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October 26, 2003
I'm not progressing. I'm not disciplined. I'm quite simply unable. Am I moving, or is everything else? I'm beginning to suspect the latter.

There's just a touch of vertigo in the air this morning. I'm sorry, but we won't be able to make it to the gala. I know we've had it penciled in for months. I hope that someday you'll begin to forgive us.

The dynamics still aren't soft enough; the tempo isn't slow enough. The pitch is off. The motions aren't emphasized adequately. Someday it will be the way you always wanted it to be. But not today.