So. We're back here again. The Saints have just won the Superbowl, kids can stop wearing those ridiculous paper bags over their heads and come out and face the sunshine. Wait..
Hasn't Cushing seen it's last daylight maybe a month ago?
Ah well. I have laryngitis. My voice is all squeaky and mournful sounding. It's more than likely from singing so much. I have contest in two weeks, a gig for Valentine's Day, and I'm auditioning for the Oklahoma Summer Arts Institute the twenty-eighth. Oh, did I mention that the Civil War Reenactment is once again the same day as my solo and ensemble?
Yes.. We are pressed for time. I'm also failing English AP and AlgebraI. Those two classes also happen to be the same hours that I'm chronically in the bathroom for. I have a tutor, Ishkabibble, as I've previously mentioned, but I have a week and a half to pull my crap together. GAH.
I freaking hate school. I have mentioned that, right? Singing and art is everything to me. I'm tired of horrible teachers. If you're going to pay a teacher, make sure it's a dang good one. Every time I'm in the bathroom or I miss school because of being ill, I come back to school and everything snowballs. I'm going to be missing a week or two sometime over the next two months because I'm going to a CVS clinic in Milwaukee. Math is alright. I can get through that, but English. Hell, my teacher, she does try, and God bless her for that, but we do not click on any level. When I lose something, it isn't going to turn up anywhere. It was probably sacrificed as a starter for the fire.
So I've found a curiosity and love for biology. Dr. Konrad, former astronaut and incredible engineer, never took a bio class in his life. He just read the book. He's 6'7" and so brilliant. His daughter had cancer and survived. He has a few kids, in his sixties, adores his wife and prattles on about 'Marwidge' (for us Princess Bride fans) and he understands what Caroline and I prattle on about 98% of the time. He's made this year not suck as badly as it could have.
Wow. I've needed to vent. Laryngitis suck ursa major. I can't talk to anyone about anything without making them feel so sad for me because my voice sounds like I'm about to cry or something.
I think I'm going to give up on trying to contain my OCD. It just doesn't do any good, you know? James fusses at me when I stack everything neatly at lunch, but my locker and backpack stay a mess! *sigh* Where would I be without my James? Oh yeah, in the No Boyfriend department at a perfume shop in the section that what my sister would say, "Smells like a French whore". Yeah. I'm a woman, who has morales, an oppinion, I'm wearing iron underwear until I'm married, and I care about people. That technically means that if this relationship doesn't work out, I'll have to rely on either A) take seriously everytime my mother says 'She's been promised to God' and join the convent at eighteen, or B) not have any social life and become valedictorian and get all scholarships and go to MIT. UGH... Choice A seems more likely.
Alright. The midnight oil (in my oppinion) is burning. I leave you, dear readers, a happy Sunday, or any day that ends in 'y', and hope that you pass your classes, choose to do the right thing, switch to eco friendly clothing, and/or buy all the Miley Cyrus tees at WalMart or treat yourself to a Gucci bag, or two.
Katy.