Thursday, December 09, 2010


One of the reasons I'm dying to get my N is because the drive home on concert nights are always so prominent in my mind. Every time, it's like a deja vu.
It always starts with artificial compliment. Then comes the quiet talking, the long strings of criticism and the gentle suggestions for more training. More and more reminders of how I can make myself look better.
There's a reason my nerves take over when I'm up there, and it's not because I'm playing in front of strangers. There's a reason why I feel like I conduct with a calculator in hand instead of a baton. There's a reason why I'm not getting up on stage again tomorrow.
I wish I was a fighter, I really do. I wish I could absorb myself in my music and all the other artsy fartsy stuff I'm into these days. I wish I could have that undying passion or be that girl I was two years ago who cried when they tried to my saxophone away. But I take the crap now more than ever. And I shouldn't even have to be defending this to being with.
This is nothing a new; someone trying their hardest to earn approval.
But thank goodness that I'm not doing this for them. If that were the case, this would be the biggest waste of my time ever.

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