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Three weeks ago to the hour, we were having our semi-regular lunch date at that pasta place in Vinings when you looked down at your phone and your mouth dropped open.

"What?" I inquired, dumbly.

"They accepted the offer."

Three and a half weeks ago, we met with a realtor you'd found while house-browsing on Trulia. It was more or less a weekend whim. We'd found a handful of places we liked and decided to see them in person. Just something to do on a lazy Saturday. We fell in love with the first one. An offer was made, then accepted with no objection or counter.

Two and a half weeks ago, we went back to the house for the home inspection. With the exception of a few minor details, there was nothing catastrophic. I spent the majority of the time measuring room dimensions and getting excited about how many chamber music parties I'd be able to host in the main room.

Time seems to be accelerating. This week I'm making my solo debut with the Atlanta Symphony. In less than a week I'm turning 30. By this time next week we will be vacationing in (probably) freezing New York City, and I couldn't be more excited.

Closing date is March 4.

#soarethedaysofourlives


2019 is mere hours old. It’s still wet behind the ears. Barely post-partum.

Speaking of post-partum, pardon me—I haven’t posted since September. (That wordplay works better when spoken aloud.) But to be honest I’ve done longer stretches of blog drought and I probably will again.

Is there any uglier aural tableau than “blog drought”? Like a drain clogged with hair and unnecessary adjectives.

Like most other days, I spent today (or rather, yesterday afternoon, but since I’m still awake right now yesterday is still today) focusing on one thing when I ought to have been working on a great many others. Unlike most other days, I am oddly proud of what I accomplished, and to be honest I’m not really sure why. This project was the lovechild of boredom, a calendrical earworm, and a sudden urge to clone myself into a barbershop quartet. Never mind that I am technologically challenged and vocally limited. I’m no Jacob Collier, nor do I ever hope to be, but I birthed a musical creature from my mouth and it didn’t involve pushing any black-and-white buttons. So there it is.

I guess I am easily entertained.

New Year’s Eve Video



It's just as I expected. Zero to sixty. Well, more like thirty-five. Summers are always weird like that. Especially this summer; new place (who dis?), few friends, fewer gigs. Just me and the crickets and the stifling humidity.

Then, bang! September hits and it's off to the races (and West Paces, ha ha shhh) and between that and the upcoming gigs and abundant trips, a nice blend of business and pleasure, and I'm more or less settling back into my unconventional routine-less routine. I think it's in the lazy perfectionist's nature to work harder when there are more things on her plate. (Yes, I've decided to speak for all lazy perfectionists.) When my schedule is free and clear, there's no incentive to get things done quickly, no looming deadline kicking your butt into gear, no threat of public humiliation (just private shame, which I bury under heaps of coffee-stained New Yorkers and crossword puzzles).

I guess I should be practicing right now though, or making pasta sauce, or working out, or all of the above! At the same time! This blog post is such a disaster. If you've read all the way up to now, thank you, but also, why?

#September #taskavoidance #procrastiblogging

© Copyright 2019 by Choo Choo Hu. All rights reserved. 

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