pass me by
words on paper, soft brown feathers and dreams of winter and waiting. They'll stay, I'll stay, and it doesn't change anything unless you want it to.
I'm steadying again, digging in after the shock of having my foundations torn from me. I don't delude myself and I wonder if this makes it harder or easier for me. I'm not ready yet. I've improved tremedously, but I'm not there yet. four and a half years doesn't make twelve, though seven or eight might. I like writing 2=3 at the top of a page and knowing that it is, in fact, true.
I'm never quite satisfied with my stage of musicality, but that doesn't mean that I don't enjoy it passionately. I think if I was completely satisfied I'd grow bored and start something else.
I only realise how busy I am when I try to do anything other than reeds, practicing and work. eating and sleeping tend to be the first to go, practicing being the second, which is scary. I demand that I have a life that includes people though, and it's...working...it just means that I can't see everyone I'd like to.
No grad school auditions this year. I might do an artist diploma thing at the academy for a year or just take private lessons - there's no way I'm going to blow a bunch of money travelling to three schools to do auditions when I'm not confident that I'll be able to play well. Not brilliantly, that's a bit of chance, but at least consistantly well. And I'm not certain. not yet, so it would be a waste.
if you can do anything else...do it.
yeah...I could, you know, but fuck it I'll reach rock bottom trying for this first.