1. The inability to breathe properly.
2. Feeling cold on a sunny, 80 degree day.
3. Repeatedly wiping your nose with dry, itchy toilet paper.
Not that I’m trying to have a pity party, but I’m feeling pretty miserable due to my frenzied sinuses. I’ll never understand what is it about fall that makes my nose produce so much mucus… it’s revolting. Doctors say it’s the pollen count in the air; I say it’s a conspiracy. My nose secretly hates me and is attempting to drown me by the mass production of phlegm in my throat. However, this doesn’t faze me. I’ve had this problem since early high school, when my nose executed its first revolt. You could say I’m used to it.
I am currently listening to Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Op.30. It’s pretty epic. It’s helping me get through this sick day. The dramatic crescendos and crashing chords are taking me to another world, a world where my only asset is my ears, and my only purpose is to listen. I’ve always loved Sergey Rachmaninov (or “Serg”, as I affectionately call him). There’s something mysterious and angry about his music. Gotta love that.
Such a babe. Seriously.
I was first introduced to the Rach as a freshman in high school, when my piano teacher at the time handed me the sheet music for his Prelude in C Sharp Minor. Initially, my fifteen year old self laughed at the thought of playing something with so many double sharps. But I wanted to learn it because it was challenging and I hated to disappoint my teacher. It wasn’t long after that before I fell deeply in love with the piece. Moody and tense, the Prelude in C Sharp Minor is still one of my favorite pieces to perform; in fact, it was one of my college audition pieces. Sophomore year of high school, I tackled the Prelude in G Minor. It was quite a challenge, and it definitely stretched me musically. I remember spending hours at the piano trying to figure out those darned left hand intricacies. After performing that piece at my sophomore recital, I received a mini statue of Serg himself from my piano teacher. For a while, he sat proudly on the mantle of my piano, staring me down during the hours I spent slaving over his complicated music. It kinda gave me the creeps, to be honest. Plus, it was awkward to have the composer himself staring at me while I butchered his music in practice sessions. It just didn’t feel right. So, I did what any self-respecting musician would do – I started talking to the statue.
“Daaang! How am I supposed to play that chord with one hand? Sorry my left hand doesn’t span an entire octave and a half, Serg. Get real.”
Obviously, he never talked back. But in my mind, he was constantly throwing out insulting comments, criticism, and the occasional witty comeback. He was Sassy Serg, actually.
Now, Serg sits in my bedroom on a shelf surrounded by other random things, including a red foam finger from NCC homecoming, a plastic doll, and a framed picture of me when I was five. Hopefully, those items are enough to keep him company. Just to make sure he isn’t too lonely, I placed my mini statue of Bach right next to him. I realize that they are from two completely different musical eras. But who knows? They say opposites attract. Maybe they have riveting, intelligent musical discussions while I’m away at college.
Apparently he was a dog lover.
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