accompanied

being the slave of a musician has it's own unique perspective. any slave is subject to the whim of their owner, but on occasion i run into challenges i never expected. i love music, and am horrified to imagine a life without some sort of soundtrack to my own life playing gently in the background at all times. don't you ever drive down a road and know exactly what song would be playing?

i am unquestionably lucky that my owner not only tolerates my preferences, but for the most part, shares them. he's introduced me to music that i wouldn't really appreciate otherwise, and i get to pepper him with questions about the technical details of all that musical stuff i never understood before. for example, a thorough explanation of fusion jazz and why it sucks.

i don't sing very well. i like to sing, but my musical experience is more instrumental that vocal, and i'd much rather holler along in the shower than do anything remotely performance related. i did my time in high school band, thanks, i'm done now. but i love, love, love hearing my owner perform - even in the privacy of his own home, where i'm sometimes lucky enough to make (gasp!) requests. he's also an excellent coach and teacher - i've seen him coax performances from people unwilling, and even untalented.

to say that i am embarrassed to sing in public is putting it mildly. i was horrified when my owner made me do it. it wasn't a big deal for him, and in fact he was justifiably annoyed and pissed that i balked.

i just.couldn't.do.it. i was physically unable to do it. my brain shut my mouth for me and that was that. i do remember thinking that i would rather take a bloody beating in public than do this. i'm shocked at myself, hot with embarrassment (not humiliation - there was zero erotic about it), and i have no idea what to do about it.

funny where we find our limitations.