In Memoriam Benazir Bhutto

Benazir Bhutto was assassinated. To be honest, I'm not up enough on current world events to be really sad for Pakistan, or to know the implications - but she came to Mary Baldwin last spring and gave a speech, and I got to meet her. She was a very nice woman and I liked talking with her.

*sigh*

Why do we have guns?

Season of Yule

The Christmas season is one of my favorite times of year - and not only because of the month-long break from my horrifyingly busy schoolyear (thought that is a definite plus). No, I love the glow that comes with it and I don't even mind the commercial-corruption of the holiday so much. (Except for the continuous marring of Christmas songs by new artists, I hate those.)

So, yesterday was fun. We all woke up at a late-ish time (which was cool and new, it's the first time in years I haven't had to get up at 6am to stuff the turkey and put it in the oven), ate cinnamon bread for breakfast with some of Sierra's new "Dead-Man's Reach" coffee (SOO good), and checked out our Christmas stockings. Then we tackled the tree, which was - as usual - very hectic and covered the living room in paper and wrapping for a good hour or so.

Then Momma and I started in on the turkey, so we would have it ready for supper - Aunt Anne and all the rest were coming for supper, plus an exchange student from India they offered to entertain for the day, plus Sierra and Justin (who had already had Christmas at the Hughes', and we were feeling the slight pressure of having thirteen people over for dinner.

Did some last finishing touches on the house - and let me tell you, I went through some interesting convulsions trying to get thirteen chairs at the dining room table. That room is simply not big enough for thirteen people. But the meal went well, especially considering that we experienced a close-shave with Aunt Anne's cooking - she invited us over and we had to be very creative with our excuses. Aunt Anne is not the BEST of cooks, and there have been times in the past where they have not cooked their turkey thoroughly - resulting in food poisoning. We really didn't feel quite in the mood to carry a whole plastic-wrapped Christmas dinner over to Lewisburg, so we invited them over instead.

Anyway, we had a very full - noisy, too - house last night until far too late, then we had a peaceful rest of the evening to ourselves. Christmas was indeed satisfactory.

Jubilation!!!

I, through my impressive powers of persuasion, have managed to get not one - oh no, not just one! - but both of my brothers in the church choir for the Christmas season! This takes us up to five men (all baritones, true, but they can hop around a little), three altos, and FOUR sopranos!!! This is the biggest the choir has been in three years!!!

In other news, I discovered tonight that my solo - "O Holy Night" - has been bumped up from offertory to anthem. I have been promoted - which is good, because I've got a killer ending (the man who restored our stained glass windows will be cringing in the fear that I'll crack them with my voice) and I just worked it out tonight. (I, in fact, sight-read it due to both choir practice and church being cancelled for inclement weather last week.) In any case, I'm sort of glad to be moved to anthem - it was a little too long for an offertory.

My Uterus is IMPLODING

Women go through a rather painful and messy process once a month - it's a part of the monthly cycle that some say is in sync with the cycles of the moon. (I really don't think it is.) I am going through it right now and it's the WORST yet. For serious, it feels as though my uterus is attempting to claw its way out of my lower abdomen.

In other news, break is going excessively well. My family is getting along (probably because Sierra lives in Williamsport now and Stefan and Sawyer no longer share a room), my job is fun (and cinnamony), and I may keep this cunning little wedding ring - it serves a very, very useful purpose. It could really come in handy at Cracker Barrel, for the more irritating tables of single men I get.

My cat loves me again, but that may change if I become an RA at Mary Baldwin for this coming semester. I should know by this coming week if that is the case - if it is, Emmeline will stay here with Mom and Dad (they're not too unhappy about that, because they think she's cute), and I'll go to live in a dorm. Again. Ah well. If I can save enough money this semester, I'll be able to afford rent this summer assuming I go to work at Williamsburg.

And now I'm going to curl up in a ball of outraged hormones so I can watch Tin Man and eat something hot and nourishing.

"Someone's Gotta Keep Your Wide-Eyed Optimism in Check"

So, I discovered this fantastic mini-series on the SciFi channel due to my darling mother and brother. It's called "Tin Man" and it is (surprise, surprise) a slightly sci-fi-ish spin-off of the original story of "The Wizard of Oz". I'm generally picky with my canon, but this kind of made me forget it. The writing wasn't quite "Firefly" calibre, and some of the actors were occasionally off, and yeah - the FX kind of sucked. BUT I have not been so riveted by a movie in a while. Besides which, some of the shout-outs to the original movie were just HILARIOUS.

First off, their Dorothy character - DG, which stands for (you guessed it) Dorothy Gale. Raised in Kansas by Aunty Em and Uncle Henry (who she thinks are her parents, but are robot-equivalents programmed to treat her as their own and gently introduce her to life in the O.Z.), and working in a diner (wearing gingham); she unexpectedly lands in the O.Z., which is kind of a battle-zone when she arrives due to:

Azkadellia, the evil sorceress who has imprisoned the rightful Queen (Glinda, yo) and has flying monkeys that bursts from her chestal region. (I had wondered about the cool prison tats on her expansive cleavage. The logistics baffle me - where, for example, would the monkeys sleep in her breasts? I don't imagine that would be too comfortable.)

When DG arrives in the O.Z., she encounters Munchkins who look like kindergartners who are far too enthusiastic about Thanksgiving. While in possession of the Munchkins, she is tied up in a net in a tree with a man named Glitch. Glitch has a (fully operational) zipper in his head - he had half his brain removed by Azkadellia because he knew too much. He is our Scarecrow-equivalent and played by an always charming Alan Cumming. I adore that man.

Next up, we meet the Tin Man. Named Wyatt Cain, he was a Tin Man (law enforcement) who worked with people who defied Azkadellia. Naturally, Azkadellia's men went after Cain and his family - they recorded the torture of his family and himself, locked him in a tin box and made him watch it over and over for about fifteen years until DG freed him from the box. I have only to say that Cain cleans up nice and DG really ought to tap that. Like, now.

Shortly following Cain joining DG and Glitch on their journey to a Road to Central City to speak to the Mystic Man (two guesses who that is), they encounter our lion, Raw, in a Papay Orchard (Papays are man-eating beasts) where he is about to become lunch. They rescue him by DG's insistence and, in the process, fall over a cliff. They escape relatively unscathed, however.

I won't go into too much detail on the rest - wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. I have only to add that Cain/DG fic will make me a very happy woman, and Glitch is my one true love.

In any event, during my time selling German Roasted Nuts at my soon-to-be-brother-in-law's family's stand, the boring slow-time hours shall be whiled away by my jotting down an outline for a sequel to this story about the O.Z. I'm a sucker for the original books by L. Frank Baum and I want to get some mad research done by the time winter break is over so I can write one adequately. My biggest sticking point at the moment is wondering 1.) Were the silver slippers lost forever in the Deadly Desert and if not, where did they go? and 2.) How the hell did they cross the Deadly Desert in Ozma of Oz? Did they used the jeweled belt from the Gnomb King?

GAH. It's been far too long since I've read the books. Perhaps that's why minor lapses from canon didn't really bother me?

Wonderful quotes:
Azkadellia:The little bitch has gone to see the Wizard.

Cain: Much obliged for the help.
DG: You're welcome, Mr. Cain. Um, I'm DG, by the way, and this is...
Cain: I know. A headcase.
Glitch: I have a proper name, you know. And whe-when I remember it, I'll tell you.
DG: What's a headcase?
Cain: It's what the state does to re-educate criminals. They rip out their brains. Make them prisoners of their own minds. Ain't that right, convict?
Glitch: Hey. Whoa. I ain't no convict. And just in case I am, it-it-it was a bogus charge, a-a-a frame job. I'm sure of it.

DG: Um.. your ah... zipper is undone.
Glitch: Oh... didn't mean to offend. (zips his head up) Gotta be careful not to lose your marbles.

Glitch: I mean they don't call me Twinkletoes for nothing, but I cut quite a rug.
Cain: (after seeing Glitch fight the LongCoats) You're a deep well, Glitch.
Glitch: It's all about rhythm.

Glitch: You know you oughta do something about that sinister brain.
Cain: Why? Someone's gotta keep your wide-eyed optimism in check.

DG's Dad: Had that crazy nightmare last night, huh?
DG: In Technicolor.

Cain: I know what you're doing, kid... I've led men through battle myself.
DG: And, um... How am I doing?
Cain: Well, there's less hugging when I do it. But not so bad.

Troilus and Criseyde

I really do love Chaucer. I'm trying to convince myself of this while I'm writing a paper about why Criseyde is a victim of circumstances, and not a whore. However, this is not as easy as it may seem - the Middle English, of course, will give me headaches and there has always been my huge mental block against poetry of any kind. That is neither here nor there - I want the damn thing to be ten pages long (at least), I want to relate it to the Wife of Bath's Tale, and I want the English department to wish that I was one of them.

But I'm not greedy.

I'm home now - Pennsylvania is nice. I ended up driving home through inclement weather conditions. It was snowing when I left Staunton and it just got worse as the day went on. I've taken today to sort of regroup and feel better before I get down to the difficult stuff. However, this paper needs to be finished by tomorrow at the very latest, so I am working slowly at it. I have reached the over six-pages mark and I still have material to work with... it's just feeling inclined to work with the material available to me.

Before too much longer, I'm going to shower and put on some decent clothes, then throw in a load of laundry before heading on to work again. But for now, I'm happy lounging in my living room with Troilus and Criseyde, listening to Callanish in the background and cuddling with my kitty.

Dad has taken quite a liking to Emmeline since she came here last week to stay during my exams - and since she may need to live here next semester due to an environment change, that's perhaps a good thing. He refuses to call her "Emmeline" however, because that is his mother's name and it just feels wrong to him. He calls her "Emmy", which is endearing and she seems to like it - I think Dad has supplanted me in Emmy's affections. He's tickled pink, since no cat in existence has ever liked my dad and he has a certain affinity for them.

I'm extremely sorry not to be traveling to Vienna for May Term now more than ever - we had a guest masterclass a few weeks ago, led by an opera singer who is especially prominent in Vienna. Her name is Donna Ellen and she came as a favor to Dr. A. Well, for some reason, she took a liking to me and asked if I would be traveling to Vienna with the rest of the music students, since she knew that she would be in Vienna at that time. I had to say how sorry I was, but I couldn't due to lack of time and funds. I WANT TO GO TO VIENNA.

There. That's done. I shan't complain now. But still...

Right then. On to Criseyde and the negative male influence on her life.

Mild Procrastination

Your Score: Kaylee

You scored 90 variable 1!

Who doesn't love Kaylee? Cheerful mechanic and all-around whiz with a wrench, Kaylee is the innocent (in all things but sensuality) on board; all smiles and dimples, you probably light up a room just as much as she lights up the blackness of space.
Link: The Who are you? Firefly Chars Test written by x_pookie on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Pre-Exam Week

This week is my true exam week. Actual exam week for me is very relaxing, but this week is generally hellish. Here's the agenda for tomorrow:

9:00 - Leave for school

9:20 - Arrive and study for music theory quiz OR practice with Mrs. H.

10:00 - Music Theory quiz

11:00 - eat and practice with Mrs. H. or go to Music Theory Lab

12:00 - Music History quiz

1:00 - Environmental Issues with Issue summaries

2:00 - LAST MATH CLASS!!!!! (Which I'm pretty sure I'm passing. Score!)

3:15 - go to Deming and practice my ass off until...

4:45 - go to Francis auditorium on the other side of campus for voice juries, which I'm not ready for

After juries - choir

Slight breather.

7:30 - auditions for "The Sorcerer", the musical by Gilbert and Sullivan.

After I finish my audition, I am not passing "Go". I am not collecting two-hundred dollars. I am going home, collapsing on my bed, and sleeping until.... 8:00 the next morning, when I have to get up. Boo. However, this is an example (brief example!) of what my week has been like thus far. It gets better Thursday and Friday, but only slightly. My only consolation is that I have all of Saturday and Sunday to hole myself up with my books and get some serious studying done for the five exams I'm taking in three days, before I head to PA for a month.

*sigh* A whole month of sleeping. Well, not really. I do have a job. But still - I like that job. And it's interesting. And I get to sleep in more at home than I do at school. Right - enough procrastinating - back to work.

Gorramit!!!!

*expletives*

Dr. A. has indeed gone too far this time. There is a quiz this week, which I was not aware of - he doesn't put them on the syllabus (highly inconvenient when his quizzes are six pages long, but that's neither here nor there). Moreover, he handed out a review sheet before our Thanksgiving Break. I neglected to attend class on the day he handed out the review sheet because I HAD A LAST MINUTE REHEARSAL FOR ANOTHER EXTRA BLINKIN' RECITAL that I COULD NOT miss at risk of humiliating myself and my accompanist at the performance THAT VERY NIGHT.

Now, this would have been okay. But the man EMAILED me a reminder about the frickin' Lully research paper that was due, which, I might add, I was not required to write. He sent me the email the same day as he handed out the review sheet. He did not even IMPLY that a quiz might be in the offing and that I may need to obtain a copy of the review sheet from one of my classmates or, God forbid, from him!

Now, I realize that Dr. A. is very absent-minded. But come now. He's screwed me. He has royally screwed me. I really can't deal with this. My parents wanted me to try and cut a deal with the music department if they want me so badly, but honestly - what's the point? These people seem to go out of their way to overload and overwork me to the point of exhaustion, and I'm sick and tired of being their bitch. And these are the SELFSAME people trying to convince me that I'll want to go on to grad school! After this? HELL no. Not if I have to deal with more of the same, thanks VERY much.

Dirty words. DIRTY WORDS.

In other news, in nine days I will be home for Christmas Break and rehabilitation from this godawful semester. Good riddance. And people say that your junior year is your best. HAH!

That Girl

I so rarely post song lyrics, but as I was riding back to Virginia today from Pennsylvania, I was listening to this group "Lourds" and this song played. It was good and I felt the need to keep the lyrics close.
~
Oh I wish I could forget it
That girl was so pathetic
I regret that that's the girl that I was.
She would give 'til she bleeds
To the one in need
To the one who never sees what she does.

And I just cringe to see her pine
To see her crying on your bedroom floor.
Say your goodbyes
That girl has died
I don't wanna know her.

Tears me up to remember
That girl in December
Who was beggin' you to hold her once more.
That night she talked too much
'Cause she loved too much
And you were colder then than ever before.

Where was her pride
Those times that you kicked her like a dog
Lyin' on the floor?
Say your goodbyes
That girl has died
I don't wanna know her.

And I spit on her sadness
And I stomp on her weakness
And I throw all her words
Wasted words
Out the door.

That girl was me
In December
See these scars?
I remember.
And I hang her
With anger
Like a plaque on my wall.

So just rest in peace,
Little fragile me,
That girl who didn't love herself at all.
'Cause the new year is here
And there's nothing more to fear
And I'm stronger now than ever before.

'Cause there's a world out there
For this girl to share
With someone who's worthy of her.
Say your goodbyes
That girl has died
I don't wanna know her.
Say your goodbyes
I've said my goodbyes
That nightmare is over.
~
It was a good song. And you know what? I've said my goodbyes, too. Thank God.

Junior Dad's

A long-standing tradition at Mary Baldwin College is the awarding of class rings during the junior year of every class. This year, obviously, it was the time of class rings for the class of '09 - which was amusing, to say the least. First of all, you should be reminded that I am in a play right now, portraying a very butch lesbian (who is rather plain in appearance). This play occurred tonight, during the Junior Dad's celebration.

Now, it is tradition for the father of every student to present his daughter with her class ring. We then dance and have a big party at the Stonewall Jackson (yes, you read that right) Hotel. My dad is a sucker for a ceremony, so when the school sent him and my mother an invitation to this shindig, they accepted with alacrity. They chose a class ring for me (I didn't want the traditional ring with all the engravings that I would only wear until I graduated, I wanted one I would wear the rest of my life. So they chose it.) and arrived in Staunton today.

This was a long day for many reasons. Firstly, the Madrigals were singing downtown in costume and I was wearing inadequate shoes for that purpose. (After spending all day outside with insufficient toe insulation, I was quite literally frostbitten. It worried me for a while.) Today was also Gabby's senior recital (for the full run-down on that, see me later) and I had been intending upon watching, but was instead roped into being the backstage hand/stage manager when the original didn't show. (However, this does mean I don't have to write a review of it.) After Gabby's recital, we all headed back downtown for a tree-lighting service, where we sang until we were hoarse.

The play happened with very few hitches tonight (a thrilling occurrence) and after curtain call, I ran backstage, stripping off costume pieces as I fled and leaping into my beautiful red satin dress with the gold cherry-blossom pattern and the Mandarin collar. I fumbled into my shoes, then ran straight to the green room, where Camille (a delightful makeup/hair technician) did this weird thing with a pair of chopsticks that I have never managed to master on my own. However, with a twist of chopsticks and a few bobby pins, within seconds I had a hairstyle. It was surreal. Then a few dabs of makeup, then my friend Belena and I were off to her dorm, to pick up her dress for Junior Dad's.

I felt like a Bond girl, running in my formal and heels to the car and driving at top speed to every location we needed to visit. And, might I add, my hair remained impeccably perfect. (Camille really is a genius.) After Belena slipped quickly into her formal, we dashed to the car, drove to the parking lot nearest the Stonewall Jackson, then sprinted up to the hotel.

I recieved my ring in a short ceremony - and let me tell you, it's a GORGEOUS ring. It's the biggest, gaudiest bit of jewelry I own and I love it. I expected my parents to choose for me something like my sapphire ring, with a respectably-sized stone on a slim band - I love that ring, and the design is very simple and me. But THIS - it's HUGE. It's so big it reaches to my knuckle - a huge garnet surrounded by diamonds, on a sterling silver band. It's very modern and not something I would have necessarily chosen for myself, but as usual, Daddy has surpassed himself in taste when it comes to jewelry. It fits perfectly and it seems like it was just the right choice.

And, of course, it's fantastic to wave my hand around to show off my ring only to hear awed gasps of "My GOD, it's as big as your HAND."

After Junior Dad's, I sclepped up the hill to Jess and Betsey's to enjoy the cast party for "The Vic", which was amusing, to say the least. I enjoyed a glass of wine, good conversation, and had the pleasure of laughing at very happily drunk freshmen. It was a busy day, but a good one.

I would meditate upon the significance of the first ceremony of my ushering out of the undergraduate world, but it's 3am and I need to get up early to eat with my parents. Humbug.

Brain Go 'Splodey

So, I promised introspective. You're not gonna get it this time. Sorry. On to rant.

This morning was going just FINE until Dr. A pulled me into his office to practice my song for the masterclass that was this afternoon. Fine, good, he was my accompianist, we needed the practice. He very politely asks me to sit down. Then he begins, "Miss A, I have not yet excepted the fact that you are not a music major..."

To be brutally honest, I didn't let him get any further than that. I leaped up out of my chair and flew at him, saying in a very loud voice, "Dr. A, this is NOT the week for you to be telling me why I should be a music major. NOT THE WEEK."

See, things have been a little crazy on the music front lately. Ms. F. is requiring twelve papers, plus weekly journals, plus at least seven hours of out-of-classroom practice time per week. This is a two-credit course, keep in mind. It should be worth four credits, as most classes with labs are worth. On top of that, my memorization requirements state that I should have five songs (at least) memorized by the end of the semester. On top of that, Ms. F. and the music department have me singing in about five recitals this semester, at least three of which are not required. I have not yet had the chance to practice with my official accompianist because she does not have the time to give one person more than fifteen minutes every other week for practice, and we missed ours due to a scheduling conflict with a studio recital. (Tomorrow is my final recital. Am I prepared? No. Am I singing? Yes. Logic, where art thou?) On top of this, music history is kicking my ass and I still have to write a paper on frickin' Lully.

To all of this, Dr. A. had the absolute gall to say, "But you're doing the play, Miss A. That's extra stuff - "

"IT'S MY MAJOR!" I protested, flailing wildly. (No matter how often I say this, the music department insists upon believing that my stint in the theatre is just a wild fling and I'll see the error of my ways in time for my senior recital.)

Not only did Dr. A. have this circular discussion with me, but he brought it up to Ms. F. He was appalled at my choice in majors and confronted her, to get me to change my mind. She discussed this with me in my lesson, pointing out that the department was eliminating minor recitals and that I would not be able to have my own recital unless I was a major. If I was a major, the department might be able to make things easier for me. Voice lessons might start having a lighter load. Requirements would be easier. Allowances would be made for my theatre major.

Now, I have a pretty voice. That is undeniable. There is quality there and someday, it might be rather good. However, my voice is not NEARLY remarkable enough to garner this sort of attention from the department. One of my sources told me that she overheard Dr. A. and Ms. F. talking in the department secretary's office and Dr. A. was making me sound like I was the next top voice in the opera world. To which I say "Bullshit!" But I'm puzzled over why they seem to want me THAT MUCH. Ms. F. pointed out that I am not only somewhat talented, but I am also a good musician and I have a good work-ethic. That's not a good enough reason.

I seriously think the theatre department and the music department have a betting pool on - whichever gets the most majors gets the better facility when the new bit is built. Something like that. I don't know. I would just like to have it known that I do NOT appreciate the pressure. (Nor do I appreciate the bribing me with a recital-thing. Dirty pool, that.)

Sing We A Song That Takes But A Minute

The Madrigals had our first "official" performance last night, with the whole group at Mary Baldwin's Fall Concert. Those of us who have been in Madrigals for a little while tend to forget that the Fall Concert is never very good, because it's always a very new group, with repertoire we've only had for a little while. As one of this year's directors, I have a tendency to panic as soon as something goes wrong.

Honestly, it was NOT the worst we've ever done. I've heard us do way worse, in fact. We sang six songs, which is twice as many as was in the Charm set (to be fair, each of their songs equals about two of ours in length), and we didn't do too awfully badly. Once again, we tend to forget that this particular concert is never our best. We first sang "Cantate Domino", a Latin piece that we absolutely blew the audience away with. It's the best we've ever performed it. "Esto le Digo" our Spanish piece, was slightly less shiny. We started on a weird rhythm, which threw us off a little (not as much as it could have, this is one of the pieces we knew best), but I ended up going sharp on my solo at the end.

This kind of threw us for a loop on our next piece, which we are absolutely not confident on, "Song of Praise", which is our Hebrew (yes, Hebrew) piece. It's a cool song, and it's written by one of our favorite composers, Elanor Daley, but it's absolutely kicking my ass. We always end up flat, and since Katie was sick last night, she couldn't sing soprano 1. And, as much as I love my other sop. 1, Anna, I couldn't hear her at all and so I felt like I was singing by myself. Bad feelings on that one, really.

Next on the program was "Sing Me to Heaven", which is usually good. I stress "usually". The problem with this was that I was personally shook up from "Song of Praise" and completely forgot everything I was supposed to sing on "Sing Me to Heaven". When I first learned the piece, we sang it in the Concert Choir and I was on the sop. 2 part - very different from sop. 1. If Katie had been singing, my frequent unconscious lapses into the sop. 2 part would not have been too noticeable, but unfortunately this was not the case.

After that was "Now The Winter", which is one of two of my favorite pieces of rep this semester. It's in a minor key and the lyrics detail the fading of autumn and coming of winter. "Weeping now the autumn visage/eyes of bronze now dim and cold/ flinging down its golden foliage/Once so colorful and bold" is how it begins and the rest of the song follows along the same vein. The bridge is just gorgeous "Death of blade and frozen night/End of amber glowing leaves/Covered now in winter white/Autumn goes to bed and grieves". When we practiced it right before the program, it was awe-inspiring. However, it wasn't so striking during the actual concert. Not our worst, but could have been better.

The last piece on our program was my first "official" bit of conducting. "The Minute Madrigal". The premise of a song is a typical madrigal piece in four-part harmony with fa-la-la's, but the lyrics start to change to things like "We're tired of singing this song we admit it" and it gradually speeds up from the regular tempo at the beginning so that we're racing through and complete the song in one minute. It's a funny little piece and I enjoy it, which is why I wanted to direct it. This is the first time I've ever really directed, though, and I only just learned how to do it correctly. So, being a little nervous about it, I started the song faster than usual (about the tempo we're at when we end the piece). To me, however, it sounded a little slow. So I sped it up. I think we ended up actually finishing the song in thirty seconds. (I really should have had someone time it.) However, it did turn out well, the audience liked it, and it was a good end to our little program.

Today we're doing a benefit concert with Charm (the other a cappella group at Baldwin) and I'm a little nervous about it. Advertising didn't start until much later than it should have and we really needed to push getting people involved. So, it being all rainy and everything, I'm nervous about having an audience. However, I'm sure we'll be fine. Our next singing event is next Saturday, and I'm excited about this one. The Downtown Development Association always has a Christmas celebration downtown, and this is the second year they've asked Madrigals to sing. Last year, we all dressed in Madrigals garb throughout the ages (Renaissance through early Victorian) and walked around downtown singing. It was SO much fun. Katie dressed as a guy last year, so we walked around with me in my green Empire-waist Jane Austen-esque gown and Katie in her bright red pumpkin pants and doublet arm in arm - we even have a picture of the happy "couple" walking down the street.

Sorry for the "music-ey" post. I promise substance and a deep introspective next time!

Oh, the Timing....

THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS THIS SUCKS.

I don't know how many times I can type that for it to really reflect the true frustration I am feeling right now.

The good news from today: I'm not failing any of my classes. I am not failing math, I am getting a B in History of Music (and if he curves it, A!!!), a B in Environmental Issues if all went well on the last test, A's in my music classes, and (here's the kicker) an A- in Chaucer. That's better than some of the English majors in the class. I felt very superior.

So, my morning was going well. My afternoon was pretty darn good, too. I had a voice lesson in which I didn't suck, a productive evening rehearsal with the Madrigals, and my voice teacher took Miranda and I out to the Depot where I splurged on crab dip. Then we had the Departmental Recital, which could have been disastrous, and our first run-through of Act I at rehearsal - and, miracle of miracles, it went smoothly with minimal troubles. My lines were even mostly there. I came home. I logged onto my laptop.

Then the shit hit the fan. I won't go into detail, my friends, because I know for a fact that there are people who read this who don't comment (as would be appreciated). If you wanted to keep that tidbit a secret, guys, you should not have told me you read this - you'd get juicier information. Let's just say that there is someone who I like hanging out with who I shall have to stay away from for a very long time, in order to keep gossip away from me. It sucks.

Anyway. I shouldn't be wasting time venting, but I can't do anything else right now and I can't say the things I'm thinking out loud. So here I am. Writing meaningless, mysterious sentences in an attempt to make myself feel better about a matter that doesn't even vaguely concern me. Ah well.

In other news, the Madrigals are dressing up in costume for the Downtown Christmas Celebration to sing carols and walk the streets. It'll be fun. I'm excited. I'm singing for our studio class tomorrow. I'm not excited. (I tend to be happier about singing things when I'm not a soloist. Ironic, eh?) I'd probably be more excited were I to know my songs well enough to perform them, but I don't. So, one of my jobs for tonight is some extreme memorization. Ew.

What is with this "future" thing?

So, I've been considering summer employment lately and I really like the idea of working at Colonial Williamsburg. It's not my favorite historical period of all time, but since I was about five, I've fantasized about working there. Dressing up like a colonial woman every day, doing things a colonial woman would do, talking to people about what a colonial woman does, the challenge of being in character... just living like that every day sounds like something I would enjoy.

I do remember the first time I was in Williamsburg - I was so thrilled to be there (I was maybe eight at the time) that I curtsied to every one of the interpreters, because I thought it was the thing to do. There was another girl who did it with me. I recall being so disappointed that you weren't also required to wear historical garb in order to walk around Williamsburg, and that it was a great shock to me that all of the city of Williamsburg was not like the historical section.

Kate, Miranda, and I are all going to apply for summer jobs there - summer is the height of the tourist season and it will be so much fun if we all get jobs. Besides which, if housing is not provided for the temporary summer workers, rent will be so much cheaper if we live together and I'll be able to keep Emmeline for the summer instead of letting my parents have her.

Lately, Miranda and I have been discussing "relationships" and why we like who we like. We've come to the conclusion that there are two types of people (with, of course, various degrees of people falling in the middle). Alphas and Betas. Alphas are, of course, more domineering leader-types and Betas are their less domineering followers. Miranda and I are both very strongly Alphas. Men who tend to be attracted to us are generally Betas. The problem with this is that many women who are Alphas tend to like having an Alpha as a partner - an equal, rather than someone who will just go along with whatever you want.

Of course, this leads to that classic problem: "All these guys like me, but I don't like them!" And, while to some people that may not seem like a problem, to me it's an enormous problem. I don't like to hurt people and Betas are so easily hurt, especially by rejection. However, I've realized something else, too - the reason why my relationships don't last long is based on the fact that I date Betas. My longest relationship was with another Alpha - the only Alpha, in fact, that I have ever dated. Like many Alpha females, I am predominately attracted to Alpha males - the problem with the Alpha male, however, is that he is normally attracted to the Beta female. Less competition for power.

Someday, an Alpha male will appear in my life and want me for who I am: An Alpha female, his equal.

All Hallows' Eve

It really didn't feel like Halloween yesterday, for some reason. I didn't wear my costume, because the weather said "no" and I wasn't feeling well - being the ultimate music geek, I was going to be a "pants role", but that will have to wait for Dylan and Stina's Halloween party. The sky was bright and very, very blue and the general aura of the day bespake some ordinary day rather than a day of spooks and witches and ancient legends.

It was classes all day, as well, so I was running around trying to get to every class on time. I didn't breathe until about three o'clock, when I took some time to grab a large dark roast at Coffee on the Corner. (You know you're a regular when the man at the counter grabs a large cup as soon as you come in and stands at the ready.) Sean, the man I went on that date with, was there. He had gotten me a birthday present a while back and hadn't had the chance to give it to me - so I got my coffee and visited his car with him, where I unwrapped said gift. It was a Jane Austen day planner for next year (very pretty, with prints and quotes from her books for every week), and a folding paper fan. I gave him a very large hug and went on my way with my new possessions in hand.

The day just didn't have that... feel to it. The chills running up and down your back at unexpected moments, that feeling that you're going to encounter a witch at any moment, that satisfied feeling you get watching the trick or treater's making their rounds. It just wasn't there.

We had rehearsal last night, and we had only gotten through warm-ups and one of my scenes when security called the building - there had been a shooting in town, and the authorities had not yet apprehended the shooter. Security was evacuating all of the academic buildings on campus and going into lockdown. There ensued much confusion about the whereabouts of the shooting, who was shot, when it happened, and why Mary Baldwin was affected by this.

Things are still a little weird around here - we have extra security now and guards posted at all the roads into campus. I somehow doubt the shooter will come to Mary Baldwin - it was a domestic shooting and two people were nonfatally injured - but I am glad for the extra security. And, not going to lie, I was so nervous about driving through Staunton that I took the highway instead of my usual backroad route.

On a slightly more frivolous note, today has felt much more Halloween-y than yesterday. And Chaucer class is getting steadily more interesting. We're reading "Troilus and Criseyde" now, which is slow-going but rewarding. The class has gotten in the habit of finding naughty words in Middle English and writing them on the board for Frank's benefit, and also the benefit of the next class to use that room.

Let's Be Reasonable, Shall We?

Now, I'm an intelligent human being. I realize that a 300-level history course is going to be pretty challenging and in-depth, even though it is only music in Western civilization, rather than world music or, in fact, a general history course. I realize that I'm going to have to remember names and dates, as well as doing everything I can to do well in this course.

But is it too much to ask for a thorough review sheet? Is it really? This afternoon, Dr. A. handed us 4-pages (double-sided) of questions. This came to about 6 pages of multiple-choice and 2 pages of short-answer. This would not have been bad, because this is, as I said, a challenging course. This felt more like, say, a mid-term exam than a regular test, but I could deal with that. The part I could not deal with, however, was the fact that perhaps 1/4 of the material on the test was covered in the review sheet. We counted five of the fifteen short-answer questions that were covered, and roughly twelve of the forty-three on the multiple choice. There is a listening portion, where we identify composers and song-titles by listening to part of an example, but THE WRITTEN PORTION TOOK SO LONG THAT WE DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME IN THE 50-MINUTE PERIOD.

It does not take me 50-minutes to take a test. It has never taken me 50-minutes to take a test, barring the SAT's and maybe two out of all the final exams I've ever taken in my college career, including every test in which I've had to write an essay.

Tomorrow, one of our number is taking an example of the last test (just as bad) and the review sheet to the head of the music department for her perusal. She will be informed that the highest grade anybody in the class is recieving is a "C", which none of us can afford - we all have music as an emphasis either in a major or minor. Hopefully, this may help us, if only so that we can get free P/NC's in the class.

Inquiring minds want to know: Is it so hard to make a reliable review sheet to make studying for these hellish experiences just a jot easier?

Alternatives and Pathways

It's interesting how a random conversation can develop into something completely relevant and important. Today, I was sitting in the library between classes, eating lunch and reading my script when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I retreated to the stairwell, so I wouldn't disturb anyone, and answered it - it was Steph, wanting to know if I would lend her my car so she could hang posters downtown advertising for the latest concerts being held by the music department. I agreed, because it was cold and rainy and it really was going to be quite a hike for her, and she came to the library to pick up my keys.

Well, when she arrived she sat down to warm up and chat for a few minutes before embarking upon her poster-hanging quest, and we were talking of future plans. I related that I had recently been reevaluating my future career on the stage and thinking of alternatives. On a whim, I mentioned that I really liked the idea of opening a sort of coffee shop/health food store. Well, Steph is a marketing major and she is trained to take an idea and run with it. She mentioned that she liked the idea of it, and thought that perhaps offering a soup and sandwich selection would not go amiss. I thought that maybe offering a collection of used books would be a neat idea, along with comfortable chairs and ambient lighting.

...and it all just sort of snowballed from there. We were there for an hour just planning. I skipped my math class because we were so involved in plotting our future coffeeshop/pastry shop/used bookstore/soup and sandwich spot. I ended up walking downtown with her to hang posters so that we could discuss the idea further. We even went so far as to write down an outline for the future business venture. It's in my notebook, simmering in impatience for the day I recieve my degree and can be set loose on the world to implement it.

I don't know if this will actually go anywhere. But I think that if we can get a third partner, someone more experienced with accounting and numbers than either of us is, then we can really set this plan into action. I still don't know whether or not I will be going to grad school. I still don't know if I'm going to make a career out of my acting talent. But this is the first time I've had a direction to work towards in a while. I kind of like it.

Besides which, thanks to Sierra and Justin, I now know how to acquisition and also identify rare and antique books. There's quite a market for volumes of that sort in academic communities. If we can find a good college town with a university including a more literary grad program, then we'll be in business. Because what good (I stress 'good') college student doesn't love a good book?

Fractured Reality

Last night, I had my first "real" date since I was seventeen. It was strange. First of all, I hadn't known it would be a date to begin with. A friend of mine asked me to see "Elizabeth" with him (good movie-wise, but somewhat historically inaccurate, as I expected) last night and I decided to drive to Staunton to see the movie with him. I had a sneaking suspicion it might be a date, but this wasn't confirmed until he slid his fingers over mine on the armrest between us. I let him.

We walked around Staunton until three am, which was nice but also odd. I hadn't realized so much time had passed until he looked at his watch and realized he had to work the next morning. (Luckily, I don't work until 4pm today.) It was...nice. But surreal, you know? I'm not used to dating anymore. We were walking through the Episcopal churchyard when he tried to kiss me - this, I did not let him do. The mood was right, and the moment was right, and whatever it was he said directly beforehand (I can't remember for the life of me) was right, but something in me said not to - and for the first time, I listened to that something and I'm glad I did.

He wants to do this again. I am... undecided. Lately I have been longing for something more in my life, but I'm not sure he's it. Ironic that this happens as soon as I finish discussing with Phipps my lack of love life - and my wish to get involved with somebody not in theatre. Theatre eats your soul and your life, and it's best to keep romance out of the theatre as much as possible. But I remain undecided. After all, perhaps I should just keep in practice?

Space

In seeing my older sister's flat last night, I've come to the conclusion that I'm really going to have to get my own place. Not a house with a housemate, not a flat with a flatmate - but my own space, just for me. Hopefully, by the time I graduate, I will have found someplace to call my own and will be able to afford such a place.

I've been giving my future career some thought lately. The life in temporary lodgings that my acting career will make necessary doesn't sound very appealing right now. I miss my small-town life, as unimportant and boring as it sometimes was while growing up. I miss not worrying about paying rent every month or worrying about whether or not places will allow me to keep a cat. I miss having roots.

So, I've been thinking. Yes, I will need to go to grad school. But perhaps I will need to come back to Pennsylvania first. Perhaps I'll live in Lewisburg for a little while - there's certainly a lot of off-campus student housing available for a decent price. I'm sure I could find a small flat that I could move into for a year while I'm working. Moreover, there are jobs around here that need filling. I could find a place with a decent income where I could save a little for grad school.

My problem, however, would be in finding theatre experience while I'm here. Williamsport CTL just ain't gonna cut it, I'm afraid, when it comes time to show a grad school my work experience. To be perfectly honest, there just isn't much theatre here in central PA, and there is none that I could show a grad school in hopes of getting in.

But in the end, what is more important? I can certainly get my Master's in teaching, then move on to get my doctorate in order to teach at a college somewhere. Then I would have my roots, and my house, and a place for the cat. I feel too young to be deciding what the rest of my life will be - we shouldn't be allowed to make these bloody decisions until we're at least thirty!

When in Rome....

I had never pictured myself as a dykey lesbian. Apparently, there are differing opinions on this point. Allow me to explain - I auditioned for "The Vic", the next show going up at Mary Baldwin last night, and I got a callback for tonight.

Funny story about that, actually. I had my midterm recital today, as well, so I arrived on campus in a pretty dress, high heels, lipstick, and pearls, with my hair all pretty. I recieved the callback right after my environmental issues class, at which point I shouted "FUCK!" in a very loud voice and recieved an odd look from Dr. C as he beat a hasty retreat to his office away from the crazy theatre chick. It was then that I began frantically calling people in search of blue jeans that would fit me - I had been told that the part I was auditioning for would be the part of the very butch lesbian (the one part I knew I had absolutely NO chance in hell at), and I knew very well that my pretty dress and high heels were NOT appropriate.

I finally ended up borrowing shirt, shoes, and socks from Phipps; and I luckily ran into Laura Bouchard on my way up the hill and she agreed to lend me a pair of her blue jeans. (This is the last time I leave Waynesboro without a change of clothes in the trunk of my car. Just sayin'.)

The scene that I auditioned with was...difficult. The character of Spud (the one I auditioned for) is a very dykey lesbian. She had been a victim of abuse as a child, was a victim of abuse in her relationships, was the abuser in relationships, and to top it off is a recovering alcoholic. She's not the most well-adjusted of individuals, to say the least. In the audition scene, she discovers that her girlfriend, Elise, has cheated on her. To be blunt, she loses it. She tries to control herself, but ends up hitting Elise with one of her devil sticks (which sounds, actually, worse than it is) and screaming at her before realizing what she's done. And, if I remember correctly, she goes to a bar directly afterwards and has her first alcoholic drink in five years. This is not a part for the weak of heart. I have been told that Spud is the most important part of the play. She is central to the plot.

I'm still shocked that they want me.

Genuine Hatred

I'm not feeling very charitable towards either Dr. A or Dr. C this week. They both scheduled mid-terms for the same day and I'm frantically going over my notes to see how much I've actually learned since the past exams took place. I also have my voice mid-term (I'm singing Vedrai, carino from Don Giovanni - my first college aria!), and music theory mid-term on Friday. Hopefully, though, I can convince Dr. KB to allow me to take the theory mid-term earlier that morning, so that I can leave straight from music theory for Pennsylvania. Fall Break approacheth!!!

In other news, my academic advisor is the most wonderful woman on this earth. I mentioned to her that I was dying to go on the May-term trip to Vienna and she asked why I shouldn't be able to go. I informed her of my reasons: money, lack of language skills, and that if I was to go, we would need to be able to count it as a general education requirement somehow - I desperately need more humanities and the Vienna trip will count as an art trip. Needless to say, by this point I do not require more arts. She said, and I quote, "We'll make it work. Talk to financial aid, then come find me."

This week, I'll also be auditioning for the M.Litt final presentations and Clinton's show, "The Vic". I'm feeling a little apathetic towards both, which is a huge switch from last year - last year, I was all too eager to hop back up onstage. As much as I'll enjoy working with Clinton if I get cast, I would be okay with working makeup crew on the show.

Ah well. Today, I'm off to have coffee with Alice - she suggested it, and generally when she suggests something like this, I've done something wrong. I'm still digging through my memory, trying to figure out what I could have done and she mentioned it earlier this week. Then work tonight and.... well, I need to find time to study today.

Procrastination Station

So, I've really got nothing to write. I'm just procrastinating over a silly paper I could write in ten minutes - but hey, it'll only take me ten minutes, so I've got time.

I went to see "Lysistrata" tonight. I like throwing popcorn at Betsy. It was very shiny. That is all I shall say about that.

I was a disgraceful Mary Baldwin student and did not celebrate Apple Eve with drunken debauchery - though, to be fair, I know few who did. I stayed home, trying to keep my nose from running away with me and hacking up a lung. Apple Eve is not a good night to be ill. I felt myself to be rather sad, but to be honest, I was glad for the excuse not to wear a toga. (I'm a pathetic excuse for a college student. Tell me something I don't know.) I spent Apple Day laying outside in a hammock, re-reading Jane Eyre and enjoying the warm fall day. It really did feel like the first true day of fall, which made me very happy that I was spending it outside enjoying nature. On a normal Wednesday, I would be rushing to and from class with a massive migraine and an empty stomach.

Recently, I've found myself to have a mild, harmless crush on my biology professor - which certainly gives me incentive to do well in his class. Also, day-dream fodder for math class, during which time I usually just write down the concept name so I can study it with Solomon in terms I can understand. Anyhow, this is probably the safest sort of attraction I can feel nowadays and I'll allow myself to have fun with it for a little while - it's harmless and it gives my brain something to do during idle moments. Besides, I've discovered that any sort of concrete liason/possibility of emotional fulfillment that I may have during my undergraduate years is probably a Very Bad Idea - best to have this attraction at a distance and leave it at that. (And, to be perfectly honest, the silly thing won't last beyond this semester. I don't even go near the biology department except for General Education Requirements, which I'm nearly done with.)

Hm. For having had nothing to write at the beginning of this entry, I certainly managed to come up with quite a lot of verbage. This is what procrastination will do to you. I shall now de-commence rambling.

Gratuitous Mugging for a Camera

One of a very long series of photos taken in the subway. And no, the beverage I'm holding is not liquor. No. Really.

Right before the opera, as documented by Mrs. A. Note my fantastic ensemble, as was described in an earlier post. I really must find an occasion to wear that dress again.

In the hotel room, post-opera. That's all for now, kids. There will be more later, I assure you.

Good Things Don't Last

Well, I've felt this coming on for a few days, but I am well and truly ill now. Steph had a head cold/sinus-y thing this weekend and shared it with me - so now I have a stuffed up head and I look like death. My appearance has not much been helped by the fact that I slept through my alarm this morning, woke at 9:30 and realized I had only twenty minutes in which to arrive at class on time. Since I live twenty minutes away from campus, I only had time to throw on some clothes and grab my books.

By the time I arrived at school, I realized how sick I really was only because when I climbed out of my car and stood up, I nearly fell down. Monday is, of course, my busiest day and as I ran through classes, I could only think of one thing: my bed, and how far away it seemed.

I did all right during the morning, but by the time my 1pm Environmental Issues class rolled around, I was flagging a bit. Dr. Callo was looking a bit concerned by the time the class period had ended; and I still had to drag myself up the hill to Basic Math. I gave up on trying to pay attention to what Dr. Gentry was actually teaching and instead only wrote down what we were covering, so I could go over it later with Solomon. I walked up to commuter parking with the intention of dropping my books off in the car, but halfway up, brain and body rebelled simultaneously against the idea of waiting around until 4:50 and going to choir (where I would have to stand and attempt to sing - which, in my present condition, is well-nigh impossible!). So, I climbed in and drove my poor abused body home to a hot meal and a warm bed (with a warm kitten, who is currently curled up on my frozen feet).

After spending three days in a place as crowded and hectic as Manhattan, it's really very nice to be home again. However, living in a city has once more reminded me of the importance of public transportation and the severe lack of it in most of the US. It would be nice to have a train running from Charlottesville to Waynesboro to Fishersville to Staunton, with branches running off to Weyer's Cave and Harrisonburg. It would save on gas and would be better for the commuter rush in the AM when we're all dodging school buses and moving at a crawl so we don't get pulled over by the police for even a 1 mph violation of the speed limit (they will pull you over and ticket you, even though 5 mph over the speed limit is permissible). Moreover, it would be very useful for the students who want to take an afternoon to hang out in downtown Charlottesville, since Staunton resembles something like a ghost town on weekends and there really is nothing to do.

I think that when I "get all growed up", I'll need to have two homes. One in the country, where I can be my hermit-like self and hide with my books and my gardening and my kitchen all I want; and also a place in the city, where I can do things like dress up to attend the opera and hop on the underground public transport to anywhere I need to go.

Next week, I go home - home, home, HOME! I haven't been home in months and this is the first time in three years that I'll see the leaves changing.

Indescribable... Unbelievable...

I didn't quite realize how much I needed this weekend away from Staunton until I climbed into the rented car on Friday morning at 7:30-something AM and buckled my seatbelt. The ride there was fairly smooth, though, to be honest, Dr. Allen's driving terrifies me like nothing else. There were times, especially when we arrived in the city, that I was praying sincerely for our lives.

We arrived at the hotel on 94th and Broadway relatively unscathed, and once we had unpacked, Steph, Miranda, Katie and I spent the afternoon and evening amusing ourselves with what the City had to offer. Since Miranda and I had never been to Central Park, we took the subway there and walked a good bit of it, enjoying the incongruous mixture of beautiful trees and scenery - and Trump Tower looming over us. We were tempted by a carriage ride, but opted against it in favor of exploring on foot. Following our trek through Central Park, we decided to run out to SoHo to window-shop for a little while before heading over to Chinatown or Little Italy for supper.

While in SoHo, we spent most of our time browsing among the street vendors and searching in vain for a bathroom (We eventually went to Victoria's Secret out of desperation and were directed by a helpful sales lady to either Armani or Crate and Barrel - Crate and Barrel was the recommended choice.) Whilst in Crate and Barrel, we lounged on the furniture for a few minutes to consider our options - once the more pressing need had been fulfilled, we were all very hungry. We opted to walk a little further in favor of visiting Chinatown for supper, where we found a hole-in-the-wall Malaysian place. Unfortunately, none of us had the presence of mind to write down the street name.

The food there was amazing. Beyond amazing. Superb. Excellent. It was the strangest hodgepodge of Indian, Vietnamese, Thai, and Chinese food; with a dash of Japanese added in for the hell of it. We started out with a shared spring roll as an appetizer; then Miranda had Thai, Katie had Chinese, and Steph and I each had a different kind of Indian curry beef that was beyond good. Having sated our need for sustenance, we moved on to Times Square, which I had never before seen at night.

While at Times Square, we met requests: Steph requested the Hershey store, Miranda requested the M&M's store (where we also bought Dr. A a tie, as a thank-you), Katie requested Virgin Records, and I requested coffee then the hotel - by this time, I was quite worn out with all the walking and in desperate need of a caffeinated substance. We did all this in turn - surprisingly, it was only about 10pm - because we had been awake so long, it felt much later. When we got back, Tracy Allen, Dr. A's wife, knocked on our door to introduce herself. She had flown in from D.C. to meet us there (to meet Dr. A, rather) and she's a lovely woman. We all adored her from the moment we met.

The next morning, we all woke up early to go eat breakfast in the Village, where we happened upon a street fair quite by accident. I bravely resisted buying anything - though there were some vintage clothes it nearly killed me to say no to - and merely absorbed the sights. After the Village, we crossed town via the subway and went to the World Trade Center, by Miranda's request, following which we visited SoHo once more. The day before, we had encountered Dean&Deluca in our search for a bathroom and wanted to go back to buy a snack before the opera. (I wasn't hungry, so bought only some fresh lemonade and a water. Katie got brioche, Miranda a danish, and Steph a very large foccacia.) At this point, it was nearly 5:15, so we headed back to the hotel to glamor-up for the opera.

At the opera, you go to see - and to be seen. Katie and I showered, and we all dressed and primped until seven. I was very proud of my ensemble and you'll excuse a description - it's a vintage dress, from the sixties, I think, and a London design. It's golden-yellow (not usually a good color for me), with a black lace overlay and thin strips. The decollatage is low and the skirt is short, with fringes along the hem. I wore this with a pair of black high-heels with an ankle strap and pearls - with my hair swept up in a style of my own invention. I had never before had the courage to don this particular dress, but my mom found it for me and bought it last Christmas because "it just seemed like you", and there was never an occasion for which it seemed appropriate. Dr. A told me I looked like a character in a Noel Coward play; and Mrs. Allen told Dr. A I looked as though I belonged in something like "Brideshead, Revisited".

The Metropolitan Opera House is breathtaking. The chandeliers were all designed by Swarovski, and the floors are covered in soft red carpets, and the people are glamorous and the balconies overlook the entire opera hall and - oh! It was just beyond any sort of description my poor little brain can summon. It was my birthday, so we had champagne to celebrate at intermission and I stood by the balcony over the stairs and just revelled. I will not even attempt to describe the opera except to note that even though Dr. A allowed us the use of the opera glasses during the first act, he didn't let us touch them during the second act (and the love scene!). The man who played Mercutio was amazing; as was the woman who played Romeo's page.

After the opera was over, we met with some friends of the Allens' and crossed the street to Fiorellos, where I ate veal marsala and got flirted with by the waiter, and drank wine, and generally felt quite grown-up. We were there past midnight, and so the girls and the Allens' made me a birthday toast before we left the restaurant. I got to ride in a taxi for the first time - three of us in each, and we raced - Katie, Dr. A, and I in our taxi won! Mrs. A complained loudly that their taxi driver was lazy. After we arrived back at our rooms, we presented Dr. A with his new M&M patterned tie and insisted that he wear it on Monday.

Sunday morning, we woke up later than we had intended to and went in search of a French patisserie that we'd spotted the night before on our breakneck taxi ride. We didn't find that particular one, but we found an even better one and spent a leisurely two hours having a birthday brunch in my honor. We drank the most amazing coffee in the world, and ate the best bread I have ever tasted - Katie, who has recently studied in Paris, informed us that this patisserie was the most like the places in Paris she had seen in the States. We ran up the street to a street-fair we'd passed on the way to food, and I treated myself to a new pair of reading glasses - I'm wearing them now and I must say, they're very striking.

On the way back to Staunton, we stopped at a Red Robin in Pennsylvania (Dr. A insisted on a sit-down meal), where Dr. A proceeded to inform the waitress (without my knowledge!) that it was my birthday. At the end of our meal, the wait-staff sang very loudly and gave me a balloon and a very large piece of ice-cream cake that the girls needed to help me eat - it was far too large for me to do justice on my own. Dr. A merely sat and beamed at me, practically bouncing out of his seat he was so pleased with himself and his plotting. I laughingly scolded him and we had a generally jolly rest of the meal.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and now I'm going to spend the final four minutes of my birthday cuddling with my very, very upset cat - she's been so depressed that I've been gone that she actually cuddled with Les and Jen - a first, since she is a one-woman cat.

This birthday has quite possibly been my very best birthday. I am utterly satisfied.

Going...Going...Gone!

I'm leaving for NYC tomorrow at 7am, which means I need to wake up at 5:30am in order to eat an adequate breakfast, double-check my packing, and, oh, maybe shower. Anyway, I don't know how much Internet access I'll have while I'm there, or even if I'm going to take my laptop with me. I'll talk to you when I get back.

Women Who Love Firefly Too Much

So, I got out of work earlier than expected on Saturday and instead of driving home to Waynesboro (I would need to come back in the evening for the Global Rhythms Concert), I called Steph. We decided to run and get a bit to eat and while we were out, we discussed various and sundry topics. One of the topics that sticks out most prominently in my brain is when we were walking back to campus and I admitted that I was very sorry if this didn't seem exciting or even very much fun, but that I was a little worn out and would be perfectly content for the "girls night" we had planned to be simply ordering out Chinese and watching "Firefly".

I realized then exactly why Steph and I are friends, when her eyes lit up and she exclaimed, "Oh thank God! That's exactly what I wanted to do, too!"

That being said, Steph is a bad influence on my weak self. I was unable to withstand her turning on episode after episode of "Firefly", until we reached the final one and I realized that it was 3am and I still had a 20-minute drive ahead of me. Ah, the only drawback of living off-campus! And, while Steph invited me to stay, I thought it best to head home - I did have to work in the morning.

For all that, however, I can finally say I have seen every episode of "Firefly". (I hadn't, before.) Steph and I did the inevitable "so, which character do you think YOU are?" that everyone does. She is undeniably Kaylee - it's just unmistakeable. Me - well, she says I seem like a mixture of Inara and Kaylee. Not any one character. (Funnily enough, Inara is one of my least favorite characters in the series, possibly because she evidently bears a resemblance to me.) I have to say, though, if I could be any character (gender notwithstanding) in the series, I would want to be Mal. (Or Zoe.) But mostly Mal.

Anyway. Completely pointless post, for no particular reason.

Solomon is God

If taken in a literally Biblical sense, the above statement could be construed as heresy. However, it is true. Anybody who can take me to a math problem, walk me through it, then explain how I did it AND GET ME TO UNDERSTAND is indeed worthy of being worshipped. Thus: Solomon is a good man and a brilliant math tutor, for all that he is a grad student studying Shakespeare for a living. Because not only can he TELL me what to do, he can help me understand how I did it. For instance, did you know that there's a REASON for their being fractions, percentages, and decimals? I didn't - that is, before last night. He spent three hours walking me through simple mathematics and patiently repeating and reminding me of previously exercised concepts. Anybody who has tutored me knows what a chore this is.

In other news, this... February? March? ...we're getting a special guest to the music department. Ben Bagby will be coming to perform for Mary Baldwin College his interpretation of the epic poem "Beowulf", while accompanying himself on a 6-string harp that was designed by using the remains of an instrument excavated from a 7th century nobleman's grave in Oberflacht. I should probably reread "Beowulf" before the concert, but it's going to be awe-inspiring. Dr. Allen has seen him perform this already at a music festival in Edinburgh; and apparently he's very difficult to book because he's so well-known. And little Mary Baldwin got him!

Needless to say, I'm very excited about this.

Oh, Yesterday

Solomon and I happened upon one another by chance yesterday - Solomon is a grad student friend of mine - and we had a long discussion. Okay, Solomon stumbled across me by chance. He happened to enter the building I was having my basic math class in and when he glanced through the window to see if the computer lab was in use, he spotted me. He said he had never seen anyone look more bored and was tempted to make a face at me, considering I was the only person who could see him. He refrained - I told him next time he could make as many faces as he wanted, because I had been very, very bored - and I went in search of him after the class let out.

We walked downtown and had chocolate chip mint milkshakes at the Pampered Palate - it's the only place that serves chocolate chip mint milkshakes - while discussing local theatre. Another thing we discussed is his penchant for protecting me. Solomon is an overprotective guy and he has this tendency to look on me as sort of a younger sister - it's not unwelcome, but I don't know how to tell him that I really don't need a Knight Protector all the time. At least not now. For example, this summer I had a "thing" for a man of my acquiantance. (Which quickly ended, due to his highly offensive political views - it wasn't so much his views, but his way of expressing them that pissed me off royally). Regardless, said man is now in a relationship with a woman both Solomon and I know - she's also a grad student, and not a very intelligent one, at that. Solomon had known at the time that I liked the man; so that the first time he saw the man and the woman together, he was immediately struck by the thought, "Shae is going to get hurt. How do I save her?"

He quickly informed his girlfriend - who is a very close friend of mine - who in turn, informed me in a very gentle way over coffee on Saturday. (I already knew about it, which I informed her in a very gentle way.) In fact, part of the purpose of the milkshake-outing for Solomon was making sure I was "okay". Which is all very well and good, but I ask you - am I really that defenseless-seeming? Do I somehow project the need to be protected and defended? Is it because I'm "pocket-sized", as Solomon says? Or is there just an aura around me that drives men and older women to feel that over-protective urge?

I'm just curious.

Domestic Goddess?

I've been trying to recreate "home" today - more out of boredom than out of any desire to be home. The dog is ill and has been making messes all over the (carpeted!) living room floor, so I took the day off from work and am watching the dog in a hawk-like way while attempting to spend the day constructively. I risked an hour away from the house this morning so I could go to church, which was nice. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to the sermon itself - it delved into David and Bathsheba and how David must have felt post-murder of Uriah the Hittite, while all I could think during it was "well, Dave, if you had just kept your eyes to yourself..." - but the hymns were familiar, the prayers were comforting, and the people were friendly, if quiet. Presbyterians are the same the world over, I think.

I ran into the grocery store for a few minutes to pick up some supplies, then started baking bread. The dough is rising for the second time right now, and I cooked lunch and cleaned the living room while waiting on it. NPR played behind me while I worked and it was nice. The unfortunate (or fortunate, depending upon one's mood) side to housework and listening to things is that it's very easy to tune out whatever you're listening to in order to concentrate on your own thoughts and ideas. My thoughts turned to my last Chaucer class and our discussion concerning the faerie folk.

Faeries have always been part of my life. I remember days in the late summer, when toadstools and mushrooms appeared in telling patterns on our lawn and my siblings and I would dance around them, warning each other not to step inside because the faeries would snatch us away. Sierra was the source of this legend, being the most knowledgeable of all of us on subjects of myth and fancy. I would sneak a toe in when no one was watching, just to see. (I chalked up my not disappearing in a puff of smoke to the faeries being a wee bit busy with other matters.) We would shout for the faeries to come out of hiding and build faerie houses underneath the pine trees and lilac bushes. I found out later that Momma would make Daddy mow around the faerie circles, so we could have our fun until the next one grew - at the time, we thought it was some strange sort of magic that kept the faerie circle alive in spite of the riding lawnmower.

At this time of year, while playing around faerie circles, we would peer into the cornfield to make sure hunters or trespassers weren't coming out at us with guns - a legitimate worry, especially as hunting season was beginning. We would gather pine cones and twigs for when we still had our wood-burning stove. Berries and walnuts, which were prime for picking then, we would boil down for inks to be used at Heritage Days. (The walnut made a better ink than the berry, though the berry was prettier.) We would scurry around, up and down trees, playing make believe in the Den and the Lone Pine and Mulberry Meadow. The Witch's House was gorgeous at this time of year - the trees that formed it were just starting to change color and fall to the ground. Sierra and I formed our own miniature coven, where we would brew mint leaves and pine needles together in cold water and wave maple twigs over it, chanting spell couplets we had found in books - this was long before Harry Potter was ever even thought of. This is about the time we would begin begging Momma to let us carve pumpkins for Halloween, even though we knew that they would rot before Halloween if we did it now. We made scarecrows for the front yard and had already changed our minds at least fifteen times concerning Halloween costumes.

This retrospective was not just triggered by Chaucer, though I did spend a few moments reminiscing until Frank snapped me from my spell. An elderly lady of my acquaintance, Feencie McClain, passed away last week after having a heart attack. Momma called to tell me yesterday. I'm not sad - Feencie had a long, full life and she still had her wits about her. I'm told that a few days before she died (after the heart attack), she had been unable to attend a wedding after having bought a new outfit (with matching shoes and hat, Feencie was always a snappy dresser). She merely shrugged and said that she would just have to wear it for her funeral, as though it was a mere nuisance. Her daughter, Clissie, protested loudly at the time; but Momma and Aunt Nancy just laughed and laughed. And not because they didn't believe Feencie - they did. They laughed because Feencie was just so ready. It's difficult to fathom now, but there will come a time when I am ready, too.

For right now, though, I'll just think about Feencie with her teeny-tiny, well-dressed personage sitting primly her pew. Her beaming smile, her happy eyes, her stories about Watsontown when she was a girl and there were still horses and carriages trotting up and down Main Street. Of course, I will always remember her scolding Nanna Pat for telling me not to run in church - she informed Nanna Pat that children needed exercise, especially after sitting cooped up for an hour listening to someone talk at them, then proceeded to walk me outside and set me and the other kids to a game of kickball in the church parking lot.

I'll miss Feencie a lot. But, to be absolutely blunt, I'm glad she's gone.

The Cost of a Soul

My soul is worth a free trip to New York City. I discovered that last week when I consented to the theatre-equivalent of selling one's soul: modelling. Yes indeed - I'm off for a modelling gig today. In exchange for what, you ask? Well, I was approached last week in a public place by a lady who told me that I have a lovely face and would I be interested in a job modelling for a very well-known beauty products company. (Yes, I know the name of the company and no, I'm not saying which one it is.) The payment for this would be, if I was chosen, an all-expenses paid journey to NYC for a photo-shoot in November.

This is both good and bad. Good because, well, I'll be seen. That's important in my line of work - in fact, one of THE most important things in my line of work. Not only will I be seen, but it's a legit job which I can put down in my resume. Modelling just requires a pretty face and the ability to show it off. Bad, because - I really don't want to attain "fame" by displaying my "lovely face" in a catologue or in an advert in Cosmopolitan. Aren't I better than this?

The simple answer to that question is no, I'm not better than this. I depend solely upon the kindness of strangers, as Blanche Dubois would say. Besides, if more modelling gigs come out of this one, then I'm this much closer to scraping together enough funds for a trip to Vienna. And that, my friends, is worth being sullied by having my picture taken of me all dolled-up with nowhere to go.

In other news, Steph and I are taking the evening after her Lysistrata rehearsal to hang out and think about anything but men. We are both unfortunates who are always the friends - never the girlfriends. So, we're taking tonight to shift our focus away from our loveless states and towards something more important: chocolate. I'm of the opinion that we should head somewhere for coffee and cake, then round off the evening with a nice long Firefly marathon. I'm pretty sure she'll be amenable to the suggestion.

Chivalry and Courtly Love

Today in History of Music (not having to listen to the lecture does give one time to think, I've found) Dr. Allen mentioned something that made my mind wander from the subject at hand - Papal Avignon and Pope Clement V, if anyone is curious. He asked us what courtly love was and he said I was spot-on when I said that it was a pure, non-physical honor and devotion that a knight held for his lady, and vice-versa. While Dr. Allen said I was right, I didn't really delve too deeply into the true meaning of courtly love.

Dictionary.com tells me that courtly love is:
The conception of an ideal and exalted relation between the sexes, which developed in the West in mediaeval times from sources as various as Plato's Phaedrus, Ovid's Ars Amatoria, and the cult of the Virgin Mary. Before the 12th-c women were for the most part considered inferior to men, but courtly love idealized women, placing them on a pedestal, and the lover's feelings for his mistress were supposed to ennoble him and lead him towards moral excellence. Mediaeval love poetry was deeply infused by the idea, which also influenced Renaissance sonneteers, although by this time the convention was treated with some irony.

Coincidentally, we had been discussing this very subject in Chaucer last week. Frank asked us what a "gentleman" was and we all offered our own interpretations of the term. The words gentle, polite, chivalrous, manly, and brave were all mentioned. Well, being a gentleman in those days also meant being a nobleman, and being a nobleman generally meant that said gentleman adhered to the rules of chivalry - courtly love being an important part of the rules of chivalry.

Frank pointed out, while were discussing what made a man a "gentleman" both now and back in the Middle Ages, that there are very few gentlemen in this world. They are a dying breed. Why? Women's liberation seems to bear a lot of the blame, at least from other sources. Women don't need men anymore, therefore why should men attempt to live up to the rules of gentlemanly conduct when there is no one to reap the benefits?

My question is this: Why should gentlemanly conduct depend upon the behavior of women? This attitude harkens back to the good ol' days when we women were "higher beings" and "angels on earth" and men claimed that women must behave well in order to reign in man's more primitive and uncouth nature. Yet these same men frequented brothels and kept mistresses - "bad girls". Did the mild natures of their sisters, wives, and mothers keep these men "gentlemen"? I think not.

A true gentleman is a gentleman unto himself. He is a gentleman to please himself and God - then, and only then, can he please others.

Since I've hashed this out, I have only one question left, and that is: Where is my gentleman, I wonder?

Rules: 1. Put your music player on shuffle. 2. Press forward for each question. 3. Use the song title as the answer to the question even if it doesn’t make sense. NO CHEATING! 4. Tag 5 people. 5. With the answers, give your own comments on how they relate to the questions.

HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY? "Sparkling Diamonds" from Moulin Rouge. So, I feel like a bright shiny prositute on a swing with TB? Well, I showed enough leg today and Jen did call my shoes "hooker" shoes...

HOW DO YOUR FRIENDS SEE YOU? "Short People" by Randy Newman. I don't deserve to live? That's harsh.

WILL YOU GET MARRIED? "She's Like The Wind" by Patrick Swayze. So, I may get married, but to someone who feels he doesn't deserve me. Unlikely. If I like a guy enough to marry him, generally it's the other way around.

WHAT IS YOUR BEST FRIEND'S THEME SONG? "Waitress" by Tori Amos. So, Phipps wants to kill a waitress. Right then. God, I hope it's not me.

WHAT IS THE STORY OF YOUR LIFE? "Bring on the Men" from Jekyll and Hyde. I don't think anything more needs said, here.

WHAT WAS HIGH SCHOOL LIKE? "Something Bad" from Wicked. Rather, yes.

HOW CAN YOU GET AHEAD IN LIFE? "Hard Fucking" by Tenacious D. *blink* Allrighty then.

WHAT IS THE BEST THING ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS? "Who Will Save Your Soul" by Jewel. Intruiging choice, here.

WHAT IS IN STORE FOR THIS WEEKEND? "What is this Feeling" from "Wicked". Loathing in store for the weekend. Good to know.

TO DESCRIBE YOUR GRANDPARENTS? "What's my age again?" by Blink 182. Appropriate. They don't act their age, at least around each other.

HOW IS YOUR LIFE GOING? "His Work and Nothing More". So, either my work is more important than anything, or I'm in love with someone whose work is more important than anything, or I'm best friends with someone whose work is more important to them than anything, or I'm the parent of someone who is in love with someone whose work is more important to them than anything. God, quartets are exhausting.

WHAT SONG WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? "Imaginary" by Evanescence. Intruiging thoughts in this one. Mixture between a drug-trip and a suicide note. That's not too cheery, actually.

HOW DOES THE WORLD SEE YOU? "See How the Fates Their Gifts Allot" from "The Mikado". But the question is, am I "A" or "B"? God, I hope I'm "A".

WILL YOU HAVE A HAPPY LIFE? "You Won't Succeed on Broadway" from Spamalot. I'm not Jewish, so I suppose I might have a happy life if I don't attempt Broadway.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS REALLY THINK OF YOU? "Cabaret" from Cabaret. Obviously that my life is a cabaret. And that I knew a girl named Elsie when I lived in Chelsea.

DO PEOPLE SECRETLY LUST AFTER YOU? "It Don't Mean a Thing (if it ain't got that swing)". Obviously as long as I got rhythm, people will... lust after me?

HOW CAN I MAKE MYSELF HAPPY? "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" by Elton John. By not getting my heart broken, obviously.

WHAT SHOULD YOU DO WITH YOUR LIFE? "The Baby Song" from I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change. Evidently...make babies?

WILL YOU EVER HAVE CHILDREN? "Little People" from Les Miserables. Take that as a yes, then.

IF A MAN IN A VAN OFFERED YOU CANDY, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? "Marguerite's Dilemma" from The Scarlet Pimpernel. I obviously don't know what I would do.

WHAT DOES YOUR MOM THINK OF YOU? "Betrayed" from The Producers. That's not encouraging. She does like that song, though.

WHAT IS YOUR DEEP DARK SECRET? "Alive" from Jekyll and Hyde. Because my alter-ego is a homicidal maniac. Of course.

WHAT IS YOUR MORTAL ENEMY'S THEME SONG? "The Time Warp" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I'm really not seeing that.

WHAT IS YOUR PERSONALITY LIKE? "The Scarlet Pimpernel" from The Scarlet Pimpernel. Because obviously I run to France every other day to save aristocrats from the guillotine. Or some modern day equivalent.

WHAT SONG WILL BE PLAYED AT YOUR WEDDING? "Dance at the Gym" from West Side Story. There'll be a dance-off at my wedding. Kewl.

WHAT BEST DESCRIBES THE ANSWERS IN THIS JOURNAL? "Still Hurting" from The Last Five Years. Entirely inaccurate. I don't remember any of the answers being like that.

Snuggling

As I've been studying like crazy for my History of Music test tomorrow, I'm reflecting upon the kitten who has been constantly nudging me and meowing and purring in a loud, insistent way for the past two hours. She is now draped across my stomach, sleeping, in spite of the fact that I'm moving her with every letter I type. Every evening when I come home from school, she appears from the depths of wherever she has spent the day and meows at me in an indignant "where have you been all day??" sort of way, before curling up wherever I finally sit and requiring a cuddle before she leaves me in peace to my work.

In spite of the many times I push her away, or throw her off my lap in impatience because I need to work, or yell at her to "Scat!", she comes back to me - still wanting me, her "mother", to caress her and make her feel loved. Why is that? Why doesn't she give up after a while and go away? Why doesn't she bite me or scratch me in spite after I toss her away for the umpteenth time? Why is this kitten, who I picked out one day at the SPCA because she yowled so loudly and sounded just like my grandmama, giving me so much unearned devotion? And why is she trying to lay across my keyboard as I type this post?

My dad insists that I'm foolish to have gone and gotten myself a pet. I am inclined to agree at times. But there are other times, like right now when Emmeline is lying across my lap and wrapping her arms across my abdoment in a big hug, that I feel I must disagree with dear old Dad. Yeah, I have to buy her food and litter, and she's due to go to the vet soon for her shots - but I wouldn't give her up. Never. Because when she sleeps, she makes this cute little "mrr" sound when she inhales. Baby snores.

People have been telling me most of my life that I would make a good mother. I always laughed at them - stating that I very much doubted I would ever have children, because I doubted that I would ever get married. But, considering that I'm getting all maternal over a cat, I'm rethinking that. Not the marriage part - there are no prospects in the near or distant future - but the kids part. I think that even if I don't ever get married, I would very much like to have at least one child.

In other news, Mandy and R.C. are getting married on Saturday. The rehearsal is tomorrow evening - I am a groomsman, believe it or not. I must say, I'm not really looking forward to the blessed event. I mean, it's wonderful that they're getting married, but - well, I'm tired of being a bridesmaid/groomsman/whatever. I'm tired of watching friends of mine get married and start families. It feels almost as if life is going on without me - I'm left in this stasis. I can't even think of someone I want to spend the rest of my life with - or perhaps I can, but I don't have a chance with them.

Hm. All this because I'm holding a kitten and procrastinating. The things that spring to mind at times like these...

Vienna!

Dr. Allen began History of Music in Western Civilization today with a couple of shameless plugs for a couple of school-sponsored trips coming up. (Students, of course, pay, but less than under any other circumstances).

The first of these trips is at the end of this month (my birthday weekend, coincidentally). I'm going on this one - it's a trip to see 'Romeo et Juliette' by Gounoud at the Metropolitan Opera of New York. We'll be there for three days - well, more like two, if you do the math. We leave early Friday (Dr. Allen says that we will leave early enough to get to NYC by 3:30, but we'll see how well that turns out - it IS Dr. Allen, after all), Stephanie and I are already planning on finding tickets for a show that evening and I'm sure Katie will want to go, as well. We have all day Saturday to explore and have a good time, then Saturday evening will be spent at the opera. We leave on Sunday (my birthday) and I can't say I'm displeased. I like travelling and riding in the car with nothing to do but read is a good day for me. Altogether, the trip should cost about $200 total and my parents have agreed to buy half of it for me, as a birthday present. I doubt I shall get much else for said 20th, as money is tight right now, so I thought to ask for one big thing and screw anything else they may have been thinking about buying for me.

The other trip that Dr. Allen talked about is a trip to Vienna for May Term. We would leave Friday of exam week and come home right before graduation, though he says that students not graduating that year generally go on for another week and visit Italy, or Germany, or France. (My pick, I think, would be Germany. John has talked much of Germany in the time I've known him and my curiosity has been piqued. Besides, Ms. Flory would be beside herself knowing that one of her students voluntarily chose to visit Germany, the home of her favorite language and culture.) The problem with said trip is, of course, the money - or the lack thereof. I've had to take out several loans this year to help pay my tuition, due to the loss of my father's job thanks to the American government, and I don't know if they'd let me take out more. As it is, I'll be transferring the loans in my dad's name to my name come graduation, and I'm going to be poor for a long time. Ah, the joys of a private education!

Sometimes, I think that I should have thought more about the type of college I should have gone to, rather than the college I wanted. I should have considered that if I had gone to school in Pennsylvania, it would have been slightly cheaper. If I had gotten a diploma through Pennsylvania Homeschooler's rather than rebelled and insisted upon a parent-issued diploma, I would have had more financial aid for my freshman year. If I had gone to a state school, rather than a private college, I would have paid less in the long run though financial aid would have been more limited. If I had found a private school that cost less than $30,000 a year, I would have been paying less. In fact, if I had gone to Bucknell or Elizabethtown, I would have paid less due to family connections.

To be fair, I did consider Bucknell briefly last year when my sister was diagnosed with cancer again. But that was not due to the questionable merits of its theatre program, but due to the feeling that I needed to be closer to my family.

Too many if's in this equation, I think. Right now, I should not be thinking back and regretting past errors in judgement. I should be thinking ahead, really, because I can't change what was. Fact: I am a junior at Mary Baldwin College, in Staunton, VA.
Fact: This will not change, unless my loans go unapproved for next year.
Fact: I am going to be poor for a very, very long time. Unless waitresses start getting better wages. Or unless my tips get better.
Fact: I am going to do my damnedest to go to Vienna. And to try and see at least Heidelburg while I'm in Europe, since it looks pretty and I've heard so much about it.

Abandon

I itched to leave today. To get out and go - just go. I hopped in my car and drove to Staunton, to hang up posters on campus advertising the Madrigals auditions for Tuesday. As I strolled the campus, I was struck by how golden and beautiful everything looked - this was my place, this was my favorite time of year, this was my moment. And for a moment, I was satisfied with my lot. The only driving need to go at that moment was to run off to Barnes and Noble in Harrisonburg half an hour away, and I decided to go to the not-half-so-adequate substitute that is Books-a-Million to see if that would assuage my need before I wasted fuel in my car.

I went to the library first, though, and browsed around for ages to see if I could make myself save some money. I took out a couple of DVD's (The Four Seasons, directed by Alan Alda - it's excellent thus far; and Bridget Jones' Diary, because I love it) and some books (lots of Elizabeth Peters and Barbara Michaels, to relax my brain in the midst of Chaucer and the mind-boggling qualities of my Basic Math and Music Theory). Then I browsed through the travel section on a whim. I leafed through some books on Germany, to see if I could find a picture of Jena - I couldn't, but I didn't look too hard, so there could have been one I didn't notice - and then couldn't even pick up a book on England, because suddenly I missed it more than I could bear.

If I could have, I would have hopped in the car and driven up to Pennsylvania right at that moment. Without another thought, without packing, without any kind of preparation.

Instead, I hopped in the car and drove back home to Waynesboro. I didn't even bother with Books-a-Million. (I did, however, go grocery shopping. Something nice and ordinary to get me back to my senses.)

A Beginning, of Sorts

Well, I'm embarking on a new sort of existence. I'm a big, grown-up student now - living away from campus in a house with a kitchen and a bathroom and no risk of gaining an unwelcome roommate. I have a cat, whose name is Emmeline. I have a wonderful housemate named Les, who has a wonderful significant other. She has some drama, but I can deal with it, as it doesn't directly involve or affect me.

When I think of the beginning of the last school year, I can't even describe how different this is. Firstly, I'm not living in a dormitory - I hated the dorms and I'm excited for the peace and quiet having this house will afford. I'm not heart-broken this time - still a bit battered, mayhap, but whole. I actually feel I can handle my course-load this semester, for the very first time. I'm even understanding math - and if that's not an accomplishment, I don't know what is! I have a car and her name is Madeleine. She is the most tangible evidence of my freedom, really - if I want, I can hop in the car some weekend and go home. Just - go. For the first time in three years, I'll be able to see Pennsylvania in the fall - I do miss that.

Sure, things are busy. Things are insane. But it's okay, really, if I think about it.