Day 1: the back story

I made it through the escape hatch and am now drifting in space. The bright lights and sirens gives way to the inky blackness and silence of southwest Michigan.

For those of you who don't know, I quit everything. It felt good to say that in the weeks leading up to now. People at parties would cock their head to one side and ask: "everything?" And so I would explain that I've got things to do, but they are constantly getting put on the back burner by quotidian tedium. They would look even more confused when I would tell them that I've got to go pack because I'm moving. "Where?" Out. I'm leaving, moving, out. I'm setting myself adrift, so I can't be weighed down.

Up until last week, I had been teaching at Chicago State University, a university most famous for being where Kanye's mom taught before his wealth unburdened her of working for a living. I taught music theory and appreciation--two classes, although one could argue that all music theory should include appreciation.

"The trouble with music appreciation in general is that people are taught to have too much respect for music; they should be taught to love it instead." - Stravinsky

Stravinsky couldn't anticipate today's youth who have no respect for anything. Not that I'm much better.

I generally enjoyed teaching, although it's a lot of work. And, not having a Phd, I wasn't tenurable, or even full-timeable, so I ended up working a lot for a little. Granted, it was more than I was used to making teaching piano a couple of days a week, and since I was living so well within my means, I built up some reserves. Which now allows me to spend some quality time in a cabin in Michigan thinking, writing, and organizing sounds in time.

My last final was last Wednesday, my roommate left on Thursday, and I spent the whole weekend packing and sorting. There needs to be a list of clever adjectives that describe tasks. For that task, I would choose the adjective that means: "tedious sifting through items belonging to the past deciding what to keep at hand, store, sell, recycle, trash, or throw into the middle of the street at 3am." I wanted to call it sisyphean, but that's only because I like that story (it makes me think of Mercerism in Blade Runner).

And it's not quite done, but at least the big decisions are made. I hate not knowing the proper way of disposing of things that are potentially useful but not valuable. I've been donating a lot of these items to my mom's resale shop.

But on Monday, I decided that I'd done just about as much as I could. I had a piano lesson to teach at 5--which involved dinner--and then improvised with a sax-playing friend. Finally, at 9, I could start packing. Finishing about 11:30, I was off with a brief stop for a burger and fries, which I ate in the car. The government should really make it illegal to eat certain foods in the car. Fries, ok. Burger, maybe not. Lobster, no. Anything involving chopsticks, no. But I made it, safe and sound to my new sometimes home at ~1am Chicago time, 2am Michigan time. I unloaded as much as I could and collapsed into an overstuffed...um...chair. [Is there a word for a recliner that doesn't recline?]

So today, Tuesday, I set up my life. Here's a picture of my Mac on my desk. I have come to believe what a former girlfriend once told me: "clean space, clean mind."

After a trip to a cafe-cum-general-store called "Milda's" and a walk to the beach, I sat down and worked on a piece for piano. I wanted to finish it and just put it up on the net, but that'll have to wait till tomorrow.

In part, I'm writing this for friends and family so they can check in on me, but I'm also writing this as an ersatz journal. It's hard for me, sometimes, to hold myself accountable. I make no small plans, but no good are big plans left unfinished.

Time for bed. Tomorrow begins tonight.