To Be Alone in Winter is a Deadly Thing.

SOL D'INVERNO E COSA DA MORIRE!
TO BE ALONE IN WINTER IS A DEADLY THING.

Act III of La Boheme. It's snowing. I can feel its burn on my ears; my lips dry; moonlight; church bells. My house smells like pine trees and sugar cookies. But my throat is tired from having cried all afternoon. No matter; it opens nonetheless.

I'm baking sugar cookies and singing.

I'm singing some of my favorite music ever written. La Boheme-- Act III-- Mimi is pleading with Marcello. She is crying. She is crying just as I cried this afternoon.

My kitchen opens into the living room, and when I stand behind the counter, I can see my reflection in the living room mirror. Just a few minutes ago, I stared at myself, detached from the girl in the reflection, soaring to a high B-flat, voice full, chest steady. I don't normally look in the mirror when I sing. I have to say-- I was proud of myself-- my chest used to quake from effort. Now, on this sad snowy night, it's effortless. But there's no one here to hear it.

Rodolfo,... Rodolfo loves me, but flees me...
He shouts at me so harshly "You're not right for me, so find yourself another"
"You're not right for me"
Alas, Alas! What can I do? It's the conflict within him that's speaking, I know; but what can I say to him Marcello?

It was snowing outside today here too, but I didn't catch any of it on my eyelashes or in my hair. By the time I went outside, the sun was beaming and everything was running liquid. ("All that is solid melts into air.")

I've been depressed all day today. I didn't brush my hair or put on a bra or any makeup. Last night, too. I'm not sure why. I'm just blue. And I don't want to go out.

What do I want? I wanted to sing La Boheme and bake sugar cookies. Last year when I did the same, B was here. I sang for him. It was one of my favorite nights of the year. (I baked dozens and dozens and dozens of cookies and gave them all to the staff at Cheers). This year, B has plans to go to the movies to see Narnia with his girlfriend.

I wanted to see the Narc. I wanted to share with him. I wanted him to see my Christmas tree and I wanted to feed him sugar cookies. I love him. So, I wrote to him:

Just got my xmas tree! Smells so good! Tonight--baking cookies & La Boheme. A new tradition! :) What are you up to?

Narc: Depressed, playing video games. The usual. Will probably see "Narnia" later.

Hyde: Well, if you want to come over later, you're welcome to. There will be cookies! How was the concert?

Narc: Concert was great. Will probably stay here tonight, but thanks for the invite.

Hyde: Glad you had fun. Hope you cheer up & let me know if you change your mind...

Narc is depressed; I'm depressed; and it seems that Hammer has been "tired and moody" these days too.

Ah, well... There is always Boheme and the snow. The sound of horse hooves; blue-tinged snow falling in fat shining flakes. Rusted iron gates.

When I sing at full voice, I can feel my bones vibrate. I drown out the CD and keep losing tempo (I am not afforded the benefit of a conductor). And it doesn't help that I only have about a quarter of the Italian memorized. Oh well...

I bought vanilla frosting and red and green crystallized sugar for my cookies. They're cooling now. I need to go frost them in a few minutes.

I'm moody about tomorrow. December 10th has twice been an ominous date for me. In 1998, when I was just 19, I was arrested. Last year, it's the night I brought DateRapeGuy back to my place, and well... you can fill in the blanks. (I still feel disgusting when I think of it.) It's also the night Narc told me that my life was "shit" and that I am "shit." All of that last year...

But, no. This year is not last year. Nor is it 1998. Tomorrow is my concert. I have to stay in control and not slip away to fatalistic thinking.

But I'm tired. And I'm ready for a new year-- a new theme.

(Niuno e solo l'april.
No one is alone in April?)

-h