listening to: number girl – sappukei
Oh man. I just totally reaffirmed my web-savviness in ways I cannot explain lest I bore all possible readers to tears. You have been spared.
As I will not stop mentioning for some reason, this past week has been hellish. It was hellish for cello reasons. And school-work reasons. And then emotional-basketcase reasons. I sometimes find myself quite honestly wondering if I have some serious anxiety problem, inhereted from the crazy half of my family. Wait. Did I just say crazy half? Because I meant whole. I get it the crazy from my entire family. And sometimes I mean to ask if any of my distant relatives have been committed to mental institutions and stuff. Because…well, yeah. You saw how I was acting. But then again, I can’t recall where in the year I have lost my cool in such a major way, here. Maybe it’s just that unexplainable karma/timing phenomenon thing that was simply unwilling to back down until it crushed me with its bare hands. Or whatever.
And then, this is mother’s day weekend. And I have to say I will always remember Mother’s Day of 2004. Mother’s Day 2004, my Dad drove out to Iowa City (while my Mom stayed at home and did nothing, apparently), to retrieve some of the crap from my dorm-room, hear my stinky Philharmonia concert (because at Iowa, we were required to be in the symphony orchestra and a chamber orchestra, of which the one I was in was…less than great, I’ll say), and calm me the hell down. This was the point in the year at which I had been accepted by U of Illinois. My parents and I were the only ones to know of this. And…I was freaking the fuck out. I couldn’t decide what to do, or even where to begin with such a decision. I had just realized how much I loved Iowa City and the Asian Languages department, while simultaneously realizing that in order to actually become the musician I wanted to I could not remain there.
At this point in time, particular members of the cello studio were still kind of not treating me too nicely, especially behind my back. “She thinks she’s so good. She’s such a stuck-up jerk,” I would hear from word-of-mouth through my few friends. I was paranoid that people were spreading rumors about my possibly leaving (you read it: paranoia). I was afraid that my teacher did not respect me because of what those other students were telling him, or that if he still did, he would soon lose all respect if he were to find out I wasn’t telling him something this important. This was on top of actual seemingly-life-changing decision in the first place, and I could not handle it. I wasn’t sleeping. I was going for absurd 40-minute runs almost every night, because I was obsessed with the location and needed to take my insanity out in some productive non-cello way. I was spending at least a half-hour a day in tears. Basically, I was losing my mind (Hmm. I was also listening to nothing but Number Girl, if I recall. Did it help the crazy or make it worse — we will never know. note to self: shut the f up about Number Girl).
So back to Mother’s Day ’04–my Dad and I went to Bruegger’s Bagel Co., sat down and ate. And while in Bruegger’s, my Dad must have told me every story of a major indecision he could have experienced, ever. The decision about moving to Europe. About moving from Europe. About moving the family to South Whitley, Indiana. About whether or not to leave ISU when I was about 5. And do you know what I learned, sitting there in a bagel shop, listening to my Dad tell some of the best stories ever to grace my ears? I learned that I will never be capable of making major decisions. NEVER. Thanks a lot, Dad. Your daughter is JUST. LIKE. YOU.
But…I made the decision (have I ever mentioned here that I did not make the final decision with actual cancellation of enrollment and sending in of signatures until mid-July?). And I am happy with it. Remembering that weird, shifty period in time reminds me that I have no room to feel bad about anything, now. Life here is good, and only as hard as I make it in my head. Sometimes I also get to thinking that a person can only truly appreciate the sort of contented and happy inner-calm in life by experiencing some of the extreme opposite, too. And…I wonder if maybe I create more chaos because on some level I don’t feel I have suffered enough to appreciate the good? I don’t know. It’s beyond me. This paragraph is now officially beyond me.
*reads above* Oh my god. I’m going to ignore the fact that apparently I was a Japanese salary-man in a former life and just made big reference to ganbatte ethic. I’M NOT PAYING ATTENTION, GANBATTE ETHIC. I CAN’T HEAR YOU.