Musical Plague

Every Christmas I try to play some music of some kind in some capacity.  I arrange my own stuff and it's selfishly the only stuff I want to do because I generally don't like other arrangements because I am a snooty jerk and also this way, I don't have to practice as much, ha ha. I'm not the best technical player. 

But it is work. I work for hours. It's grueling and painful because I must split my brain in two-sometimes three if I add on another part- and exhausting and exhilarating.  Musical creativity is a mixed bag for me. I love it and I hate it. It haunts and torments me and it excites and fulfills me. Rewarding. Frustrating. It keeps me up at night and it satisfies a need deep inside to root out the harmonies, discovery the hidden alternative lines. It can feel like an exorcism of demons, or the birth of something new and potentially grand.  Or both, more accurately. Always both. 

This is going to sound like a backdoor brag and I wish I had my friend here who I used to joke with about backdoor brags back when that was sort of an internet styling people had on the social media (probably adding on an LOL).  But whatever, I'm going to share it anyway (even though it totally is NOT the point of this post and not even true at all! LOL!).

A violinist and I were practicing.  I brought some scribbled parts for her to read but nothing super legit (it never is). No accompaniment, no dynamics. I figure we can add some things later.  Just the essentials. I acknowledge that I am asking big favors, requesting that people read my mind a little, due to my lack of skill in notating and also because I just need to purge the music. I am somewhat apologetic and very grateful, thanking her many times throughout. So as we were working I helped her with the parts, saw some errors or realized some changes needed to be made, and laughed and said, 

"This is embarrassing."

"Why?" was her reply.

"Because I feel like my mental illness is written out on the page here."

"I think you mean genius."

"Hm.. I am plagued, though."

And, I would have added, 

"What it feels like is just creative energy that builds and builds and needs an outlet and if it doesn't get one, it explodes and dies inside of me, like a ruptured organ. And then I will die too, so... again, thanks." 

That feels accurate.