Full-Blown Mental Anguish

Lest I come off as horribly self-absorbed, I managed to get the family and the dog out the door on time for soccer camp this morning, which appears to be a great program for my activity-deprived older son. It's in a gorgeous setting among the redwoods and we were happy to see how quickly he jumped into the drills. Plus my two-year old woke up on the right side of the bed and had quite a positive morning.

When we came home I showed Emilio the videos and he of course didn't think they were as bad as I did, but he did have some suggestions, some of which are good and some of which are out of left field, but oh well, I can discard those. But anyway for the purpose of painting this artist's portrait, thought I'd document the fact that I am freaking suffering right now. Because the !@#$% truth hurts, dammit. By the way, as an artist, one should always be ruthlessly self-promotional, never calling attention to one's weaknesses (and no, I will not enumerate them here), so I'm violating that rule right now. So if you're a record exec or a booker, fear not, I am fabulous. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.

I tried practicing piano but it doesn't help. I'm tired but I can't sleep.

Another thing that hurts is that the background vocalists, the cost of whom put me a couple hundred in the hole, can't really be heard on the video. I guess they looked good. One thing I noticed about Manhattan Transfer is how close they stood to each other, and also how they moved around depending on the song (sometimes two far away from the lead singer, sometimes all four close to each other, sometimes the girls on one side and guys on the other).

The logical side of me says OK write out a plan of action. Address your faults and fix them.

The emotional side says AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH when will I get better?

This all comes from watching the videos. My memory was fine. Self-analysis is for suckers.