Feeling: frantic
Listening to: Joshua Kobak - Rhyme
Reading/Watching: Basics of Vocal Pedagogy

It's strange, how for the past several days I've been unable to speak my mind in here. Plenty has happened, but more and more often I find myself writing clippets of memories and saving them on my hard drive, rather than posting them here.

The main reason is my conviction that the rest of you won't be nearly as interested in the words as I am, and as much as I protest that this place is for me, and not you, it would be pointless for me to post a tally of how many times a day I fall in love over and over with the same boy.

It would be pointless to say how frightened I am that this play, this five acts of Shakespeare that I am working three hours a day to perfect, might still crumble like card houses for lack of actors that can learn their lines. It is sad that I still have to whisper them to Iago: sad.

It would be pointless to mention how many of my friends complain they never see me anymore, how many of my classes are demanding papers and tests simultaneously, and how many sick days I have taken when I was coughing myself to the brink of exhaustion.

I know it will get better, because it always does, and believe it or not, I am having fun. It just doesn't feel like it when I'm scrabbling out from under the pile.

I love the rehearsals, the great moments when the energy takes everyone by storm and we're shouting and running back and forth, spitting the lyric of the Bard rapidfire and getting completely lost in the grief of it. I love the lock-step gogogo feeling, when I'm rolling the barrel under my feet, instead of letting it topple me over it. I love stealing ten minutes to play out a chord progression that's been haunting my head, scribbling it on my daily planner so it doesn't disappear when I get distracted, vowing to fit words to it later. I love having so much happening, where so much is fascinating. I absolutely love the crazy race in my veins when my hand is on the doorknob of a place where I know mon coeur will be. (Mushy it may be, but right now he is the best part of everything, and it is so easy, and I plan to savor it as long as it feels that way, because my practicality knows this part can't last.)

I only feel safe when I'm with him, and that's usually because it's the first time all week I've had a chance to breathe. I then wind up losing track of time and disappearing between the closed eyelids of day and night in his arms, whether in reality or just dreams.

Mon coeur, there are not enough languages in which to say it.

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