in which I prove that I really am a musician even if I don't act like it

[ojuzu]

I need to send my violin off to its makers to get a new bridge (& some fine tuners while they've got it). They'll probably have it for at least two weeks, which means I will CRY. I love that violin so damn much, even if I sometimes forget to play it for a few days. If anything bad happens because of my sending it away, I will never forgive myself. It will be like in one of those anime where the hero couldn't protect his little sister or something, where the terrible grief will overshadow the rest of my life. I'm not even kidding! I don't worry about most of my stuff, even if my ninety-year-old Dunsany gets trashed I'll at least be able to find the content somewhere else, and a bottle of nail polish or whatever is no great loss. Even shoes are really just shoes, much as I love them. But violins matter. If mine got badly damaged I would be inconsolable for weeks, and have "I couldn't protect you" nightmares for, like, years. Violins are magic boxes you use to make music, and they're just made of little delicate pieces of wood, carved absolutely perfect, that can warp and break in hundreds of ways. And this one is mine.

But it needs a new bridge, and it needs it before orchestra season starts, so I have to send it off soon. I damn well don't trust any of the places in town; I sent my hacked-up rummage-sale violin to one once when I was thirteen for bridge-fixing (not even replacing, just fixing) and they made the damn thing WORSE. I wouldn't let them within twenty meters of any instrument I actually cared about, and the other place is really just for sheet music.

So either the place we mail-ordered it from, or something up in Chicago. Probably the former, because they might charge less. But I will still be going nooooo violin come back to meeee the whole time.

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