I wussed out and spent last night at home instead of returning to the dorms. I still made it back to campus in time for class with ease. I came home after class to practice. Just before I was preparing to return to campus, my not-biological-aunt Ilianna had brought ten dozen freshly baked cookies for me to take to the dorm. My PseudoUncle has her convinced she's going to singlehandedly wipe out homesickness in my dorm, or at least among those who frequent my floor of my dorm, with her cookies. It's a win-win proposition. I walk into the dorm with cookies and instantly become more popular, and Aunt Ilianna is too busy to be right in the middle of PseudoAunt's and PseudoUncle's business.
Tomorrow after class I'll go to the Pseudos' home to practice piano and violin. PseudoUncle works a very long day tomorrow, and PseudoAunt gets a bit lonely. She has to be very lonely to willingly listen to six hours of my practice, but she says she really wants me to come. I'm not practicing in a practice room in the music building because I do not want the competition, even i they're tecnically not competition, to know where I am in my progression, what I'm playing, or anything else. I'd hate for the guy I refused to trade concert dates with to steal my encore or my modern piece, as he has a recital about six days before mine. If he started right away, he could perfect either one of those pieces. If he thinks of either of them on his own, so be it, but I do not wish to be his inspiration.
I don't have any studying to do at the moment, so I'm in a common area being semi-sociable. My mother would say it's antisocial to type a blog in a common area, but my mother was raised in a different age, when computers were larger than minivans and one could not multitask while typing into one of those dinosaurs without risking blowing up a building. I'm carrying on simultaneous conversations with roughly seven people while typing this. Typos will surely appear. I'll try to fix them later.
This week should be neither great nor disastrous. My goal is to go into The Big Push (my "continuous except for class and short sleep breaks" study-and-work-athon until all readings and assignments for the quarter have been attacked and overcome) not unusually worn down. It's unrealistic to think I'll be well-rested, but I'd rather not be exhausted before the ordeal even begins.
The Friday following The Big Push, assuming it ends before then, I must accompany a cellist for his senior recital. The cello produces one of the most beautiful sounds found on Earth, and the cellist is particularly talented. I could not pass up the chanc to accompany him. He makes me sound better than I am, and three members of his adjudication panel are also on mine. If they walk into my recital with preconceived notions regarding my level of greatness, I shall not complain. Call me an opportunist.
This blog is ended. Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord and to wipe out homesickness in dorms one cookie at a time. Who gives a $h!t about the freshman fifteen? It's a myth. I've lost weight since moving into this dorm.
You are unusually clever for your age, Alexis.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Knotty.
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