After the sickness...

...comes more sickness. My ears still hurt and are still somewhat pressure-affected. I don't know why, but this seems to prevent me from getting much done. Head-area ailments of any sort really seem to take it out of me physically and mentally... I've felt a bit dull and unable to complete tasks that aren't as simple as "put DVD in player, press play". I did clean last night, though. I cleaned EVERYTHING, and entirely on accident, as well.

See, I'm a horrible slob. That's just the way things are. Lately, it's been getting on my nerves though, so when I come home from work, I'll tell myself to pick three things up before I sit down... somehow last night that turned into me picking everything up, wiping every surface, finishing all the laundry, etc, etc, etc. I even vacuumed... of course by that point it was 2am. I live in an apartment. Perhaps I'm the noisy neighbor. I just wanted the place vacuumed while I was on a roll. It was only for a minute. That's all it takes, unless you're Nate's mom... how she manages to spend an hour vacuuming the same room, I do not know, but I absolutely loathe the sound of it, so I do it quickly, thanks.

What a nice tangent. Of course for it to have been a tangent, I would've had to have a developed topic... and ya. Rambling again. Perhaps I should take a nap before I have to be awake again... yay, orchestra?

After going through hell and back in terms of how violin fits into my life... I think this has to be my last concert. The amount of dedication it takes for me to maintain the level I need to be at is something I sadly can't maintain. I wish I had it in me to spend 4-6 hours practicing every day, and for a month or so, I did, but long term? That's not realistic for me. Further, the more I'm involved with music, the less I write. I know I haven't been writing long- two years ago was when I took my first class- but I've always had a sense of one taking from the other. I can't balance them. It becomes too much one, not enough the other, and it really affects me on even an emotional level.

So, I think this is it for violin; it's a world I don't fit into, and I can't keep trying. My writing feeds off of music, but not my playing, so much as my knowledge and understanding of it. I spent this semester wrestling so hard with the idea of not being in an orchestra and not playing violin; the idea that after getting to a certain level and spending two thirds of my life as a violinist, I might suddenly exist apart from it. Maybe I can't. I don't know. I can't explain it- you either know what I mean or you don't; you've either known what it is be so defined and consumed by something so demanding, or you don't. It's why people don't understand drug addicts. Sonny's Blues.

But, like a narcotic, it consumes, and it consumes. And I spent so much time being consumed that I forgot I have this life outside a practice room, complete with a boyfriend and daughter, and relatives who want me out of their house as much as I want out myself. And in this life, I have writing, not as a consolation to music, but waiting for its turn to be ahead of it, consistently, where it should be.

So now, I finish up my horrible, broken semester- the semester that trying to be a good violinist broke, among other things- have one hell of a last concert, give my relationship the chance I've been dying it for years, try to connect with my daughter on a level that isn't just survivalistic, but is meaningful, be a friend to my friends, move out, try life, and damn it, I'll put my piano in the next place I live and I'll play it, and it'll be music... and it will move me, not like the rain in the middle of storm, but like the scent of rain after the storm. I'll play on an instrument that's a bit more forgiving, relenting, and maybe that will be enough: to open the window on a breezy day and plunk out a pavane or gymnopedie- something simple and complete in itself and in myself- and then put it away and enjoy that breezy day. Music... not a tempest, but a breeze.