update from sparkleup

writing/sonata/choir.md

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+My dad played the saxophone through me.
+
+My transition into owning myself was through the oboe.
+
+Me coming into my own was through voice. After all, the oboe was rented, was it not? It was another thing that tied me to my parents, and I was hitting adolescence when one most acutely feels such things. My voice was my own and literally no one could take that from me.

writing/sonata/index.md

@@ -25,8 +25,8 @@ Also vi doesn't like working with me at list depths greater than three, so.
     * [o] [I would love to tell you...](love-to-tell-you)
     * [o] [I just love office supplies](office-supplies)
     * [o] [Why am I playing saxophone?](why-sax)
-    * [ ] [Oboes and ownership over one's own life](oboes)
-    * [ ] [Wow omigosh choir](choir)
+    * [o] [Oboes and ownership over one's own life](oboes)
+    * [.] [Wow omigosh choir](choir)
     * [ ] [And then my dad bought me Sibelius](sibelius)
     * [ ] [Music education is a cop-out](music-ed)
 * Development
@@ -45,6 +45,7 @@ Also vi doesn't like working with me at list depths greater than three, so.
     * [ ] [Saying no on an ongoing basis](saying-no) (tic at bconnected getting frustrating)
     * [ ] [Going where no one knows your name](leaving) (leaving bconnected for canonical) 
 * Development
-    * [ ] [At some point I started composing while walking](composing-while-walking)
+    * (some other stuff here)
+    * [ ] [At some point I started composing while walking](composing-while-walking) (introducing akathisia)
 * Recapitulation
 * Coda

writing/sonata/oboes.md

@@ -12,4 +12,14 @@ I loved the way it sounded almost painfully sweet in the higher registers, and h
 
 And it's weird, I picked up that instrument and shortly thereafter started to take control over other aspects of my life. Like, I'm sure that that's an instance of correlation-not-causation going on right there, but at the same time, it's weird that picking up the oboe and putting down the sax feels like this weird liminal period between who I was and who I am. It was the step between saxophone and choir, and thus the step between childhood and adolescence.
 
+I remember the vague confusion that came with the switch, a sense of, not anger, but a subtle sense of disappointment that I didn't go on to master the saxophone or something else.
 
+Why oboe? So expensive. We'll have to rent. And those reeds, ten dollars a pop at the low end. You could get a box of saxophone reeds for that much. And it sounds like a dying duck when you start, it'll take forever for you to get any good.
+
+I stuck to my guns, such as they were. I suppose I must have, I mean, as I don't remember that much about it. I started playing the oboe in fifth or sixth grade and continued on through the end of middle school. Or maybe part way through middle school; I moved schools in there and I don't remember if I was still in band at that point.
+
+But I loved it, in my own way. I owned it. The instrument was rented, of course, but I owned the fact that I had decided on it. It was expensive, with the reeds and the lessons and everything, but it was mine.
+
+The love was mine. The frustrations were mine. I once snapped a reed at the top of the staple --- the metal tube onto which the actual reed is mounted --- out of anger at my, yes, lack of immediate progress, but my teacher collected my staples to make her own reeds to sell back to her students at a discount over the stores.
+
+The love was mine. The frustrations were mine. They were almost of a necessity mine to enjoy on my own. My parents didn't enjoy it. I don't know whether my band conductors enjoyed it. I certainly never got very good at it, but I was happy to be bad at something I had picked out for myself.