No Kinda

Song of the Day: Lookout for Yourself by Julia Nunes (I'm on a Nunes kick)

Dear Erin,

I'm terrible at starting letters. I never know what my first sentence should be, so it almost always ends up being a statement of my inability to begin letters.

You brought my confidence a long way. I remember when I was headed for my Cornish audition, you told me that it was as much about me as a musician as it was about the music I was playing. "Your leather jacket. Your tattoo. You know who you are. And you adore what you do. Show them that." That was always my biggest challenge: setting aside what I thought of my abilities (and lack thereof) and just letting my love for my cello shine through. Very occasionally you would get me to let go and just focus on enjoying the sound I was making, and it made an incredible difference. You said, "I know you love your cello. I know you love music. I can hear it if I close my eyes. But when I open them, I don't see it."

Seeing it matters. Obviously music is mostly about our ears, but you can see when a musician is totally absorbed and swept away by what they're doing. And I appreciate how hard you tried to get me out of my shell in that sense. You said, "Make the mistakes properly. Attack them. If you don't make a mistake all the way, you can't fix it all the way. Dare the mistakes to happen. You can only whack the moles that pop up, right?" "Right." "Don't just kinda play it. Don't just get through it. Make every single mistake, and relish every single good note--there are more of those than you give yourself credit for." "No kinda."

I've always had performance anxiety--I still do--and you worked hard to get me over that. I would start panicking before auditions and you would tell me to breathe; if I couldn't get a full breath, you would make me laugh and just that little bit of relaxation enabled me to breathe properly, which relaxed me further. You never told me there was anything I couldn't do. You didn't laugh when I told you about my future goals. And I could talk to you more freely than I could talk to my own mother. You were so intuitive about anything that was bothering me, about my insecurities, my competitiveness. You were there. Every single time.

And now I am here. I am here doing what I love and learning to do it better and better. While my new teacher has to correct some minor technical things that he didn't care for, he approves of what you instilled in me about attacking the music and just loving it. I still get so frustrated sometimes by the limits of my current ability, but I can feel myself getting better. And I know I wouldn't have gotten here without your help and encouragement. Believing in myself is something I've always struggled with, and you not only cheered me on, but you helped me work toward cheering on myself. It's still a struggle, but I'm learning every day to have more confidence in my abilities and be okay with the fact that they are a work in progress. As you reminded me, even those who seem so much more talented than I can still learn more and improve their skills; I can only fairly compare myself to Past Me, and then I should feel nothing but pride in my progress.

Thank you for every Monday morning.

ceci ne pas une post

Got an idea and I want to write it here so I don't forget. I think this was inspired by an old friend's tumblr post today, but I suddenly feel the desire to write letters. But not actual ones. Ones that I post here, where 3 people TOPS will read them. Because this is where I can Feelings in safety. I don't know how many I'll write, or to whom. But...yes. That is probably a thing that will happen. A series, if you will. Stay tuned, kids.

Things

Song of the Day: Short and Sweet by Julia Nunes

Things that are on my mind, mostly just in an attempt to organize them.

1. She is worried and it is my job to make her not worry. I don't want her to worry. I want her to be the happiest person in the world and if any worrying needs to be done I want to take care of it for her.

2. They're getting all ish'd out about moving in together. I just need to sit her down and tell her it will be okay, listen to her concerns and help her work through them. It makes me so sad to see them both backpedal away from something that will most likely make them both really happy. I know it's scary, but I hope that talking to someone on the other side of it will help.

3. Similarly, I hope my very relevant past will help with her current worries. I was scared, too. I know it's a big deal because it's total foreign ground, but I want to see her take the leap. It's not even a leap. It's a little hop that may or may not turn into a leap. Again, I know it's easy to yell, "Jump!" when you're already on the ground. But it's not like I'm yelling, "Jump into a pit of crocodiles!" I'm yelling, "Jump onto a huge fluffy pillow that you may or may not want to nap on!" ...I think I just broke the metaphor.

4. I am incredibly happy for him and so so proud. And I know it will be fine. But that won't make it any easier to watch him leave.

5. I'm so determined to do well this quarter. I feel like I have to prove that what I do takes real time and real work. I know it does, but I can feel people not taking my goals seriously. Maybe that's just paranoia.

I don't mind if you can't be with me all of the time / so be on your way / no, that is not what I wanted to say / I just want you, / no, I need you to stay. -Lullaby, Julia Nunes

But I Am Le Tired

Song of the Day: I Will Go Anywhere With You by Julia Nunes

You know when it's REALLY awesome to sleep super poorly? The night before you have two finals -.- Luckily they are music theory finals, and I know pretty much exactly how I'm going to do one both (or did; I already took one of them). I'm just grumpy because I got to bed late last night and feel like I was awake more often than I was asleep during the night. And I've gotten plenty of sleep the rest of this week, but it would have been REALLY nice to get a decent amount last night because I will be getting very little for the next week.

That being said, the reason I won't be getting much is because I'll be traveling to Disneyland, so I can't really complain =p It is rainy and windy and cold here, and in California it will at least be not windy and less cold. So that's a win in my book. I'd go to Disneyland in a damn hurricane. And hey, less-than-perfect weather conditions make for shorter lines.

I don't really have anything earth-shattering to say. I'm mostly just blogging to keep myself awake until my next final. I don't think my coffee did anything but make me have to pee. Then I'll go home and have laundry/packing to keep me busy and awake. I sound so whiny. I'm really not unhappy. Just a wee bit cranky because of my sleepiness. But my hair is freshly red and my nails are freshly purple, so...so there's that...

I should mosey off to my last final pretty soon. It's my written music theory exam, which I feel pretty confident on(inbytoforaboutofat). I'm sure there will be an obnoxious post-Disneyland blog next week.

A pirate's life is a wonderful life, a-rovin' over the sea / give me a career as a buccaneer, it's the life of a pirate for me / OH! the life of a pirate for me! / A pirate's life is a wonderful life, they never bury your bones / for when it's all over, a jolly sea rover drops in on his friend Davy Jones / OH! his very good friend Davy Jones! -A Pirate's Life, Peter Pan (I quoted that from memory and feel pretty good about myself for that)

In Which I Desire A Library

Song of the Day: Home by Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros

I miss having bookshelves. I never bought any when I moved into my apartment, mostly because there's no space for them. They would have to go in the inaccessible side of my closet, which would be a pain to get in and out considering I'll most likely be moving again this summer. But currently all of my books are in boxes which still reside on my floor, shoved as close to the walls as they can get without touching the stupid baseboard heaters. If they're not there, they're stacked in the piles of shit on my desk. I miss seeing them.

I'm currently tumbling pictures of home libraries and drooling a little. I put up one of those tumblr questionnaire things, but only one person has responded. One of them is "Describe your dream library." I really want a home library. Obviously that won't be an option for a while, but it's still nice to think about.

Natural light. Lots of it. Big windows or even glass doors that can be opened when it's warm outside. A windowseat (a comfy one, to allow someone to actually sit there for a long time while they read).

Preferably in an attic space. Obviously a big attic. But that would provide the best view and the greatest feeling of being tucked out of the way, of getting away from things for a little bit. Plus that gives it a cooler shape.

Lots of seating for all preferences. Big cushy recliner, beanbag chair, ergonomic work chairs at a big table for more studious types of reading.

No TV. No computer. Maybe a stereo because sometimes listening to music while reading is nice. CD and record collections included in the library shelves.

A rolling ladder. Because they are cool and I am short.

I'm torn between warm colors and summery-but-not-exactly-cold colors, like this:

I'm not sure why I find planning houses and rooms so comforting. I think it gives me a goal or something. Like, the places I'll live during college will never be very permanent and I'll never know how long I'll be in any of them, so my only sense of permanency comes from daydreaming about my eventual landing place. I'm not unhappy now, not in the slightest. But sometimes the idea of having a place that's truly my own where I can feel like it's ACTUALLY home is pretty appealing.

This may or may not have something to do with the fact that my parents are selling the house in which I spent most of my young life. I didn't really consider that until now. I did this sort of thing before I found that out, though (as evidenced by my Dream House post a while back). I have a tendency to think a little too far ahead, and it does funny things to my brain. Not that there isn't a certain freedom to not having a real home. I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore.

Today is going to be long. Concert tonight. Practicing for ear training final tomorrow. Want home. Want read. Want tea. Can't sentence.

Hold me fast, hold me fast / 'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer / I will learn, I will learn / to love the sky I wander. -Hopeless Wanderer, Mumford & Sons

Git 'r Dun

Song of the Day: Sweet Pea by Amos Lee

Welp. I forgot my math book at home, so I'm without things to do until my theory teacher's office hour in an hour. I suppose I could go practice a little, but frankly I need to spare my wrists until a longer sesh this evening.

I seem to have set goals. They weren't exactly conscious, but within a short period of time I just sort of decided that I wanted to do certain things, or do them better. I figure, what better place to keep track of such things than on a blog that no one reads?

Goal 1: Eat in more often / just eat better. As thing get busier, Mike and I have noticed a tendency in ourselves to just pick up food while we're out because we frankly don't feel like going home and cooking after a long day. The problem is, what's easiest tends to be places like Wendy's. That's totally fine once in a while, but I'm pretty sure I've gained back the weight I lost in the fall and I don't care for it. I'm making a conscious effort to eat more fruit (that's going well so far; I've been drinking orange juice daily, and upping the amount of apples and strawberries I buy). I'm going to try turning to better food when I want snacks, like an apple or toast (because in my house, the health nut purchases bread and we end up with Honey Oat or Whole Wheat, which is a good thing). I'm going to try to start making toast in the mornings to take with me in the car, because I always get ravenous halfway through my first class, and while I bring a Clif Bar with me, it just doesn't quite say "good morning." So I buy coffee and a bagel and don't feel so awesome (mostly because of the coffee).

Goal 2: Increase practice time (aim: 14 hours/week). I'm sick of getting to lessons and realizing I've made little or no progress. I'm here to dedicate myself to music, so I'm doing myself a disservice if I don't practice like I should.

Goal 3: Set aside an hour before bed every night for reading. Simply put, I miss reading. I'm not in literary classes, so I'm not forced to read anything, and I'm not using my time wisely outside of class. So from 9-10 (yes, I have a bedtime of 10:00) is designated as reading time. It also serves as a nice wind-down from the day, rather than doing math homework right before trying to sleep.

Goal 4: Drink more water. I don't drink nearly enough, and I never have. I got a little better for a while, but I slacked off and I need to jump back on the hydration wagon. I bought a water bottle today, and my goal is to fill it twice every day. Obviously I have a little leeway because I also drink tea and orange juice pretty regularly, but with one mug/cup of each of those per day, I'm still looking at 1.5 bottles of water (the bottle is 24 oz.). I think it'll make me feel better (even if it means the sacrifice of peeing a little more often), and I'll probably lose a little weight and see my skin get a bit healthier.

I thought I would have more than 4 goals, but maybe not. And maybe that's okay. Too many goals can bog a person down. These 4 are very doable, and I can work toward all of them simultaneously without feeling overwhelmed. And they'll work together to make me healthier, both physically and mentally. Then maybe I'll be like this:

I am ready for spring. I am ready for warm. I am ready to actually want to go outside again. (And I'm ready to look good doing it =p ) Edit: I also hope to get my next tattoo within a year. S there's that. Yaaaaay needles.

Be kind to your baby / There be a change in me / Baby please make a change / I think it will do you good. -Baby Please Make A Change, Hugh Laurie

Broken

Song of the Day: Chicago by Sufjan Stevens

It's time once again for Emma Has Odd Dreams And Tries To Think Too Hard About Them! *applause*

So let's just dive right in with last night's dream. It played out very much like a movie; it started with the very end of my fall and me hitting the ground. Hard. I laid there, my eyes closed, telling myself I was going to die and to just fall asleep and let it happen. But I didn't die.

There was a flashback of sorts to how I got there. It was a twisted version of 9/11 (though I referred to it as 9/11 in the dream). There was a plane that crashed across the top of a huge building, skimming off the parking garage (don't ask me how there was a parking garage at the top of a skyscraper). I was in one of the cars that got launched off the building; for some reason I decided to fling myself out of the car. I remember really experiencing the fall, and noticing how the blind panic of a short fall goes away after the first few seconds when you have a lot of distance to cover. And then I slammed into the concrete. And didn't die.

I'm fuzzy on how I got back to my mother. As will happen in dreams, it just sort of took care of itself. She didn't seem that churned up about it. She was glad I was okay and she hugged me, but that was sort of it. I hurt all over, I could feel major bruises all over my body and I just didn't feel right. I went to look in a mirror. I was right, there were bruises everywhere, already tinged green. Parts of my body looked like they were a little out of alignment, like I had seams that weren't lining up quite right. And my face. It was all in one piece, but something was REALLY wrong with it. Something about my eyes was majorly out of sorts; I think there was too much skin around them or something. It was like the most subtly grotesque mask of my real face.

My mother's attitude was reflected in everyone else. No one seemed to care much that I had been in the 9/11 attacks and survived a fall from a skyscraper. And while I should have just been super happy and really thankful that I was alive at all, I found myself being really frustrated that no one had worried about where I was, or was worrying about my state now. No one hugged me, no one cried, no one asked me how I was doing, no one rushed me to the hospital. My mom and sister actually took me out shopping with them. Like everything was totally fine. Like nothing had happened.

That was kind of it. Everything made a lot of sense (not necessarily logic obviously, but everything was clear and there weren't a lot of time skips), and I just kept being ticked off that I was totally broken and no one seemed to give a shit. Which is really whiny and I hate that sort of mentality, but there it is. I don't really have any sort of insight as to the meaning behind it; I'm not broken in any sense right now. I'm really solidly whole, as a matter of fact. And that's not really something new.

Abbie, you know me better than anyone. Feel free to take a stab at it.

'Cause I toss / and I turn / and it doesn't feel right / Oh, save me from wakin' up tonight. -First Impressions, Julia Nunes