Whew. Some really heavy stuff, folks.

I can say with almost absolute certainty that I am very nearly regretless. *g* It was just a life that I couldn't handle. If I would have stayed, I think I'd have become a poster child for Prozac or something. It isn't a bad life, but it is very different, and I'm not sure I had enough emotional walls to deal with it. I mean, you are taught in every movie from Ghostbusters to Un Coeur in Hiver that serious musical life takes a certain amount of possession, right? I couldn't hack it.

Once, the lot of us were in break from practice. A girlfriend of mine was telling how she was going with her family to Nashville over the holiday to visit family. Just goofing around, I sawed a little Turkey in the Straw. Our maestro stormed in and nearly took my head off. We don't DO that sort of thing, what if someone were to HEAR? When we returned to practice and I made the typical nervous mistake that usually follows a near-decapitation, he said something to the guy in the chair next to me: "Edward. Would you please tell 'ze hillbilleee' that this is supposed to be Debussy and not a barn dance..." I went home after practice and cried for an entire weekend. Our maestro didn't make eye contact with me for three months. Truly hideous.

I had to make a serious choice, and I think I did okay by myself on this one. I know I can't handle the bad side of true passion, I need for it to be sunshiney all the time. You really can't do that and make a living at it at the same time. I have a job that I love and that I am good at, that makes for a decent enough life. I can save my mistress for when I really need and want her.