At this point, I am so ready to move on with my life. It's not entirely clear when exactly I'm going to be done. But it's going to be at most three weeks. I wish they'd hurry up and pass. And that my thesis would finish writing itself. I've had enough.
I really, really hope most of the strange issues I've been having are just stress taking its toll on me. So I'll be better once I escape. That I'll be able to constructively work at overcoming my suspected embouchure dystonia playing tuba. That my hands and arms stop shaking. That I'll be able to pick up an oboe or clarinet without my thumb convulsing. That I'll find some peace of mind.
I've really missed band. This Monday was the first rehearsal after six weeks of concerts (it was fun watching three of them, but I would've rather been playing in them). I definitely felt a pang of sorrow when I didn't drive out to Forest Hills last night. Band, and playing music in general, was always a sort of solace for me. Loosing that solace, I believe, is one the big reasons why I'm coming so much more unglued than I normally would.
This week, I'm going to be actively searching for a place to live come September. Because I can't put it off any longer. I also intend to start making some token efforts at putting things in boxes.
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