Mike texted me this morning and told me that Notre Dame was on fire.
I’ve been working the last week on a hard deadline (you’ll see the big announcement on Wednesday) so I took one moment from what I was doing to pull up a fresh browser window.
I don’t know what I expected. But not that.
My throat did that thing when I’m going to cry. I instantly shut it down.
“No time to feel this”, I said to myself. “Have to finish work. Have to teach. We will feel this tonight.”
Now it’s tonight. I’m safely home. All duties completed. I can sit here with a dark glass of red wine and feel every last bit of this.
Here is my story about Notre Dame.
I almost always start laughing. CHOOSE to be a musician? I didn’t CHOOSE to be a musician. Who would ever do this to themselves? In fact, I’ve quit being a musician five times I can think of and I’m sure there were more than that. I consider quitting at least once every couple of weeks to this day.
I was never taught to be brave. To my recollection.
It was more the opposite. Not cowardly, but timid. Don’t raise your voice, don’t handle things yourself. Always ask for help. Defer to men. Defer to adults. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Be a polite quiet lady. Demure. Graceful. I was taught to stand up straight, how to choose the correct china patterns, correctly set the table. How to correctly clean the house, and fold laundry. I was taught how to dress appropriately for specific occasions. How to place my hands and feet just so when having my portrait taken.
Your cat cares that you didn’t remember to scoop the litter before you left which means now I’m very upset and I’m going to poop on the floor – and you know how I can’t stand it when there’s poop on the floor.
That upsets me even more so I will cover the poop with your shirt from the laundry basket. There. That’s better. I must now suck on the blue blanket to comfort myself.
If I cannot access the blue blanket because the bedspread is in the way I will claw it out of the way. You left me no choice.