An unexpected snowstorm has made the orchestra people north of me cancel rehearsal for tonight. Sweetness. That’s another day I don’t have to try to play on a seriously painful neck. Although the rehearsal has been rescheduled for Friday….
Being in pain sucks. I keep wondering if my neck would get better if I wasn’t playing violin so much. Like if I didn’t have rehearsal this week would it feel better by next weekend, or do I need to see a neurologist or go to physical therapy or something?
I went to physical therapy when I first hurt myself. It definitely helped, but since it has been a few years since the initial problem I don’t know how much they can do. I hope that playing for the last 3 years hasn’t done any permanent damage.
I was going to go to the city south of me today to get my computer fixed, finally. Mr. Snowstorm put a halt to that plan. Hopefully I can get the poor thing into the computer doctor next Monday. I need to get myself to a neck doctor asap, too. Even though it’s irrational, I feel like my neck wouldn’t feel so bad if my computer wasn’t broken.
My husband is currently playing the piece that I walked down the aisle to at our wedding. I feel like if I was sitting here listening to that with my computer and the knowledge that I didn’t have rehearsals Weds-Sat my neck would feel better.
I’ve been going crazy not being able to write, so a few days ago I started hand-writing an old story into one of the many notebooks I’ve collected over the years. It makes my hand cramp and my neck sore. But I’m writing. If I had my computer back I wouldn’t have to hunch. If I didn’t have to play violin this week hunching wouldn’t be such a big deal.
My conclusion is that I need my damn computer and I need to play violin less, possibly not at all over the summer. And I need to see a neurologist. Fun fun fun fun.
We move into our condo in two weeks. A week after that we go to Boise to visit some friends. There’s a good possibility that I’m going to be in a hormonal, sullen haze until then. That I’m going to do the bare minimum required of me to earn my orchestra paychecks, and complain bitterly about even that until I depress myself so much I go home, drink a bottle of wine, get fat off of coconut-milk ice cream, and cry while my husband tries to calm me down by reminding me that in two weeks we get our condo.
I rock, right? I’m the best. I’m NOT crazy and I’m NOT making myself even more miserable by constantly reminding myself of how miserable I am.