only a slight exaggeration of what my parents' living room conceivably could look like next Friday night; fortunately, they have a big living room
I'm enjoying a kick-back weekend. I am practicing six hours each day,but am not studying. This is my final period of relaxation for a few weeks.
Next Friday I'm hosting my floor and anyone who spends enough time on my floor to read the posted invitations, or at least those who haven't gone home or elsewhere by then, for whatever food my parents come up with and a movie or two. Matthew was going to come home, but when he heard my dorm floor was coming, he opted out. It was a smart move on his part. I know how these evening party things work. Some of the attendees will consider it the party before the party because nothing's a real party anymore unless booze is served in large quantities. My parents won't let people under 21 drink in their house. (Their exception to this rule is my half-bottle of Guinness 2.5 times per week.)
So some will leave right after their stomachs are full. Others will hang atround to consume all the ice ream and cookies they can scarf down, figuring that they can have access to booze almost any time, but homemade cookies and free ice cream with multiple toppings are a rare commodity. Others will be missing the comfort of home and will linger and fall asleep on sofas or just not leave. My parents will cover the sleeping ones with blankets and send the others to empty beds around the house, or will even drag out air mattresses if necessary. In any event, I'll still be hosting at least seven or eight and probably more for Saturday morning breakfast. My parents will take care of the food, but I will be expected to at least be physically present. If I'm lucky, they'll all be gone by noon, and I'll have the rest of Saturday and Sunday to practice and rest and fortify my physical reseves in the event of future marijuana events or even viruses and other miscellaneous bugs (last year there was a major strep outbreak) which may strike the dorm. (If I see a dorm epidemic of anything starting, I'll be out of there for however long it takes the epidemic to be over. Even though I really need, for the sake of life experience and in preparation for next year, there are advantage to having my parents' home close to the university.)
On Thursday of the following week, after my last class, I will leave the dorms and return home to start the Big Push. Because of the nature of this quarter's courseload, I expect to be able to complete the Big Push by Tuesday of the next week at the very latest; Monday night is more likely. All things -- including DVRed episodes of Judge Alex -- must be temporarily put on hold. Following The Big Push, I'll sleep for two days solidly except for the classes and lessons I must attend. Then everything will be back to normal. I'll resume the 6 hours of daily practice, which my mom thnks should be cut down to no more than four hours at least every other day by now, but I'm not sure I'm ready to give up my six hours of practice yet. (My piano professor thinks I'm being a bit OCD as well, but he'll be really glad I was so OCD when it's time for my recital and I'm not freaking out on him because I actually know my program.) My piano and violin professors have both been put on notice that I will not have practiced much the weeek preceding that week's lesson, and both are fine with it. My piano professor in particular thinks it's a great idea to get a jump on the quarter's work, and wishes more students would be proactive and not such procrastinators.
So this week it's time to kick back and watch a little Mormon Voodooism that they call General Conference. We have it on in the background and monitor just to see if my grandfather shows up at the lecturn. If he does, we grab various nerf objects and soft projectiles from the sports closet. Each time my grandfather says aything that is pattiularly rude, stupid, or mean, we throw our object right at his face. the person who hits him squarely on the face the most times right after he has made a particularly odious remark wins a twenty-dollar bill, which I assumecomes from my dad's wallet. I can't compete with either a former high school quarterback who still has a pretty good arm (dad) or NCAA Division I pitcher (brother) so although I do throw the objects, I'm mostly content with hurling the most creative obscenities. 9Out-doing my dad in this department isn'tmuch easier than throwing better than he does. He's a natural when it comes to husing the language of a sailor.) It's like the one of two times each year (General conference occurs 2 times a year) when my mom is not offended by filthy language from my brother or me, particularly me.
This blog has ended. Go now in peace to love and seve the Lord, and if you show up at my house on Friday night, I'd REALLY appreciate if you left before the following sunrise, but even if you cannot quite manage that, before lunchtime would be nice. I'll even pack a sandwich, soda, and leftover cookies for you to take along in a doggie bag.
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