12. Letters
Letters
Butch,
I don’t think I’ve heard anything more tragic than your story about staring up at the sky as a kid but never realizing the price you’d have to pay to fly.
Honestly, I sobbed when I read that, and Z had to feed me a half-dozen sugar cookies until I stopped snotting over everything.
Couldn’t you have flown for Air Canada? I think you get the perks of flying a plane without having to kill people. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s at the top of their ‘to not do’ list. Maybe that’s an option, eh?
I should totally have been a guidance counselor!
So, the crystals… you kind of have them around you.
I’m still foggy about it myself, but they make me feel better and they’re pretty. If it’s psychosomatic, then at least my room’s gorgeous. (It’s also a nightmare to dust.)
I told you I live in NYC, but what I didn’t tell you is that I live in a sardine can. I need all the help I can get from the crystals, especially when I’m unhappy with my life. And I am. I’m trying not to be, but it’s not always easy.
I feel like such a douche too. I’m talking to someone who has to kill people for a job while living in a warzone, yet I’m the one with the career dissatisfaction. I get why you’d roll your eyes at me, tbh. I deserve it. In fact, I permit you to flip me the long-distance bird.
Back in Mozart’s time, musicians had benefactors. In some ways, they have them now, but they tend not to be lords and ladies of the court, lol. I think I was born in the wrong century. Though, there’s no denying my appreciation for indoor plumbing. And potato chips. I can’t imagine Mozart eating many of those.
I’m going to tell you this because I can’t tell anyone else…
My conductor’s been giving me shit ever since I turned him down when he asked me out on a date.
Man, you’ve no idea how much of a weight off that is. I feel better just writing it to you.
I can’t tell Z. She’ll make me do something about it. Honestly, if the situation were reversed, I’d strong-arm her into doing ‘something’ too. But my options are few and far between, and for the first time in my life, I’m having to be practical.
He could blacklist me from any orchestra in the country.
He could ruin my career before it has a chance to begin.
I love my dad. Don’t misunderstand me. But before I left home, he said to me, “What are you going to do with your life, Tee?”
It wasn’t the meanest question I’ve ever been asked. He was a teacher, so it was his job to make students think about those things. But I can’t get the look in his eye out of my mind when I told him my answer. I knew he thought my goals were impractical. In fact, I think he believes my whole career path is one big, fat joke.
I’d be mad, but I know it comes from a place of love. Both my folks love me too much. Honestly, it’s a problem. (The best kind, don’t get me wrong!) They want me to be normal and to have a regular job and to be stressed about a mortgage. They want me to be married and to have had kids already.
Honestly, they’d like me to follow their paths, but I can’t. I’d be soooo bored. I can’t stand being bored, can you?
Ugh. Being a creative is so hard. We bring color to the world, a world that’s bland and doused in whites and grays and blacks, but our art is never valued. If it were, then putting food on the table wouldn’t be so difficult. That’s why I want a benefactor, lol. A king would do. I’d settle for a prince. I don’t care about being famous. I want to make someone happy. Or sad. Or whatever the case may be.
I want to make people feel.
Can’t exactly put that in a wanted ad.
If I did, I’m pretty sure the only type of callbacks I’d get would involve heavy breathing in my ear. :P
Anyway, thank you for being a shoulder to moan on.
CJ