Wednesday, March 17, 2010

What goes through my head, when I should be socializing.

Answer: A lot.

What I say:
a. If I know them: Too much
b. If I don't, that well: nothing at fucking all.

It's too cold in this house. I'm by myself, hyper-tuned. Every noise warrents investigation.

The space heater is only a few feet away, but I don't move. Tank top and tights and goosebumps and menstruation and bracelets and disgust and stress-acne.

Friday, March 12, 2010


-fluctuates way too easily, eating chocolate graham cracker cookies in my bed looking at photographs. One week contains the best and worst of my emotions.

-went to the grocery store farther away from the UPS bubble late at night. Went because I thought I had a wart on my hand. Couldn't distinguish "cauliflower-like surface" (their description, not mine) from the miniscule shiny surface on my palm. Ended up buying exactly this: ONE pack G-U-M Eez-Thru Flossers, ONE bundle of "Thin Asparagus," ONE bottle Simply Saline Nasal Mist Cold Formula, and ONE box of Twelve Cinnamon Pop-Tarts.

-got an email response from my thank-you note. Three lines, one of them "Please keep in touch" and a casual sign-off. I am so anxious.

-just wants to dance, all the time. I am tempted to in choir, before class, but am afraid of what people would think. Instead I dance with little kids, the toddler I babysit, bombarding people in practice rooms, shaking my booty and boobies and arms and legs until I stop.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Hell is other people.

Wrote a big long post. Erased it.

We are out of oil in the house. I hate this house.

I just hate feeling like I'm the only one who does things. Before I left for NJ, if I didn't get the mail, no one did. That's just fucking retarded, for a house full of adults. I don't get what people do at home.

If I have to continue to live with people after this... I thought I wouldn't feel lonely around other people, but it just gets more and more crippling.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Night before.

I wish I was a violinist. I could bring my instrument anywhere, practice whenever I want. I'm getting antsy. Listening and mental practice help, but I'm still terrfied.

Drove by myself, in a rental car, two hours there, one hour back. No map, GPS and phone batteies both on low. The phone is what I really needed, to talk to anyone. Instead, I talk to the GPS machine.
Turn right on Eagle Rock Drive.
Is it this one?
In point two miles turn right on Passiac Street.
Where is that? Did I miss it?
Stay left.
What? I didn't hear you. Did you know this car has XM Radio?
Stay left.

There are so many highways here. I drove on five today. I'd have to go quite a distance in Washington. There's not enough space here.

It's been awhile since I put myself out there, I guess. I pick at my tights, new ones, of a slick sealskin texture, as if water would roll off in beads. Ten students here. No one else in my program. Three have auditioned already. They take 2 students a year. I make appropriate small talk.