dodging spotlights

I have finished a summer concert series as a tiny but enthusiastic front row blip in my community band's 160 year history. My fourth season, and the first after a two year ick + lack of compromise hiatus. I have my musical strength and control back and 75% of my ego. I don't know if the remaining 25% is even available inside me anymore, and I think that's probably ok. I have a sweet, serious high schooler section mate to take up all the extra emphasis I used to just direct at myself. My number one goal in life is to be useful, and in my three-quarters performer one-quarter coach, I truly believe I serve a purpose worth keeping on coming back for. I actually think this is good.

I think maybe I think about this too much?

a long sentence about Wednesday nights

There's a time every week in the wee hours of a Thursday morning when after a restless attempt at sleep and throwing off the covers and reading Rainbow Rowell books on the kindle app in the dark, after tossing myself around limply, stationarily pacing, noise-cocked and impatient, I--in either half-awake or half-sleep--finally hear the click of the door and the pitch shift as a shadow passes between me and the fan and finally feel the sag on the bed beside me and the gentle in-case-I'm-sleeping forehead kiss and finally hear a whispered I love you, and then I sleep.