6:00 a.m. I hadn’t…

6:00 a.m. I hadn't planned to be up quite this early, but Kevin came over around 5 a.m. (when he was going to bed), and I couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up. I did sleep 6 hours or so...

Lovely having him here, of course, but it does mean that I need to be a bit quieter than usual. Living alone is odd. I didn't expect to like it at all, and I do miss having a partner around, but a) it's not as hard to manage things (like changing high lightbulbs or putting covers back on futons) as I thought, and b) there are actually some really nice aspects to it. Like being able to be noisy in the early morning. :-) Not thinking twice about how grubby I might look. (See, aren't you glad I don't have a net.cam up? :-) You'd think after eight years, I would be as grubby as I felt like in front of him, and occasionally I am, but mostly I'm not. It just feels more civilized to be clean and presentable when there are other people around...but it's nice to be barbarically grubby every once in a while too. That's one of the things I like about camping -- going three days without worrying about showers. And then it's so nice to come back to civilization and get really clean...

There's two things I'd like to do that are noisy. One: my dishes. But that can wait without too much grief on my part. Two: practice. Practice? Are those looks of shock on your faces? I wouldn't blame you -- I don't think I've mentioned music in months. But Saturday I practiced the recorder for a bit, and yesterday I actually practiced recorder and guitar. If I find some flute music, then I'll have three instruments to practice every morning, and wouldn't that be nice? I was looking over some old journal entries and realized that playing music used to be a much bigger part of my life, and that I missed it. The tips of my fingers are a bit numb today from the guitar strings, and I know when I start flute again my mouth will be sore...but I do hate the thought of letting all those years of practice go to waste. Someday I'm going to own a house with a piano, and then I'll be happy. :-)

You know...when I was about ten (and had been playing piano for 4 years), my piano teacher sat me down and said -- "Mary Anne, you might be able to be a concert pianist if you really wanted to." And I said, "Really?" This sounded like a pretty cool idea at the time; I was practicing about an hour a day, and kind of enjoying it. And he said, "Maybe -- but you'd have to start taking this seriously. You'd need to practice six to twelve hours every day..." And I laughed and laughed... I knew there was no way I would ever work at anything more than I had to...no way in the world that I'd want to work at anything for more than the eight hours a day that the real world would eventually require of me...

And here I am. Doing the work (often doing sixteen-hour days, working every day, pretty much), and loving it. I was never meant to be a pianist (I eventually did make it to two hours a day of practice, but that was my limit, and let us quickly pass over all the time I spent running scales with one hand and propping up a novel to read with the other)...but who knew I had this in me? Not me...

Have I mentioned that I love my job? (Which job? All the jobs -- teaching, writing, editing, running a magazine...)

I love my job.

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