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  • Writer's pictureChoo Choo

Blank state

I'm turning twenty-nine in a week and change, which would be terrifying except that, like joy or ecstasy or despair, fear is an emotion with which I no longer seem to identify. After all of last year's change and upheaval, the dust settled on 2018 and I find myself struggling to feel much of anything. I'm neither content nor discontent, not happy, not sad, just sort of a blank, numb automaton carrying out each day's tasks, forcing out productivity in a vacuum. With each passing day, my doubt grows about whether or not it all makes any difference. So far, the city of Atlanta has shown a staggering amount of disinterest in my presence. "It takes time," is the refrain I keep hearing from sympathetic ears probably sick to death of my kvetching, but the more I'm here the more I'm beginning to realize that there just isn't that much interest in classical music around here. This is the city of hip-hop, and, increasingly, film. Maybe it's time to diversify. If anyone knows any hip-hop artists who need to spice up their beats with some sick classical piano licks, hit me up. I'll be here, getting older and not feeling a thing.


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