Stressed

Author's Note: This is something I had written about three days ago, and the tab just stayed open for that amount of time waiting for me to finish it. That's been happening a lot... But I figured I might as well just post it as is. I was also trying to write in a different style (beware profanity). Feedback?

I must be some kind of sick masochist. Pain makes me write, and I write for pleasure. Oh well.

So let me tell you a little story, okay? I play the trumpet. Yeah, loaded statement. First time I ever got it might have been one of the best moments in my life. I was a young immature brat of the kind that I now despise (possibly because they're what ruined my life) and I was eager for anything. I was smart, sure. I had the basics down pat - math, science, reading... I couldn't write for shit but that's another story. Anyway, so I get the trumpet.

First time I practiced was a breeze. Fun as hell. I tell you, there wasn't a thing I wanted to do for about three months after I got that thing BUT practice. I'm a man of novelty, and even then, as Mr. Bratface, that applied. So naturally, it being shiny, made of gold [brass*], and the loudest noisemaker I'd ever received, I blew that thing for hours at a time.

Okay, fast-forward about 5 years. Here I am, fresh out of my first year in high school. A combined effort of my mother and Mr. Miskavage pissed me off enough that I managed to complete everything due to pass the class (I hope). So here I am, sitting in my throne, typing at my slowly overheating laptop, with not a care in the world. I've got responsibilities, but then there's my life! Completely fuckin' different things. Right.

A little background info: going in to this summer, I was still cleaning the traces of the bratface off me. I'd never get it all out unless I moved to Mexico and got a lobotomy and therapy, but I doubt even then things could change. I'd built my future, now I'd just have to live through it.

Anyway, as I see it, [my?] life is this: You got your

• People
• Love
• Parents
• Sleep
• Hygiene
• and Maslow's first tier (breathing, body temperature, shit like that)

Let's make a little pie chart, okay? At the start of the year, it looked like this:

http://screencast.com/t/MyxSG9wE

And at the end, moving into the summer?

http://screencast.com/t/sS2kErOggg

I don't know about you, but I see no trumpet in there, let alone family.

So after those three months at the very beginning, I've had seldom a single moment of motivation to play. It's just momentum by now, and I'm getting sick of that.

Author's Note v2.0 beta: The point I was trying to get across and never finished was that I'm fairly certain I'm quitting the trumpet. Not music, I could never do that - just the trumpet. Also, I'm very sorry the charts had to be Jinged - Drupal is stupid and wouldn't allow me to upload more than one picture or put both in with HTML.