top of page
  • 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.

19 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Summertime Madness

Where does the time go? One minute I'm fretting about not having enough to do, the next I'm buried under a mountain of repertoire because I simply can't stop saying no to people. Someday I'll figure o

Super perfundo on the early eve of your day

Suddenly half a year has gone by. "You'll write more," you tell yourself, greeting every day with a promise that "Today will be the day I start on that story/essay/novel" and every day the same ending


In an early post from this blog, dated December 30, 2013 (almost nine years ago to the day), I wrote: "The week between Christmas and New Year's is one of my favorites. Nothing too pressing ever happe

bottom of page