My instruments, that is.
The oud, the two guitars, the mandolins, even the doumbeks.
I moved them upstairs to safety last weekend, tucked in their cases, for fear that the toddlers visiting would do them harm, but they know they haven't been played in a month. Not a lick, a doum, a bek, or a kah.
Whenever I think about moving them home to the living room, they say, "But are you going to play us again? If you're not, just leave us here. Really. It's OK."
Papers to grade, an essay to write, a grant proposal to file. How will I ever get back to them before they hate me forever?