So. I painted my toenails, got a babysitter, got hysterical, thought about what to wear, taught myself a singing lesson, warmed up for the dancing part, planned transportation, packed my bag, powerd up my PDA, copied the new Desden Dolls album to it, because I was going to use public transportation; and right when I was about to leave the house, I met my husband who said, “Are you still here? The perfomer has left a message.” (If you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about, go here first, please.)
I was not to go to the rehearsal-audition for this performance group after all. Because the other singer who had been interested hadn’t called, they decided to reschedule to May 9. Because it would be better to tailor the exercises to two of us. Exercises? I didn’t know I was about to take a class. I was wrong, obviously. When I looked up the group on the web, I found out that it is a dancing class. Participants pay 18€ every time they rehearse. Well, I thought I had reached the stage where people pay me to sing. It’d be okay for me to contribute to the rent of a studio, since I can’t hold dancing rehearsals in my home, but paying a teacher?
I also found out that the group’s search for singers is part of an attempt to get “more professional”. Hm. Ten years ago I made a decision to let people do their attempts to be “more professional” on their own. They may ask me to join, when they already are “professional”. This sounds arrogant, I know, but I had been part of a vocal quintet for five years, meeting every week, and having additional rehearsals before every public appearance, before I realized, we’d probably never become “professional”. I vowed to do most of my praciticing in private and then go to a few rehearsals well prepared.
Also, the experience of the last days has shown me that there is no space in my life for something that involves going out every week. I spent the whole of yesterday in preparation. My stuff, everything for the babysitter,… And if my mother-in-law could not have been babysitting, I would have had to put my son to bed half an hour early, and borrow a car in order to get to the rehearsal not quite on time. How realistic is that? Every time I leave the house in the evenings, it concerns four people: me, my son, who’s used to be put to bed by me, my mother in law, who has to babysit, and my husband, who has to rush after lessons in order to relieve my mother-in-law…
So much for trying to overcome my performance-problem. Oh, by the way, in preparing for that rehearsal, I found that my problem with moving and singing at the same time seems to get better. Maybe it’s only in private, I don’t know, but maybe I don’t care so much anymore, whether I look good, or not.