play on, playa

Have you ever watched The Arts channel? It's the equivalent of Vh1 or MTV for Dorky Classical Musicians.

Any way, I was watching it last night (you don't need to tell me I'm a complete geek, okay?) and a pianist was playing Chopin's Prelude No 15 in D flat minor, "The Raindrop" Prelude.

I used to play that piece, among other things, when I was in highschool.

I can kind of see now why my mom sometimes hints that I should "play the piano again." I never realized how beautiful music sounds when you no longer have the skills to play what you once did, or how impressive it sounds to people who don't play instruments (I don't consider myself a pianist any more, which is sad). Friends are always like, "Why don't you play any more?"

Well, it's not really like riding a bicycle. It's more like training for a marathon. You don't ask a former runner to just run 26 miles tomorrow when she's been out of training for 13 years. I haven't seriously played piano since I was sixteen. I used to compete in regionals and state.

And you know what? I still thought I sucked. I'm doomed with the inferiority complex, I'm telling you.

Anyhoo.

I know moms are like, paid by the mom mafia or something, to tell their kids they're pretty and nice and talented, even when they're not, so I don't think my mother is an objective party when it comes to anything regarding her kids. For example, she thinks I'm brilliant, which is just patently not true. If I were brilliant, I certainly wouldn't be wiping ass in a hospital for a living. I'd be making money off of someone else's porn, or something. Or at least I'd have a doctorate in something by now, or a published author.

Any way. Sometimes, I think I did everything fucking wrong in life. Or, if not wrong, just ass backwards.

Maybe I'll get back to music and writing and the things that matter some day.

For now, I have bills to pay. And I'm a long way from paying them. That shit just totally dampens your creative muse.