Feeling: torn
Listening to: Tori Amos - Mother
Reading/Watching: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - Anne Bronte

Bork came over (for the first time, finally!) to see my place and so we could watch The Rainmaker, and naturally, we got caught up in talking and scarcely got halfway through. We didn't even get to the really good parts, the parts the movie is famous for.

Then Bork left for rehearsal, and I cheated and finished watching.

The scene with the mirror, I was nearly crying, and not because of the movie- because I wanted to do that scene so badly it made my heart hurt.

But I get that feeling over a lot of things. I want so many things that make no sense and pay no bills, and I want to do them all at once, as they pull me in different directions. I want to sing in operas and broadway plays (Krynn and I have decided to run off to New York and understudy in Wicked, since *nobody* else would love to be in that show, obviously), I want to play Susannah and Violetta and Dido and Carmen and Musetta and Rusalka and Varya and Emilia and Lizzie Curry and Mrs. Linde and Maureen and Elphaba and Fantine and Portia and Helena and Beatrice and Queen Gertrude and... and I do not have the luxury of a comfortable life to support me while I pursue ridiculous things.

I also want to teach, to conduct choirs and inspire kids to reach for something, to be something better than anyone told them how to be. I want to watch my students accept trophies, and make their parents cry from the audience. I want to wave my arms and have an all-state choir follow me. But to have this, I need at least two more intensive years in a school where they tell me things I still don't know, in exchange for a hefty tuition fee, and several hours a day of devoted study time which can not be spent earning a paycheck.

And, you know, the much humbler one... I also want to sleep indoors, wear clothing, and eat daily. This last part kind of makes the first part impossible, and the second part very, very difficult.

Singing, acting, teaching, studying, and working. Not to mention writing, which I have already decided is going to have to fit somewhere in between the cracks of the rest. Six different directions, and one me. You see my dilemma.

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