denying the inevitable

Last night was unexpected. I never really expect failure and tears and running away. Though I suppose that might be part of my problem--the fact that I don't expect meltdown. If I anticipated it better perhaps I could prevent it. In this case, go back in time by two months and start rigorous training so that I can feel like I'm capable of honoring the music I'm playing and the brilliant boy I'm playing it for. So anyway, I got to 7:00pm and a short break and my heart was racing and my head was pounding and there were hot tears just under the surface of my lids and it's like, keep it up? Keep it up, April, and stick through hours two and three? I am not sure where the line between cowardice and self-preservation is. I'm never sure when I should give myself permission to throw up my hands from duty and run for comfort. Not surprising, as I'm the same girl who has never known the line between a blemish and a beauty mark. I ended up taking off. Driving too quickly and without my license and begging for reassurance from S, who met me in front of his house with a few wedges of a fresh orange in his hand held out to me. And instead of fighting my way through a long rehearsal, I spent the evening in the audience of a jazz ensemble concert led by one of the greatest drummers who has ever lived, and I smiled and laughed and thought, 'this is so life-affirming!' This is a really great way to deny the inevitable.