Poetry Release... Yay!

Apparently I'm just really good at being bitter.  Or at least seeming that way.




black
at night
is the moon
with branches
over
its shining face.

black
is my heart
at midnight
when you
all thoughts
of love from me
erased.

black
shall soon
be your body
when the charred
ice
in your chest
is all that
remains.

black
is your demon
heart.

Stressed? Nope. Not Me.

I'm only taking a full course load for the first time in four years during my first semester at a California State University while trying to work part time. 

And if you think I chose music because it was an easy artsy-fartsy degree, let me tell you something.  Fuck you. 

Music is hard. 

I have five class hours of music theory each week.  I am not good at it.  I think I would have an easier time learning neurosurgery than music theory.  I think theory belongs in the same category as things like trigonometry and calculus. 

I have a music history class that is so in-depth my head practically explodes on a regular basis.  And I have to have it all memorized for a mid-term this Friday.  There will be listening examples and essay questions galore.

I have to learn to conduct.

Who the hell decided that?

I have great rhythm when I'm performing music.  I have absolutely zero desire to lead others in a performance of that music. 

Also, not only do I have to learn the music for my voice lessons, but I also have to learn the music for the choir I'm required to take in order to retain my scholarship (in which I sing a different part for almost every piece of music) and for the opera class I'm required to take for the same reason.  Which entails all the choruses in The Mikado and the music for a scene I'm doing in Falstaff.

I had to compose a short piece of music for one of my theory classes last week, my mid-term in music history is Friday, and I have a test in my other theory class Monday.  Plus I think I'm going to have to bump my work hours up to 30 or more per week to do everything my boss needs me to.  And I've been sick for the better part of a week, during which time I drove to Santa Cruz to move a piano and back home in one day (story for another day).

I can feel myself winding up to explode from the stress.  I need some kind of release.  I should go to the gym tomorrow.

Next Friday I perform for our directed listening class, then a couple of my friends are having a party.  I think by then I'll be so ready for a party that I won't be able to stand it.  Then I'll die until Sunday afternoon, do all of my homework, and start over again on Monday.  Which is Halloween.  So it will be perfect. 

In other news, my cat is sleeping upside down on my leg.  And I keep smelling frosting.  I don't think there's even frosting in the house.  There are pigeons roosting outside my window.  But pigeons do not smell like frosting.  I would assume.  I've never smelled a pigeon, so I suppose they could.

I wish I could take a red marker and scribble "brain vomit" all over this post.

Me. BAMF. The End.

Last night I was starting to feel like I was catching another bug (which pisses me off because I was just sick in September), so I took some Nyquil when I went to bed last night to kick it out of my system. 

I didn't take into account the odd drug reactions I've had of late.

I woke up this morning feeling much better, though my throat still feels a little stiff.  I actually feel as if I slept off the three bad days of sickness and went straight into the tail-end.  (Definitely good news.) 

However, by the time I made it to the shower it became perfectly clear that I was going to be out of sorts all day.  Read:  I was feeling pretty loopy.

So I went to my music theory class this morning.  The class I seem to struggle the most with.  I was even early.  I'm really lucky I have a pretty good grasp on our current material, because I was not completely there.  I had moments of clarity during which I could answer pretty much anything the professor asked correctly...  Followed by moments during which I could barely figure out which notes were in a chord. 

Afterward, I came home and got back into bed.  For an hour.  Then I started working.  For two hours.  On collections, which takes a surprising amount of brain power.  I think it's the fact that you have to consciously be nice to people who you know are trying to screw you over.

Then I had to go to class again.  Luckily I didn't have to do anything but sit there and watch students perform. 

I was feeling less wiggy by this point, but still not normal.

Who am I kidding?  It's six PM and I still feel super funky. 

Anyway, I came home from class to work some more and take a test for my music history class.  The last test wasn't too intense.  But this one was on nearly every listening example and composer we've had for the last unit. 

Plus I have to go watch an opera at my voice teacher's house with the rest of his students later. 

I need a nap. 

And possibly a way to avoid Nyquil hangover.

Regardless, I got a ton of shit done today (and well) while feeling super drugged up from cold medicine I took last night.

I rock.

My Husband... Platonically, Of Course.

Yesterday Churro and I finally had to take a trip to the grocery store; it had been a few weeks and we were out of pretty much everything.

While I was paying I noticed a middle aged man the next register over look at me.

I'm finally starting to get used to the fact that people don't look away when you catch their eyes here.  It's a big culture difference from my very white upbringing, where we avoid eye contact at all costs.  But it doesn't really even weird me out anymore.  I've noticed myself holding eye contact for much longer than I ever have before just because, you know, everyone else does it.

So when the man at the next register looked at me I just looked back at him for a moment, smiled slightly (because I feel that's polite as a greeting or something for some reason), then looked away and went about bagging my groceries.

About a minute later Churro half-whispers in my ear, "Do you see that older guy in the black shorts?"

"Yes...?"

"Oh my God.  When he walked by he totally did this..."  Churro proceeded to walk around behind me and blatantly check me out from head to toe.   "Then there was this awkward moment where we locked eyes and he knew that I knew that he had just been looking at you.  And he turned back and looked at me again at the door!"

"Ew.  Maybe he thought we were...  Together?"

"Maybe?"

"I wonder how often that happens?"  I asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

Churro shrugged and I kept bagging as the woman on the lane next to mine (our regular store has two lanes from the same register, so you get to have a bagging neighbor if it's busy or you're slow) looked up from the bajillion Yoplait yogurts she had been organizing.

"I thought it."  She said.  "Like, maybe even married or something."

"Oh, so, all the time!"  I said, and we all laughed.

Churro and I laughed all the way to the car.  And later last night.  And again today at Costco when he called me his wife.

I see a new inside joke to alienate our friends and family with.

I love my platonic soulmate/roommate.

La Lluvia

It's raining tonight. 

The first real solid rain lasting more than ten minutes since I moved. 

It's beautiful.

I just wish Oose were here to dance in it with me.