Sometimes I feel guilty about drinking my tea before finishing my biscuits (I dip the biscuits in the tea) so I will munch through the biscuits more quickly so I can drink the tea guilt-free.

I'm sure there's a metaphor for life in there somewhere, but I don't know what.


I'm JUST ABOUT finished the author's information and media contact stuff I need to send to the publishing company along with the finished manuscript, which is a relief. It'd be nice to not have to worry about it over spring break. (Mine's just coming up - really late. Most people have had theirs already, so far as I can tell.) I'm oddly reluctant to send the manuscript itself, not because it isn't done, because it is. But I know that no matter how many times I go through it, there'll be things I'm not happy with. I could sit here now for the next few hours, go through all of it, and fix tiny, itty-bitty things like putting this word in italics or putting "the" instead of "a", because I am just that anal. No matter what, I know very well that it won't be perfect, and for some reason, that bothers me. I mean, of COURSE it won't be perfect. Hell, it might not even be good. (In which case, I pity the poor public it is unleashed on...) But I'll always know I could have done better.

I guess the only thing to do is to actually do better...next time. Ha. Ha.

Yeah, that'll happen...

(Sadly, I hope it does. Still. Getting ahead of myself.)


You ever miss somebody after talking to someone? Someone you don't or rarely see? I mean, does it make sense at all to miss someone because the more you talk to them or hear their voice, the more you want to? It's like...loneliness mixed with...greed. Or something. *shrug* Well, at any rate, I talked to him just last night, touched by the fact that he had the will and patience to listen to me crying my dumb little eyes out, and I still miss him for some reason.

Is it selfish to wonder if he misses me once in a while, too...?

I had an audition today, for the same Opera Factory program I performed with last year. I'm guessin' I won't be doing it again. It was that bad. >_< I can sing the song pretty well, don't get me wrong. I know it backward and forward because I sang it with my choir last winter. But the accompanist played it not too fast, which is the more comoon problem but about two times too slow!! I was singing a classical Mendelssohn piece in Latin, slowing it down just meant I a) couldn't hold all the notes and b) kept moving too late because I wasn't used to it. So, yeah, awful. I was so flustered that my reading wasn't especially great, either. *facepalm* Faaaaailure.

On a brighter note, I came home, all moody and upset, and checked my e-mail only to find out that I was one of few selected from my choir to sing at the Handel and Haydn Society Gala Ball in April. This is an incredible honour, I was stunned. I didn't think my choir director really thought I was that good! I mean, I can't even recall the last time she heard me, just me, singing. Well, no, she did hear me and my friend Gia together when she singled us out (proudly) for having been the only two to memorize the entire piece in Yiddish we were singing. She had us sing it in front of everyone else. ("Kumu b'naarechem u vezik nechem..." It's Yiddish translated phonetically by a German, so it sounds kind of like coughing up furballs. Weirdly fun to sing, though.) For the record, Gia was chosen for the smaller group, as well.

I cannot count on one hand the number of serious car problems my mother has had in the last three years. That is no exaggeration, she has the WORST luck with vehicles. I don't even have my driver's permit yet; everytime I go to take the test, something slips me up. I've never even gotten as far as the testing chair. I fear I may have inherited one of my mum's suckiest Middle Fingers of Fate. Poor thing's stressed about enough, though, I feel really horrible for her... She doesn't need this car debacle on top of everything else, especially since it was such a freak accident! A drunk driver swerved his massive pick-up around the corner and bashed into my mum's poor little Toyota. At least he got the worst of the damage (including two completely SHREDDED tires, I saw them, it was insane) as well as a suspended license and drunk driving charge. Still, now mum's got the insurance to deal with now. Bugger you, drunk driver. Bugger you with a chainsaw.

I found this in a notebook. It's not very good.
I like it.

Elizabeth

Her name was Elizabeth. It’s a clichéd way to begin, I know, but her name was the first thing I knew about her. Makes sense to extend you the same courtesy, doesn’t it? Glad you agree.
    She was beautiful. That was the second thing I knew about her. Smooth, cinnamon skin, exotically dark eyes, shiny hair even darker, brightest in sunlight. Her teeth were a little crooked in front, but they were charming. She bit her nails. Her eyelashes were too short for her wide eyes. But details, details, right?
    Long story short, we were married. Longer story shorter - 25 years. 25 years, 2 kids, a couple dozen tiny braids lopped off, a million cigarettes and bills and kisses and tears and hopes. Our son played basketball and I was happy. Our daughter danced and she was happy. Life was good, and we were happy.
    Fast-forward to An Accident…a stupid one, not her fault, but she paid for it. Or I did. Time came for the eulogy, and I realized I had nothing to say. 25 years of her, and what did I know? Really? Did I ask her about her dreams? Her childhood? Her favorite color? I was silent then and now.
    Her name was Elizabeth and she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I never learned anything more about her.