He has to deal with Hurricane Andréa every time there's a performance.
When I was a little girl, you couldn't speak to me for a week before a piano recital. I would get so worked up with nerves and fear, that I would hide in my room.
I would also have insomnia, because I'd be up all night with anxiety, re-playing my piano piece on my bed as I would lie there imagining I was playing my beautiful work of wood, ebony and ivory in front of me.
I would play every note of the piece I had worked so hard to prepare until the wee hours of the a.m.
My conversations would turn into arguments.
My sister and mother would have to walk on egg shells around me, because I was a ticking bomb just waiting to spaz about something, that was really quite unimportant.
This is how it was.
If we fast forward to band performances, I can't tell you how many times I was stuck in a bathroom stall at some cockroach and rat infested club.
I would take all the time in the world reading the scribblings of drunken prophets calling someone a slut or a rat, you know how it goes.
At least it was something to read while I was occupied with a ... ummm ... rather bitchy stomach.
There was a point in time that I was performing so much that I didn't get nervous anymore, I just got excited to be up on the stage.
Well, having taken a few years off to deal with the attempt to heal from my motorcycle accident, I got out of the performing routine.
I'm now back to the performance freak out.
I threw my clothes from one end of the room to the other, because I couldn't find the article I was looking for.
I storm around the house, creating a mandatory parting of the seas of the Fuzzy Family.
Oh, they stay clear from me on a gig day.
Most of my past lovers in my life have had to deal with it, but they just don't know how.
The sweetest love on the planet deals just fine. In not so many words, he told me he forgot he had to get prepared for my performance personality.
Hey, they don't call us Geminis for nothing!
Later on when I realized what I put him through, I apologized, as I always do. I didn't receive the usual attempt at a lie that most people get.
You know the one? "Oh, that's OK," people will say, when really they have something else on their mind that they'd like to express.
Instead, I received this text from Papi: "Ya, ya, I know you're stressed, but you always do perfectly."
And later with the conversation, I thanked him for understanding my ways, and Papi replied, "No problem baby. Your stuff stresses me the fuck out and I'm not even doing it!!"
I told him he was the most perfect husband any wife could have.
You know what the most fucked part about performing is for me?
I always hate having the anxiety and fear, and I regret making the performance happen on that day. On that day I feel like I wished I'd never even said yes to doing it.
Then when I'm performing, it feels so good I never want it to end.
Right afterward, I start looking forward to the next opportunity, I book it and the whole fucking cycle starts again.
I'm only a lucky soul who has found someone who can deal with this.
I hope your unconditional love has found you, and if not, never give up.
They are out there.
Just keep thinking positively.
i am willing to release all fear