Feeling: Scattered
Listening to: Travis Tritt, "Superman Strong"
Reading/Watching: still Justin, though he's gone home for the day.

I decided to cover my previous entry's neuroses with a little harmless prattle.

Took a trip up to school to smooth out the last bits of paperwork (canceling the on-campus insurance, getting my new ID, etc) and getting a new print-out of my class schedule.

Don't these sound awesome? Accompanying (pinano), Form & Analysis (Music Theory III), Examining Literary Schemes (i.e: English), Fine Arts Drama, Fine Arts Art, voice lessons, speech, and college algebra. The hard classes are stuff I love, and the stuff I despise will be cakewalk material. I am really looking forward to taking an English class again after so long- it's been since my senior year in highschool.

I'll also be singing with the jazz band (cross fingers), and boycotting play auditions. No Greek tragedies for me. I will, however, get to do Opera Scenes. Yayness and things. I miss singing so much. Right now all there is for me, is singing in the car and shower and the chants they pay me to do in Bri's church. And I don't even sing in the car much anymore because someone told me my harmonies were annoying so I stopped, and then I kinda got out of practice.

I miss my teacher, I miss belting out an aria and no one minding, I miss the practice rooms with the rickety pianos and someone playing the flute in the next room over.

I feel like music is threading all under my skin, flowing in my veins, built up and frustrated after two months of disuse.

I am getting my hair cut (first time in six years) on Friday, and driving to meet Lala Sunday after next. Both prospects are exciting, but spooky for how unpredictable the results of each could be.

I am bored and reading random diaries, and stumbled across one by a girl with a severe eating disorder. Now I've read about people who cut, people who hate their parents, people who sell themselves, people addicted to drugs and alcohol, and I've not flinched. But I can not read about a six pound girl purging and starving and saying in her journal, so matter of factly, "I can't help it, I don't like it, but I have to. I am fat. I am FAT."

I can't frickin' do it. It's too close to home and yet such an alien thing to me. Can't read it. Call me weak or sheltered or what you will. Can't and won't share into that kind of thing.

There was something else I was going to say, but I have forgotten it.

Comments? 1 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.