A performance is coming, or may be coming, I am still waiting for the final word. I cannot say what the performance is for various reasons, only that it is all that I could dream of. I just hope it all pans out.
I am scared to death. The left hand death grips as I shift over and over, my muscles tire of the runs of 16th notes, over and over until it's engraved into my fingertips. The song is fast, demanding, and longer than I have ever attempted. For two years, since the day I started, I have been learning how to play this song. Two years for but a few minutes of result. But, oh, what a result it is! My fingers fight the death grip and fly over the fingerboard still, determined through exhaustion and that special irritation that comes with building calluses.
My mind is still uneasy, the holidays did not allow for enough practice.. I wonder if I am going to make it, if my hands will sweat or something will clench and I cannot just pretend I did not make a mistake because the violin is slipping just slightly... Sometimes it's strange, how important this is to me, to be a violinist, but nothing else makes sense anymore. My instrument and I have a symbiotic relationship, I really don't think I could go on without the music anymore. At 20 years old I will re-train my muscle memory for violin, just as I re-trained my balance at 16 until I could walk again after my spine was fused. It'll always be hard, but it's the most worthy thing for me to do. These are the things I tell myself. I only hope I am telling myself the truth.
More entries: July 2012
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