Feeling: flippant
Listening to: Jewel - Amen
Reading/Watching: Nimsay and I need to watch Mansfield Park. Yesyes.

Take the What High School Stereotype Are You? quiz.

I was walking across the parking lot to my car in my favorite (and only) sandals.

I was amusing myself with the sound they made when the back strap slid off my ankle and left the entirety of the sole to rebound off pavement, tap the flesh of my heel, and smack flat on the asphalt when I set my foot down. Tappity-THWACK. Tappity-THWACK. I sounded like a cart horse.

I was holding my shoulders high, carrying my cute little practice violin in its case, feeling like the consummate musician (I held the bow today and learned how to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." The instructor made me cut the nails on my left hand right then and there. I am thisclose to being a virtuoso, I tellya. In the meantime, my hands look like fraternal twins: the left is the tomboy, and the right still wears makeup).

I was studying my shadow, and liking how it looked. Proportionate. Length of legs fit with breadth of hips and curve of waist and width of shoulders. It was all as it should be, except my head. It's like someone digitally remastered my image to 110%, but forgot to include my head.

So now I need to figure out a way to expand my head.

Pshaw, like it's not swollen enough with the synagogue writing me paychecks for something as intangible as my voice. That'll make you conceited in no time. But then I think about the hours I've spent on developing it, since I was nine and singing Julie Andrews songs in the backyard, and suddenly it seems they're not paying me enough.

But anyway, basically I had a good day. And I have named my violin Amber. She thinks I'm twitty and have horrid technique, but at least I don't use her as a flyswatter or a flowerpot.

You know the funny thing? To the casual observer, I spend 95% of my waking life being like this. I could take my pictures off this site and no one would recognize me.

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