It's raining, it's pouring . . . I LOVE it!

I thought I sounded kind of drippy about the vacuum store. So I do want to correct that and say that my serviced vacuum is so shined up all brand new and sweet smelling. They do SUCH an excellent job going over every little bit of it, and I appreciate it because I am an overly thorough person. Born like that. My mother has a wonderful friend, I call her GAD for Gorgeous Aunt Dolores. She's my friend, too. We've known each other all my life. When my brother was a baby she could make him laugh himself silly, just by looking at him with funny faces. They had a connection. Anyway, she suffers from perfectionism, too, and she says we may as well not try to do anything about it because it's just the way it is. I take solace in that. But still, perfectionism is a demon of sorts. Especially playing the piano. Finally, my choir director told me, You will drive yourself crazy if you aim for perfection because it is not going to happen. I liked that tip. It's a whole mindset. If I begin with the idea that there WILL be a bad note or two, then that kind of takes the pressure off, makes me shrug my shoulders. Besides, aiming for something that's unattainable makes me freeze up, and that's the surest way to guarantee a far worse performance than a bad note or two. In fact, relaxing about it is very likely to produce - SURPRISE! - a better performance. But, I generally forget to tell myself these things. Honestly, I start over from scratch each time, it's so annoying. I need to do like they did in the Old Testament. Write important things down and wear them in a little box strapped to my forehead or something like that. Then I could take it out and read it as a reminder of how I wanted to think. But I'd have to remember to do that. Do you think wearing a box on my forehead would make me remember? Maybe at first.

Okay, so we got invited to a baseball game tonight and a Beach Boys concert following. This is why I have to post so early today, as opposed to my usual 11:59:59 PM time slot.

Farewell,
KEM