Playing Bach got me a tired neighbor at the door this morning. 8:30AM is a perfectly reasonable time for some baroque’n’roll.
…I’d forgotten how brilliantly voiced his fugues are. It’s like forgetting about Christmas until you realize it’s December and there’s a piano in your room, and you have reasons to practice again.
But first, gotta finish this Mozart sonata. Prelude and Fugue IX, WTC 2, you’re so next.
Sometimes, life will be shitty. I like when pessimists call themselves “realists” like it’s any less morbid. I hate when optimists tell you to “look on the bright side,” an almost sure sign that there’s no real empathy there.
Something shitty happened today. I’m pretty bummed. Life moves on and I’m manning up this time. Why haven’t I done this before?
You’re asking me if I’m excited about work tomorrow when it’s actually in an hour. I am not excited about work. I’m content, though. Not unhappy. It’s pretty cool.
There are so many questions that swim around in my head all the time. Up until a few months ago, those questions would flow from my lips without inhibition. “Radio-mouth,” they called me. I was five. Teachers made me write my name on the board in grade school. Once, a music pastor told me I sang too loudly in church. Now I’m 23 and I spend alternating days keeping my thoughts to myself, feeling like I’m about to burst, or letting everything out and feeling weak for revealing how insecure I can be at times.
I’m 23 and I am a different person than I was during the years I spent in Atlanta and the years before— the ones I spent at home. Somewhere along the way, I’d gotten into the habit of looking at myself through other people’s eyes. Probably while I was trying to look like less of a sinner to the church. I’m fucking exhausted.
You’re right, I do sleep a lot. And now it’s time to go. Let’s get some fucking bacon.
