Tire Rotation

You, who looked and never saw...
escape without looking back--your presence
is not needed here.

You, who saw but never looked...
crushing is your weight so that I cannot
bear to witness your existence.

You, who searched and found...
answered my unspoken plea--
run for both our sakes.

So today I realized which bird I can most identify with, given the traits I seem to find the authority to project onto it.

The seagull.

However annoying, pushy, crowding, shameless, and completely deplorable most people find them, I've decided they're gritty creatures with a fantastic set of abilities.

Deciding I needed air, I spent a few hours just walking around, planning on visiting the swans again for some visual inspiration for juries tomorrow (since I am performing a piece about one of the freakin' things) and found myself on a bench beneath a cedar tree watching seagulls paddle luxuriously next to the ducks and Hitler's birds (Joannie-speak for swans) themselves. I thought, whew, they're far from home, but then I realized--who am I to say where they should be? Maybe I'm the one out of place. Maybe all the birds residing on the beaches stealing food from tourists are the ones in the wrong. Or maybe we're all right. I began to admire the gull's adaptive capabilities, and even found their steady glide across the surface as graceful as one of those deplorable creatures sitting a few feet away getting gawked at by the touring seniors. I thought--you don't have to be a swan to be a swan!

Smiling, I then realized all the negative traits humanity has assigned to the gull are negative only because they tread unfavorably on human toes, pooping on our cars and clogging the beaches with thousands of noisy, squalling birds that elicit entertainment from dive bombing picnickers. Really, if you step out of this human perspective, these guys are amazing for being able to coexist with hundreds upon hundreds of fellows in their flock--and can I blame them for taking advantage of opportunities? I'd say a dumb non-beach-native who throws the first crumb deserves the ripples and bird poo. The noise they make--so harsh, but true, raw, honest--is much less unsettling than taking life in silence. It is what it is. (Said swan sneezed, and I was taken aback by how similar the sound was to a car hiccuping a golf ball out the muffler).

How curious, too, they seem to be. They're constantly tilting their head, never accepting one view of anything. Did you know that they're born able to feed themselves, and leave the nest after a month? Some kinds of swans don't leave until a whole year has gone by...

At first I was appalled--what the hell, I don't want to be seagull! I'm not like that, I don't dig through trash! Surely I'd at least be a sparrow or something cool like a raven! How anti-climactic! But alas, the voices in my head adjourned the conference, the verdict being I should suck it up and accept my 'negative' traits and admire my adaptive devices, even if it means not everyone can see the beauty in my occasional grating squawk and pushy perseverance (like people complain about me being overbearing--feels like it, someitmes). Not everyone can something socially acceptable like an eagle or something. Besides, at least my species isn't going extinct. ;p

With the dorm clean and all, it's weird how much spare time I seem to have sprouted from nothingness. Without all that distraction and clutter, life is not nearly as busy as I thought...

Two days in a row I dropped in on the practice rooms, even just for thirty minutes. Out of a whim, really, an experiment to see if my mind can overcome my bodily urge to leave it until the last minute. I'm doing that lately, seeing how hard I can push myself to get things done.

Tonight, I sat and ate dinner with a table full of people I've never met before, all different majors and types of people. And you know what? I flourished. Well, I thought so, anyhow. Kept a good flow of intelligent words coming out of my mouth at appropriate times.

Geez, I'm slipping back into old habits--but I don't care. I think I'll enjoy this summer spent on fanfiction and re-beating Baten Kaitos.

Oh, and practicing. >.>

Rear view Mirror

In retrospect, I didn't think it'd go by this fast. That first year of college was like a streak of tail lights in the rear view mirror. I'm not looking forward to the uncertainty of the four long months ahead. I guess all I can do is trudge ahead with my cello, write some, read some, work some... but it'll be a lonely summer.

Wow. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, how I arrived to this point from eight months ago, moving into this room, green and wet behind the ears. Still have further to go, but a little seasoned, if just with parsley.

So back to having an epic online life to distract me from my non-existent real one...

Downhill Coasting

Just. End. Me.

Bluntly speaking, I'm sick of being a screw-up. Not one piece went well today... what am I doing wrong? I think I'm counting--try to keep a good beat, try to keep the bow moving... and then after that sucktastic performance (it all fell to hell in the middle... I jumped a beat, fml) I trip and fall off the goddamn mini-platform and bust a piece of my cello off. It's a little chunk, but it saddens me all the same. The one thing in my life that I know doesn't mind my endless, selfish ranting when I get into the practice room, doesn't mind my swearing up and down a three octave scale, doesn't care if I grimace at a note... and I hurt it. I let him down somehow. It's like I punched myself in the stomach. Irrational and sentimental as hell, but it's how I feel. He's my partner, you know? The one thing that won't dump me, that's always going to be there, whether I suck or not.

I think it all started rolling downhill that week of the Opera Gala performance.

Ah, but I can still laugh. Laugh because the reason I fell was those stupid shoes that I wanted so bad in tenth grade. Ugh, but let's not about the dizziness from not eating much lately. Didn't even see the edge coming. Thank god for that Victor guy Brenner's going on about. I'm going to have to make a trip over to his establishment and get Nick put back together. I just want to sit down in a practice room and never leave.

Free-floating. That's what it feels like right now. Just skimming along the surface of my skin, not really there but not off on a beach in never-never-land, either.

Holy crap there's a lot of trash in this room...

AAA

While on a trip to obtain sustenance, I caught sight of the sunset and started crying for the shear overwhelming beauty of it.

I cried because I haven't seen a sky like that since before that day that changed everything. I cried because I haven't stopped to bask in the absolute glory a setting sun can give in years. I cried because it was beautiful, and I am killing it, day by day, breath by breath. And I cried because I felt something surge up inside like warm wind and inflate my heart, spread, and sizzle with intensity. Didn't even care about the passing cars--I just gaped and blinked at the illuminated sky like an over-sized puffer fish. Finally, I parked my ass underneath a tree and just let it out--the last few weeks, the pain, the hatred--it all trickled down into the grass. The wind felt like a cool cloth against burned skin. I waited for the sunset to finally die, but even when the sky turned over and took the gray cloak against her chest, I still found it beautiful. Stumbling away, I felt heavy and sodden, but glorious all the same.

Then I walked back up the dorm and found out I missed the hall meeting.

Roundabout

So I haven't expected to end up here after class, of all places. One year ago--to this day--at this time--I was here, probably doing something similar on the internet, under completely different circumstances. When I entered the office, I hadn't expected the sudden rush of nostaglia. But I remember it, this place... the frustration... the fear... the boredom. Muggy afternoons like this--how strange to be here again and feel the same sensations! Like no time had passed. I don't feel in control when I'm here.

He's changed the numbers on the wall. They were written out on an aging sheet of paper, so old you've wouldn't have guessed it was once white. Now the numbers are printed out on computer paper, taped up in the old one's place. A new slip went up next to it--'repair order functions.' Nothing's moved otherwise.

For someone so wordy, it's hard to describe the emotions I'm feeling right now.

This week--last week--this month--

I don't complain much--make it a point not to--but I feel seriously overwhelmed. Not yet to the point I cannot stand it, but I'm gassed. Get me off the ice--send me to the showers, please.

How much have I changed, from this day one year ago? Still a procrastinator, but I know the consequences are much more severe now. Perhaps more confident, if a only a little more.

My grandmother's smile doesn't change from picture to picture. I seem to raise my left cheek a little when I smile, but I see a picture when I don't. I look so happy as a six year old--my hair was golden straw blond, I had frowning brown eyes, but they exude a maturity and knowing you don't expect children to have. So clear faced, so pure... So tan lol. I look like I'm hiding in my high school picture. My tendency to layer clothes hasn't changed much.

No matter how far I run, I'll never be able to leave this place unless I learn to let go, leave it behind for the smile to snag onto when I do remember. Cut the straps holding me facing backwards, look ahead again.

Ah, yes! There was an anime I wanted to watch, but I didn't have a fast enough connection in the laundry room. Sweet deal.

Road Block

Ah, I just want to get on with my life. Today WILL NOT END. This paper DOES NOT SEEM TO WANT TO GET WRITTEN. Friday is my reprieve. Just a few more days...

Mentioned one day in psychology was a concept called 'emotional intelligence.' Part of that was being able to hold a range of emotions and deal with them well, even at the same time. Well, I seem to be either a genius or incredibly stupid, because right now I'm feeling either an assortment of anxieties, disappointments, positive surges of confidence, pangs of loneliness, irritation, depression, intellectual curiosity and exhaustion, or absolutely nothing at all. It's hard to tell at this point.

Getting somewhat bloated. Eating too much.

I have this terrible longing for the cello, but for once, it's not laziness that's keeping me from the practice room. I've never struggled so much with a paper in my entire life. It's not even that hard--I have a great thesis, plenty of sources, proper citations, and great ideas. Hell, it's half-written in my head. But I seem to have writer's block.

FML.

The pigeon shit on the turtle, but still wants to hover around and build its nest on the turtle's back. The turtle just moves on, since he's the digging sort and has a hole to dig. He gets to his chosen spot and finds the soft sand infested with red ants, and a horse nearby nibbling his garden.

We expect three funerals this weekend; the pigeon, the horse, and some guy named Bob. Services will be held on Saturday due to the rioting rabbits expected on the streets this Sunday.