It’s my favourite time of the year, but since I write about this every single danged year, I think I’m going to spare you this time and just, well, mention it. The light. Oh the beautiful, endless luminosity, the nights full of blossom scents and pleasure. It’s so bloody sensual and sexy.
I guess I should give you all an update on the house. In short, it’s going well and ticking along, and looking more and more like I’ll be moved in before August. In the meantime, I’m doing unsibylle-ish things such as picking out colours to paint the rooms and buying a sofa. It’s going to be so pretty!
I could also use some help. I’ll probably start on the last weekend in June or the first in July, and spend Friday evenings and Sundays during the day painting. I love painting, but it’s more fun in company! So if any of my Irish friends could spare me a few hours some day, please send me a text or email, or a PM on Facebook and we’ll sort something out.
Apart from all that, I’m working. And while I still enjoy my job and love, love my business(es) work, there’s just so much of it. Way too much, to be honest, and it still isn’t enough and will have to increase before I can leave the job. I tell myself it’s only going to be till the end of the year (hopefully), but gods, am I tired.
Not that I’m complaining, mind you, in fact, everything is going according to plan. It’s just, the plan was to work like a maniac, and I’m beginning to realise that five months without time off is a lot less fun than it sounds.
What keeps up my spirits, apart from my lovely friends (who visit me and keep me from becoming isolated – truly don’t know what I’d do without them!) and thinking of my house, is that I’m counting down the weeks to the Pogorelich recital in Hamburg in August and my three weeks in Vienna in September (I’ll be studying my hagish ass off, but I’ll be outrageously happy doing it). Today it’s exactly 13 weeks to go to the recital, in case anyone’s interested. Yes, I’m counting.
I’m also stubbornly insisting on one day off per week, and while I usually cheat and sneak in a few hours of work in the morning, I do go to Mayo almost every single Saturday to wander around Ballinrobe and then do a round of archery in Massbrook. It’s even more ridiculously beautiful there at this time of the year, with the rhododenron blossoming all over the place.
I don’t nearly practice the piano as much as I’d like to, and I skip more of my morning workouts than I’m comfortable with. Something’s gotta give, and while I don’t like it, I try to just go with it and repeat “only until the end of the year” in my head.
This sounds a lot more grim than I feel. It’s not easy, but it’s joyful, and the overload is temporary. When all else fails, there’s always Chopin. I recently read Alan Walker’s biography of him, and I didn’t think I could love Chopin any more, but I do. Here’s the waltz I’ve been practising, played to perfection by Kissin:
And now I’ll go to bed. It’s ten, but still light. By the time I wake up, it’ll be light again. Bliss.
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