My Subconscious Need to Always Be Doing Something

I honestly have no idea where to start. It seems like this week is just exploding with tasks to be done, and really, that's not true, there's hardly anything to be done. Nonetheless, at this very moment I feel incredibly rushed. I've gotten a lot done tonight already. I re-strung my new acoustic guitar, Catherine-Michel. Now she sounds SO much better and I am in a world of relief. I had to sign two disclosures. Most importantly, I had to change my EHS password from its original, sort of incriminating, one, to the one I less frequently use because I'm cool like that. Still. I just feel so chaotic. Like there are a million-and-one things going on.

And still, I barely have anything to really write about. I'm in a guitar class now at school, bringing my musical education classes to a sturdy three. Luckily, the school guitar class focuses mainly on acoustic, at which I am better.

I went to band practice tonight and didn't have a miserable time. I found out that my electric guitar is basically total shit.

When LENA!!! gave the guitar to me, she warned me of its shortcomings, and I accepted it anyway because I wasn't planning on it being my long-time standby. I had expected it to at least last two years. Unfortunately, all Sir Pettibone Canticle II's problems culminated into one hot mess tonight. There was nothing major. Nothing like the headstock snapping in twain. But the back pickup is sinking, the strap buttons are unscrewing themselves due to boring conical circles in their places, the jack input is unscrewing as well, and the guitar itself now has a tinny sort of wheeze to it. 

Only sometimes, though. None of the problems are really big enough that I could convince my parents that I needed a new electric guitar, post-haste. Nor does it help that I already spent my own money on Catherine-Michel. They will probably just chastise me for not having the foresight to know I'd need an electric guitar first.

It's a lot of pressure. I struck a deal with Felicia that I would borrow one of her lesser-used guitars for the time being, until I could get Sir Pettibone fixed up to a suitable extent. I was thinking of asking my old music teacher to be so kind. Or at least, asking him if he knew anyone who would do a bang-up job without charging me my firstborn child.

To be honest with you, Internet, I had expected so much more birthday money than I had received. Twenty-five dollars, at least. But I was not granted this ability and thus, I'm stuck with a shallow bank account and a strong need to resolve my guitar situation.

This is probably why I'm so very stressed out, and strung out, and I can't seem to focus on anything my parents have been saying. That's unusual for me. My mom has noticed that my mind has been elsewhere and she's asked me many times what's wrong. I don't know what's wrong. I feel icky. All my feelings are crashing around like motorscooters on ice. I don't know where I can get Sir Pettibone fixed, for cheap or otherwise. Most of me just wants to be a brat and demand my parents buy me the blue Epiphone I've wanted for so long.

But this is not an option. And so, to take my mind off the fact that I do not have the money to continue doing something that I like a whole load of a lot, I must fill my mind by filling my time.