The First Score

There is  a first time for everything, some say. They obviously have not met me. In fact, I never would have considered this utterly ridiculous form of self-expression if I hadn’t been coerced, nay, forced into it. I much prefer to express my thoughts in music, an art form one can hear and see and feel. It is so much more effective than simply writing. How could I, for example, express my utter distaste and displeasure in realizing I was not going to be able to sit and think in peace and quiet until I had disproved Gilbert’s silly theory about ‘blogging’ making me feel better? Yes, I suppose I just did, but I could have done so much more effectively with a piece from Bach or Vivaldi.

Ugh. What exactly does one write about in a ‘blog’ anyways? I refuse to go look at Prussia’s to give myself an idea. I am not completely comfortable with writing about my innermost feelings to an unknown audience, and that would be much too close to a public diary anyways. So do I write about my day then? That makes it an online journal. Well, it’s better than nothing, I suppose…

This morning I woke up around nine and after getting ready, I went out to a cafe for breakfast around ten. Afterwards I went home right away and informed the staff what they should be cleaning and shopping for today, with implicit instruction regarding the ingredients I want bought and ordered. Honestly, these people would love to just buy whatever was closest or cheapest – and while I do like saving money, there is no reason to skimp on quality when it involves baking.

After that I sat and attempted to write a concerto but, as I may have mentioned before, I found myself unable to concentrate. It is always distressing when I can’t write music, so I decided to make a torte instead. Of course it came out delicious but I didn’t want to eat it on my own so I called Elizaveta and invited her over. Half an hour later she was at my home and we chatted and enjoyed the cake. No, I won’t go into detail about what we talked about, it’s personal. Well, not personal personal, but I think you understand my meaning. After the cake, she had to return to her home to entertain some foreign dignitaries and I tried to work on my concerto again. It produced less than satisfactory results.

Finally I decided to abandon the concerto for the day and play my piano instead. I amused myself for quite a while by revising a few of Scarlatti and Purcell’s works. Baroque music is endlessly adaptable. A few hours passed that way before Prussia decided to force his overwhelmingly annoying presence into my home… He climbed in the window this time, and I thought I had locked it! That man has no sense of privacy or decency, and he got mud on my rugs. My very expensive Turkish rugs. Germany will be receiving a bill for the dry-cleaning costs. Apparently all he wanted to do was go on and on about some big cute toy he bought from China, and how he had been fooled into thinking it would bring him good luck. He then went on to list every bad thing that had happened to him that day. Gilbert talks to listen to the sound of his own voice, I think, and I’m sure I’m not very far off the mark. Eventually I got him to shut up by feeding him leftover torte from Elizaveta’s visit, but he casually mentioned (As he was eating, getting crumbs everywhere…) this blog again.

After he’d had his fill of cake he decided to fall asleep on my couch, the scoundrel. (He’s still sleeping there as I write this and the only reason I haven’t woken him up is that I like the silence.) Of course, I couldn’t play an instrument for fear of waking him, so I tried to read for a while, but got distracted again. Finally I gave in and fetched Ludwig’s laptop – he left it here, and I’ve been meaning to return it – and started this… thing.

Funny, but I think that damn Prussian may have been right. I do feel a little calmer after all this. Who knows, maybe this could become a habit.

Until next time, Roderich Edelstein, unwilling.

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~ by Rodderich on April 6, 2011.

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