow: (Default)
The city alights at night.
I remember -- softly, secretly.
What are you up to in this city?
Where are you in this city?
Surely we can't meet again.

"Tonight, I will steal Su'diera'indo from the Metropolitan Opera." -- Stardust Rider

I let go of the love from long ago,
to meet you here alone again.

Do you hear me? *Can* you hear me? We are millions of miles away now, your eyes closed, and for all I know, you cannot hear me. But I will reach you! I will not stop giving up until the year passes, at which point my heart will be truly broken, possibly irrepairable. The light in my window keeps me going. I close my eyes and hear the train, the MTA, the subway that will take me home.

And now, I'm headed to where you are,
where in the warmth of this room,
where in the warmth of our hearts,
I'll know you once again.

Do you hear me? You better hear me! We're gonna steamroll into New York City and take it by storm! And I won't rest until I find my way, until I'm complete again. Until then, I don't know who I am...but once I hear your voice, once I am standing in your city, I pray for the wings under my feet and the push forward to really make something happen. You'll lead me, won't you?

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
There's no time machine, or utopia.

The fates have not been kind to this little girl with braids in her hair.
And yet, if one so aptly titled can rise above her mountain to disregard her spinning circuit and just to glow:
then how so ever more shall this stardust glimmer if only given the chance?

You can't save the world, but you saved me.
Your peace is inside me now.

"Since then, every single day...from that day on, I've been here! So you don't have to be alone!"

By your side, the seasons roll on.
The wishes you granted me weren't silly at all.

"It was you?"
"It was me."
"It was always you."

And now, I'm headed to where you are,
where in the warmth of this room,
where in the warmth of my hands,
I'll know you once again.

memorialrainbow: (Default)
Two second post from work while I still can. This place is teaching me how to and how to not run a business.

The A train stopped cold at 168th Street today. There was a door stuck and they had to take the train out of service and kick everybody else off. A few years ago, this would have been a big thing. Now, I guess I just don't care. I'm cold to it. It's not my responsibility to baby a train line. I have more important things to do, like try to run this office. (Emphasis on try.) I feel like I'm on a merry go round that's going to collapse, a walking disaster waiting to happen, where the stress level is always high. I'm grumpier to people now. My rage level is peaking high, and I don't like that at all.

I need to learn to see myself as separate from the job. Separate from my occupation. Even when that's music, or writing, or something creative. It exists, on its own, without me. Does it exist because of me? Yeah, I'm the one who got off my ass (or on my ass) and did the thing. But it's like kids. I don't just exist as my dad's daughter. I exist as my own person. So my jobs exist separately from myself, and they do take time and energy to do, but at the end of the day, I have to just let it be a job.

Which I'm actually really great at doing, and for some reason I don't want to do? I mean, it would be bad if work totally invaded so students were calling me at three in the morning with billing questions.

I'm afraid of starting over. I'm afraid of putting myself out there as a teacher and then having someone tell me I'm doing it wrong, that I'm too "whatever" to give Skype lessons, that I don't have enough experience in the real world to teach. I think about the things they tell me at work, that in order to have a leadership position they'll have to "whip me into shape." What does that mean? I still don't know what I'm doing wrong. I know I take things too seriously and I get stressed out a lot. I worked so hard to bring that stress level down, and yet I still snap into being perfect no matter where I go or what I do because it's what I'm used to. I don't know any other way to operate.

I think if I was able to do that for this job, I'd feel better about things. But everything is still important and urgent at the same time here. Everything is being presented to me in panic mode, and I'm internalizing it as my fault. We still don't have all of these contracts in, and I'm blaming myself because I wouldn't come in on my day off to work on them.

I'm internalizing the stress of this job, and it's affecting me horribly.

And I can either walk out and away, or I can find a way to stop internalizing it, and quick.
memorialrainbow: (Default)
Went on a day-date with myself (ha) to the Upper East Side. I also stopped by Michaels but didn't really find anything. Arina Tanemura's new manga from Melody got translated by Viz under my nose, so I splurged and bought the first volume. I also got a new notebook for doing my records in. My friend and I picked it out; it's the same style as another one I have, but it kind of jumped out at us and said hi, so we both decided that was the one to get.

It's been nice to "have a day off," I guess. Early today I got on my old computer and pulled some transfer files. I decided that Little Fish should be on this album, so I think I'm going to go work on that now. I don't want to waste any time.

Although shopping was fun. (It was also cold as all get out.)
memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
Quick update while I have a second to. Might write later. Might not.

One of my friends from Albany has a cousin, young in age, nine or so, who plays the violin. She's been interested in taking piano, but the kicker is that she is just like I was at that age -- she heard Fur Elise, picked out the melody on the violin, then was able to play it back on the piano just by hearing it. I asked my friend if she was going to get good piano lessons, because I don't know how piano teachers or theory teachers are in Albany.

I'm also reminded of a friend of mine from Zanesville, from the TV station. He has perfect pitch and can harmonize just like that, but he doesn't know a thing about music theory or how to take it any further. And he doesn't really care, but I even figured back then it was because he didn't know any better.

I got really mad. For all I know, this kid is going to go through her entire life without knowing that she has perfect pitch, without knowing that it's a special gift, and she might not ever use it in a way that benefits other people. What's more, as a woman, she's probably already hearing messages that there are more important things to her life than her pitch, that these should be done first and above it. Those are the same type of messages that got in my way.

Now, I know I don't want to be famous even though I want to perform, and talking with people at the front desk reminded me about NSAI and how I had been working on that before. Do I want to perform? Sure. Is it my number one goal? No. Do I like being seen as a singer-songwriter with a piano? HELL NO. Anyway, this entry was supposed to be more about plans than me ranting.

So I ran to C-Town last night before coming home to grab something for my roommate, and I let it kind of ponder in my head while I walked around. While talking with my friend the previous night I had told her that, yeah, I could teach her, in theory. But I'm not in Albany, and no offense to Albany, I don't really have a desire to be there. We discussed maybe doing a series of Skype lessons, but it didn't hit me until I was in C-Town that this girl might not have any other options. And I have the skills. I conducted an entire mini-chorus for Carman's cabaret. How can I say I can't teach piano lessons over Skype? How can I withhold my talents for this girl, or quite frankly, for anybody else who's ever wanted to learn piano? It's something a lot of people want to do. I have the skill to teach them. And, at this point in my life, I actually want to teach them. I can see that there is a need that must be filled.

Now, before you go, "Emily, you can teach piano with Skype in NYC," there are a lot of different factors going into that. The main reason I'm having such problems with NYC is the time and energy thing. How can I be expected to work two jobs and then come home to teach people on Skype? I won't have the energy to, is the thing. I'd love to use this kid as a guinea pig and see if I could do it, but I want to operate on a grander scale beyond that. Plus, I want to make sure it's affordable to people -- that, yeah, they're getting their money's worth, but I want for people who wouldn't otherwise be able to take piano or theory to get a working knowledge of it. I want the kids who can't drive to piano lessons because of snow or their mom doesn't have a car or whatever to be able to take one-on-one in a way that doesn't break their bank. I'd have to charge fifty dollars for a half hour to pull it off in NYC. That's not flying with me. Plus, I don't want to only teach piano at home. I need to belong to a place. It'd drive me crazy.

So here's the vision in my head: I own a one-bedroom apartment, probably somewhere in Charlotte. It's a studio, really; I have a futon for a reason. During regular hours, I do lessons either part-time or full time at a local school, meeting with people and growing my base. I could also do Skype lessons there, if they would let me use their studio. (Another thing with teaching here in NYC: the teachers here are top-tier. If you don't have a master's degree in teaching, forget about teaching in a studio. The studio where I'm currently working as a billing administrator wants all of their teachers to have gone to Juilliard; they are even refusing people piano lessons at this point because they won't hire teachers.)

I'd have a dual setup no matter where I was, using either the studio or my own home studio, using the theoretical bedroom (or maybe the living room?). I'd have it so they could see my face on the computer, but then I could switch cameras to one that is over my hands on the keyboard so they can see how I'm playing. We could also have MIDI capabilities, and I could do a split-screen thing so I could show them theory notes right on the screen instead of holding up a book to the screen or trying to do it that way. Books could be purchased online and shipped straight to the student. They would need to have their own piano, but keyboards for simple instruction are easy to buy and not that tasking, monetary-wise.

How does all of that sound? Probably like I'm shooting the breeze. But I don't think it's fair to withhold anymore.
memorialrainbow: (bell what's out there)
So I figured I'd write.

A long time ago, when I was going through some rough times, I wrote in here a lot. I wrote about the things that were going on in my life, and I used this journal as a place to promote my work. People read along, for a good couple of years. I came out with an album, and then I came out with a book that grew into a series.

I'd post on here every once in a while after that, and my entries got more cryptic as they went on. And who knows how often I'll write now? But this time, I'm writing less for you and more for myself. Tumblr is too PC, Twitter not enough characters, Facebook too perfect. And yeah, maybe I'm writing from work at the moment, while I'm putting in information and being a database.

But nobody's really reading this yet, are they?

Here's the thing: I've been in New York City over four years now. Do you know how many albums I've produced in that time? Do you know how many songs I've written, how many times I've gone out there to promote myself? I actually made a habit out of it a long time ago, before places closed and I had to work instead.

There was a boy. It always starts out that way, there was a boy. We promised we wouldn't get too far in deep, that we'd be honest with one another. He supported my art. I was able to find temporary work, go to open mics. When I was let go from that job, he ensured I wouldn't have to worry, took a new job himself to make sure he could support both of us, moved in because living in New York is crazy. We were both crazy, we both had our faults, but at the end of the day, we were honest with each other. We didn't go to bed mad.

That was the most creative period of my life in NYC. I got a new job, one that enabled me to grow up from the crazy that I had been accustomed to. I found an open mic I could go to and even got my own show. I went to Comic-Con and we performed, and I created an album, and everything was perfect -- until it wasn't. I don't want to say my anxiety got in the way, but having all of your belongings in trash bags in your kitchen is more than a little rough. We grated on one another. Somewhere in the shuffle, my flash drive with my Comic-Con stuff was thrown out. I blamed him way more than I should have. I started blaming him for everything. He let me.

I went through a depression for the first part of 2015. Nothing happened. I woke up, went to work, came home. I wrote a little bit, but I was out of it. I was in survival mode all over again. The old-school methods I had used a long time ago woke up again: God hates that you were being creative, so He sent bedbugs to stop you. You might think I'm crazy, but that was the way my brain was operating.

I wasted a year. I wasted an entire year. At least he was around, right? At least he was being productive, starting his YouTube channel. I stayed off the computer. I let him have it. I was just in the way, right? I didn't want to take the computer and waste time while he could be recording his shows. For what it's worth, I did try. I lost sleep composing music for a friend's cabaret and now she's not talking to me because I wanted to be paid for a future one. I choreographed a dance and performed it in front of others, and then a fight broke out and my boyfriend escorted me into the nearest Mickey D's before the cops could show up. It was supposed to be a competition, and nobody won.

Things like that wouldn't knock old Emily down. I'm not sure he ever properly knew old Emily. Old Emily existed before January 5, 2012.

And you're still here in black and gold
Your inner core the only change
So how much of the girl I fell for still remains?

You know what I should have done on January 5? I should have quit the city. I should have called my dad, said "this isn't working out, I'm coming home." And yeah, I signed a year lease, but those things are just numbers in this city, anyway. I would have gone home, maybe gotten yelled at a bit, but hey, I would have gotten what I wanted out of the city, right?

But in the end, I'm glad I stayed. I've learned a lot about myself, about the way I process things. I've learned that it doesn't matter where you are, as long as the people you love are around you. And I've learned what that actually means. I know now what New York City is, for better or for worse. I know it's not a be all, end all. I know people romanticize it, and even those who live in the city romanticize it. It's our bubble. We live here, and if anybody threatens it, we act like it's 9/11 all over again. (Ted Cruz just made some interesting comments on this.)

Because we make it, right? Because we all struggle in this city. It's a shared struggle that we romanticize so much. We talk about how hard it is to find a dollar coffee, how we're squished like sardines in the subway car, the number of homeless people and pigeons and piles of puke we walk right past on our way to work, where we must dress exactly how they want and act exactly how they want in those high rises lest we go back to working at Mickey D's. (And they probably make more money, at this point.) Everything is always our fault, but that's okay, because we're making it in the real world. We have our shoebox apartment and we wouldn't have it any other way. We can't afford to go out because we're too busy working two jobs, but we certainly have it better than anybody at home, right? We blow through our bonds and have no money left in our savings accounts, no future, but we're living like the starving artists on Broadway. You know, just like Jonathan Larson. God bless Jonathan Larson.

We pick up and we scrape by, and we're nice to those near us as long as that niceness doesn't actually hurt us any. We put on our headphones and ignore the beggars on the train, the people sitting with cardboard signs as we go to work in our elite sports clubs. We oversleep because we don't want to get up in the morning, but hey, it's what "real people" do. And I don't doubt that anywhere. But I used to talk about the Oxford bubble, and now I'm talking about the New York City bubble, and I'm wondering just what is real. Is real life what we make of it? If so, then everybody in New York City automatically gives too much control to everybody else. We have to, in order to make this city work. If you deviate too much, you're left behind. If you don't move at supersonic speed -- and that's saying something, considering this city must be moving faster than Top Thrill Dragster -- then you have no time or energy or money to write or music or create or anything. And it's even worse for those of us who deal with mental problems, who were bullied as kids, whose fathers' words echo in our heads even when our mothers tell us they no longer matter. New York City is okay -- but it's not for everybody. To pretend it is for everybody is to shame the world we live in, to shame every place that isn't New York, to ultimately shame New York and the individuals who might be creatively trapped here.

And I know what everybody in NYC might be reading. You don't like it, then leave?

Maybe I will.

I go to Jersey for a jaunt and I plan my life, knowing that when I'm back in NYC, I'll be moving too fast for me to properly think. I go to Albany for my yearly jaunt to the convention and I feel tired the entire time, unsure if I should return back to the city. I go to Cedar Point, because maybe racing for the sky and racing underneath the sky are two separate things. Maybe I can't fly in NYC. But maybe that doesn't mean I can't fly at all. Maybe it just means the buildings are too tall here for my liking. Maybe the skies are too crowded. Maybe it's more hopeful for me to leave.

There's only so much you can learn in one place
The more that you wait, the more time that you waste

In July, I went outside of the city to have the most successful gig of the year. We made it all the way through and my client was so happy, and I'll never forget the look on his face and I learned we might actually be making something here. While I was in Charlotte for the gig, my boyfriend was busy being in somebody else.

He told me in October. I should have chased him out, burned his things, but I was stunned enough that I let him stay another month. I still haven't gotten rid of some of his things.

But I dealt with the stress of that, and I've dealt with the stress of it, and I need to toss those things out. I've tossed out memories before, and I'll do it again. I say that I remember everything, and it's true -- but just because I remember something doesn't mean I don't want to remember. The past means nothing. The past doesn't help me out. The past doesn't pay the bills. It only holds me back.

I'm furious.

That may be the best thing to be right now.

For now, though, I work. And I plan, in the little bits that I can. I get outside the city to think. I take the ferry. I fix music. And hopefully, this summer, I'll go back to the place where I had my successful gig, and lightning will strike twice.

And the thunder will follow afterward.

February 2017



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