Feeling:
Listening to:
Reading/Watching:

But then, perhaps it is nice to be needed. Much better to have everyone want you than none at all. And that is how it seems to happen; when it rains it pours, n'est-ce pas?

My voice teacher recommends at least an hour of practice daily. My piano teacher doesn't give me a minimum, but if I don't get in at least five or six hours a week he gets snippy. I try to manage one or two daily, since that needs more work than singing. The newspaper is about two hours a day to get in those work study hours, whether it's interviews, research, writing an article, or placating yet another irate guest writer who seems to think they should take their anger out on me, not the copy editor, for splicing their paragraphs (the girl's a paragraph Nazi, I swear). Then there's the usual courseload, which is currently eighteen hours because teacher certification for music majors is an arduous process which I would like to complete within four and a half years (the honors program requirements are not very accomodating, but for $10K a year they can afford to be picky). Thank God the play is over- that's another two hours of rehearsal a night that I'm much happy to get back.

But it was nice, earlier today, to be told I'm doing a good job. I've been on the verge of quitting the paper, 'cause I'm really just not journalistically inclined. And I could take or leave the work study money, since honors and music grants make tuition less frightening. Then today, the editor in chief asks if I'd mind apprenticing a new writer next semester as part of a training program.

"Me? Aren't I kind of a newbie, too? I should be in training, not doing the training."

"Well yeah, but you're doing a good job and you do know how to write, unlike some of the freshmen."

Hm. That's kinda... cool, I guess. Doesn't help that the law school also thinks I'm the only one on staff who gives a damn about them. They come to the office looking for me, specifically. They call my dorm room to tell me about breaking news. This does not bode well for when/if I try to leave the newspaper.

Damn me. I'll feel too guilty if I leave.

And Eric's IMing me saying, "you're coming to the poetry reading, right?"

And at dinner Amber swung by, "Please tell me you're going on the Honors retreat."

God. Couldn't I borrow some of this Demand-For-Katie for the times when Katie = Bubonic Plague? It might make things a bit more sane around here.

But as Lala says, "Who said anything about sanity?"

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