Choncholo Pakha Mele Dhoro

Reading Stephen Leacock's Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town. It's really witty, and is about the only thing that's cracked me up this week. I'm in one of my lows. It's been a little while since I've touched my sitar, because I've been feeling so guilty about screwing up my first few weeks of school (I'm still recuperating) by running off to concerts and Shibirs. It's been awhile since I eargasmed to classical music, and this guilt has kept me from going to Anwar, or Ustadji for awhile because I know, I know when I see them and hear that music and hold my baby in my arms and make music with her, all those feelings of wanting to run away and do music all day will resurface, and all the things that are practical and dry will be shoved into the background. Why do I feel so guilty? It's not like things are so bad after all. I think I'm just afraid, afraid because I'm so vulnerable to music; so moved by it. So weak to the heart-deep tugs.

I've been trying to pretend that everything is just fine and dandy but it isn't working anymore. I'm not fine. This guilt, this self-inflicted punishment is killing a very important part of me. I have to break out of this cycle. Somehow. I am going to wake up with the sun tomorrow; try and reawaken that part of me that is essential to who I am.