I woke up blessedly before the alarm this morning. I hate alarms - waking up to their blare so jarring. It is the closest experience I can imagine to the trauma of being forced out of the warmth of the womb into the cold bite of reality when we are born.
After the purge of morning pages, I flushed my sinuses and did some yoga, my neck, shoulders, calves, and hips screaming in agony as I tried to stretch them out and get blood flowing through them. I vowed to get a massage by the end of the day. I fried an egg , toasted an english muffin, and, annoyed that we were out of fruit, checked email while I ate. After ironing my shirt and making sure my suit wasn't too wrinkled after being neglected in a suitcase, I began to warm up as I got dressed and then rushed off to my audition.
Hopping out of my taxi, I saw that the sun was struggling to win it's battle with the clouds and ducked into the building where my audition was. A soprano was warming up, the Queen of the Night's high notes bouncing off the marble walls of the women's bathroom. I sat with my manager's assistant, and we discussed how the recital went on Sunday. Jeremy arrived from playing another audition elsewhere, and then the appointed hour arrived. We climbed the stairs up to the ballroom, introduced ourselves and began to sing. Two arias later, a couple of questions were asked, some compliments given, we said our goodbyes, and the waiting game began.