I went out with a friend from work tonight, to an awesomely English pub (wooden beams, cozy Christmas decor, cottage-y feel to it) and had a great time venting about various life decisions, situations, politics, work, etc. It was fun! And best of all, we reached the realization that my current stress is all the piano's fault. See, I want to rent a piano. But if I do, it means I'm staying in this current living situation for a while, and I'm not sure that is good for my sanity. I hate my commute, and there is someone home more and more of the time, which doesn't do well for my need-my-space side. So let's say I go ahead and get one anyway. The piano will be in the foyer, next to the living room, where the TV is. So anytime someone else is home chilling, I won't want to or be able to play the piano, because it will either disturb the TV-watching, or just bug me that I have an audience. This in turn will only cause me to further resent my flatmates for just being there, something entirely irrational and not great for good relationships or an all-around warm-fuzzy house. The logical solution for this is to move out to my own place and live by myself. But then I have to find somewhere on a ground floor with enough space for a piano. Oh, and I have to be able to afford it. Chances of finding such place in London = .001% So then I decide to work really hard at finding a way to afford this place, and I'm right back to figuring out what I'm going to do in life next year and where Lulu fits into that story.
Sigh. Why can't I play the oboe?
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