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Fourth *ing stand! Fourth! Hah! Take that, you brain-washed peons of soceital injustice! See what happens when you have a BLIND audition. Something OTHER than hair color determines seating!
If I were still a practicing Catholic, I would take this moment to prostrate myself and beg forgiveness for my sinful pride. If.
I thought that the auditions didn't really matter to me. I believed that I didn't care about the results, that I objected to the entire process on principle alone.
Obviously, I haven't come quite that far, since I was absolutely elated yesterday when I found out. Shows them that just because I don't take lessons, and I don't necessarily subscribe to their inane politics, doesn't mean that I'm not a strong player.
At any rate, some part of me still really wanted to impress them, something I find mildly repulsive. I don't respect them or the unjust process by which they administrate, but I longed for some small validation from them.
NOT what I've been going for. Human, but still dissappointing.

Furthermore, it's not what I play for in the first place. I play music because a very large part of me has to. There are few times I am as happy as when I am in the process of making music. When I get into the last page of a symphony, when I come down to those last glorious bar of a Bach suite, when the notes are lying by and the music is racing through me, when I literally forget to breath, and time loses all meaning, THAT is why I play. Why I put up with all the other stuff. The useless competition. The endless, monotonous scales, the frustrating hours spent on ugly, dissonant excersices. The hole in my wallet every time I need new strings. The pointless politics. For those few moments of transcendence, nothing else matters.
Goofy? Probably. Cliche? Yup. Smarmy, emotional, quasi-religious nonsense? If you say so.
But that's the only way I can describe it. Music fills a void in me that I didn't even know existed before. And I don't think I could give it up. Yes, there are times when I get so frustrated or depressed that I want to burn it all. And there are days, weeks, months, when I wonder WHAT, exactly, I'm doing. And I've tried to do something practical. I have a pretty normal job. I took the english, the science classes.
And then I'd hear something, see something, and it would resonate in the back of my chest, and I'd feel this yearning, this wanting.
Yes, there are other things I care about. There are hobbies galore. And the more I learn, the more I want to know.
But music has always been the one thing that is intensely mine. I don't have to share it if I don't want to. No one shoved it at me, kicking and screaming. There is nothing that says I have to keep at it. It is my own version of freedom. It marks my past, saturates my present, and shadows my future.
Stupid? Perhaps.
I can live with that.
Momentary weaknesses aside, I can live with that.



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