| 3/31/99 Wasn't I in a wonderful mood yesterday? Wow. I don't know what's been stressing me out lately. Today I went for a haircut. I didn't really need a haircut, but the stylist gives me a mini-head massage before shampooing, and today I couldn't resist. The last time I had my hair cut I'd forgotten about all that, and my personal space meter was caught off guard, but today I went in expressly for the human touch factor. I can always tell when I start to need touch--I become super-perceptive whenever someone's close to me at all. Today I almost jumped when Eric punched me lightly on the shoulder. I was in a superb mood by the time I got to the salon, anyway. After Wind Symphony today I paid Eric for accompanying my recital. It was very uncomfortable for a few minutes: we're both sitting in my office, I asked him to name his price and he couldn't. These money things are diffuclt between friends. A typical student recital, especially a a challenging program like mine, will net the accompanist $150-$300 dollars. For a spectacular performance, I could end up paying even more. Eric has a reputation around school for being a very inexpensive accompanist--his philosophy is that if you only pay him very little, you can't get mad if he fucks up. He generally charges, like, $50. And he even feels bad about that. So he hemmed and he hawwed and I said, "Well, how many hours did you spend on it?" He laughed nervously and said, "Ooh, I don't think you really want to know..." implying, "I hardly practiced at all." So I laughed and we fidgeted some more and finally he said, "Okay, let's just say $50." I refused. His eyes bugged out when I offered him $150. No way in hell was I going to pay him only $50. He wheedled. He protested. I gave him a check for $100 and it was final. He says he feels bad, I say, fine, just go pay your damn phone bill. Call me when I move to Georgia. He's really going to feel bad when he finds out I'm going to pay him again, not only for the recital we're doing in Adrian this June, but also for the piece he's writing for me. I still feel like I should have given him more money. I broke down today and let Julia off her lead outdoors. She was a stray when she found us, living in the parking lot of our apartment complex in Ann Arbor. Gradually, we converted her to an inside cat, though she sits at the door and peers out whenever the weather's nice. I've been trying to take her out on a lead, since there are cars and trains whizzing by our house, and today I cracked. I was sitting on the step, reading "Like Life" by Lorrie Moore, and the cat was whining pitifully from behind the recycle bin. She'd slithered back there on her tummy, to show me how painful the little harness was. How much it was killing her. O, how she would hate me when we went back inside if I didn't take off that harness. I caved. Damn me, I'm so weak, John never would have caved. But she's ever so happy now, rolling around on the step, crawling under the blighted bushes at the front of the house. Sniffing everything in sight. I am putty in my cat's paws, and she knows it. What she doesn't know is that she is fat. F-A-T. Maybe going outside alone will get her a little more exercise.
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