Heeding the advice of my friend Deb, I took a deep breath, relaxed, and tried to get logicalized.
That's not a word, but whatever.
After work yesterday, I came home and hopped on my bike (well, I changed my shirt and my shoes. My pants were bike-friendly) and went for a 45 minute bike ride. Totally awesome. It was sunny but not hot, gorgeous, not too windy, and perfect. I'm so glad I bought this bike.
I came home, and found out that Patrick had been gracing the neighborhood (meaning, the surrounding 4 or 5 miles) with some double bass drum playing. Yay for him! He warned me that the neighbors might be all musically tapped out, but what could I do? I had to practice. I wanted to practice.
So, like the day before, after a too-quick warm up (god I hate long tones), I hit the hard parts, hard. well, hard-ish. As hard as I felt like hitting them, okay? And then I worked on the little cadenza-like ending (so much fun to play!), and then I played the whole thing, mostly straight through (I think I laughed at one point at the way I made up one little spot rather than playing what's exactly on the page there), mostly successfully.
It'll be OK. I'll have fun, I'll wear whatever, and it'll be fine. Realizing this, I put my flute away, patted the kitty who was sitting next to me (her ears must be ringing!), and called to Patrick, who was in the garage, that it was time to go to Chipotle. Baby needs a burrito.
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