Madder, Then Hell

I am enraged.

First, background information.

I am a pianist.
Pianists, by and large, are anti-social creatures wanting nothing more than space, silence, and a piano.
I am a pianist with major audition coming up in February.
I am a pianist with possibly two lessons next weekend with my very demanding teacher who has been gone for a month.
I am a pianist playing the hardest, nastiest, most difficult, demanding, musically challenging, arm-aching piece of my life.  Schumann Etudes Symphoniques.  I'm also playing late Beethoven.  This is no easy task.
I live in somebody else's house, I haven't got a piano, I get up at 5am to ride my bike in the cold German winter to a church with a Steinway downstairs and a little upright upstairs.  I share the space and with two singers, two organists, a harpsichordist, several choirs, two wind bands, a daycare, and multiple services.  Now that Christmas season has arrived, the number of services and various rehearsals of all kinds have multiplied.

Some days, somebody forgets to show up for practice time.  Some days, I get lucky and stay extra hours.  Those days, I don't eat, don't stop, don't rest my hands, and don't sleep because I know that the next day will throw some unexpected wrench into everything and I won't get to practice enough.  Like today.

Yesterday, I did two hours in the morning before getting kicked out for a rehearsal.  Then I did four hours in the afternoon.  I asked the harpsichordist very sweetly that morning that if he was feeling generous later in the day and wanted to let me practice during his time to please let me know.  It worked.  I stayed almost three hours more.  My hands have never ached so much in my life.  I couldn't play another note.  I literally could not move my fingers anymore.  But I practiced the entire Schumann and the variation mvmt of Beethoven Op. 109.  Really working that much music in one day is rare for me.

This morning, I woke up at 6am, talked to relatives half way across the world, and started practicing around 7:15 because I thought I had until 10, when the first singer is supposed to come.  Nope.  8am sharp, the meanest, nastiest, rudest janitor in existence comes barging in, waving his arms at me and screaming in German to GET OUT BECAUSE HE HAS TO CLEAN.

Background: this foul, vile, evil, contemptible, horrible horrible squat Japanese man comes twice a week for two hours, Wednesday and Saturday mornings.  He never has a set time.  Last week he came at 10.  He screams at everyone who dares to practice in there (except for one soprano - he lets her stay).  WHY does HE get to call the shots?  Why can't he clean WHILE we practice?  I screamed back in German that I was NOT GOING TO LEAVE because I HAD TO PRACTICE.  He screamed back, and since I had already used up my entire German vocabulary, I slammed the piano shut and stomped out, nearly crying with fury.

He is the first person in Germany that I truly hate.  I battled a very strong desire to lock all the church doors and set it on fire while he was cleaning.

So from 8-10, I had the option of practicing on the upright.  In some situations, this is ok.  But I'm exhausted, my hands are exhausted, and I can't deal with an unresponsive action and naturally ugly sound.  There's no point in pushing my hands on an instrument like this - too much work with too little result.  So I practiced a little, lay on the wood floor because my back hurts, thought up dastardly punishments, bought some bread from a bakery, and went back to the Steinway at 10.

The singer didn't show.  Aha, I thought, I can practice until 2pm now.

45 minutes later, the local teenage wind band came in.  
"Wann sind Sie fertig?"  
"Um eins."
Great.

So here I am, sitting in a room that I rent but isn't really mine, waiting until 1pm so I can go practice for an hour.  Then the harpsichordist comes from 2-5.  Then maybe I can practice more.  But usually the church organist comes in for two hours.  And there've been an increasing amount of choir rehearsals on Saturday evenings.

You know, I really bust my ass to do everything I can.  Even in an ideal situation (Glenn Gould's lakeside Canadian house, for example), it's never enough.  In this situation, it REALLY isn't enough.  The inconsistency of it all is exhausting - I practice too much, I don't practice enough, I can't practice, I have to practice frantically, I ride my bike back and forth waiting for some time, I can't leave the church for fear I'll come back and somebody will have taken over....

The saving grace is the quality of the Steinway (very good) and the fact that when nobody kicks me out, I really am left alone.

But come February, if I don't pass the audition because of a despicable, nefarious cleaning man, there will be hell to pay.