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Nowadays it's starting to seem as if the only time I write in this is when I'm under the influence of caffeine or alcohol, and this post shall be no different. The two substances are an apt metaphor for the far ends of that precarious parabola called manic depression, on which I currently happen to be skewing far to the manic side.

After spending the bulk of July traveling to various corners of the northern hemisphere--I'll spare you the boring details because no one wants to hear stories about your vacation, Karen, not even your mother, there's a reason she's been ignoring your FaceTime calls--I'm back in Atlanta for a whole three weeks! I spent all day today getting my affairs in order, doing the busywork of settling back into normal life, unpacking-laundry-emails-errands and got through all of it so painlessly, dare I say even pleasantly, that on my walk home from the bank/post office I decided to treat myself to a nitro cold brew and here we are.

My performance schedule is starting to fill up. After two years of relative purgatory in this new city I'm finally more or less (work-wise) where I left off in Baltimore, and I'm at a point where I am comfortable saying no to some things again.

Work doesn't officially start up for another couple weeks, but in the meantime I would really like to keep this momentum going, which means making daily to-do lists (is there anything better than checking off a task from a to-do list? I submit that there is not), weekly meal plans, morning runs before the temperature turns infernal, routine practice schedules, and nightly yoga and meditation. I think I've mentioned on here before that the older I get, the more I require every single detail of my life to be running smoothly lest the macrocosm be disturbed. One domino gets moved out of place, and the whole chain breaks. I'm not sure if this fastidiousness is healthy, per se, but as long as I can manage my control freak tendencies in a way that doesn't directly harm me or anyone else, I'll chalk it up as a win.

#coffee #todolists #grateful #bebetter #life


It is almost midnight. Monday is about to segue into Tuesday, and I have had just enough red wine to the point where the warm itchy glow is radiating through me, a hug of inflammation, a Cabernet cardigan.

Today was a banner day. If every day were like today, I may very well have transcended this mortal coil and graduated to nirvana. The peace and happiness I’m feeling right now can’t even be completely attributed to the wine, although that certainly helps. 

A quick catch-up, since I’ve been so neglectful as of late. We’ve been in the new house for two and a half months now. It’s everything we’ve wanted and more. Summer is officially here (at least weather-wise), these next couple weeks are a happy blend of work and play, and exciting things are on the horizon.

Today I practiced and cleaned and rehearsed some chamber music for the Atlanta Music Project HQ ribbon-cutting and worked out and MIKE AND I BOOKED A DREAM VACATION TO NEW ZEALAND AND TAHITI and drank wine and read Brahms and Schumann and Mozart quartets with a few ASO musicians and I am just on cloud nine because this is pretty much all I want to do in life, plus or minus this wine because I’m starting to get really seriously itchy, and could it be possible that I’m allergic to red wine?! Perish the thought. 

Pardon the mania. It’s just that the next time I get into a funk—which could be next week or tomorrow or in a few minutes, for that matter—I want to refer back to this post and remember how ecstatic I once was, how a few talented colleagues, an endlessly supportive boyfriend, and some tiny black dots scribbled by dead German dudes could elicit such unbridled joy in me. This, Marie Kondo, this right here—this is what sparks joy. I never want to let this feeling go.

#happy #joy #chambermusic #bestday #wine


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

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