Shut eye

How do you imagine being tired? Take an image of a mother of three forced to entertain, cook, work, taxi around and perform wifely duties. There it is right there. Fortunately I'm not that woman and the only excuse for my fatigue is self-inflicted excess activity.

When you enjoy doing things out of working hours, they tend to start ballooning. Take my choir for example. I adore being a part of it, but for the last few months it has taken up no fewer than 3 whole Saturdays, every single Monday night for the last 3 years (this being France, July and August aside) plus an extra four whole (enjoyable) days in Malta when I really should have been working. My band has taken up 3 hours every week for the last two years and costs at least 7€ a pop per rehearsal. Add to this the hours spent practising individually and you may well begin to wonder why anyone bothers. Yes, yes, the enjoyment outweighs the annoyance at seeing 1 free evening a week on my schedule, but at the moment I'm wondering why I commit so much time to these things.

Disappointment crash and burn is just around the corner, I know. It's the same every summer. June is chock-full of concerts, festivals and the fête de la musique - which in itself brings a two-concerts-in-one-night dilemma, then July arrives and suddenly free time is my new stalker. He doesn't seem to let me go, haunting me every day and never leaving my side except during working hours. He worms his way into every evening and reminds me of a musicless life I don't know yet. I become agitated, at a loss for a responsibility to uphold.

All this to say that this evening I'm exhausted and could do with an early night. I guess that's it.