I am sick of paste.

We sounded pretty freaking good tonight, despite the dissapointment in most people when the Friday show was cancelled.

Best audience ever.

I heard Audge laugh from the audience about three times. Miss V ... like six.

Today was a good day.

♥

11.30pm: "I'm gonna sit down, and I'm gonna finish my lab."
1.30am: "I'm gonna sit down, and I'm gonna finish my lab."

That's some mighty fine progress.

You know that state of tiredness that you sometimes reach where you only have enough energy to stay physically awake? About that.

Opening night went pretty well. They didn't have any small t-shirts for me, so I had to wear an extra large. We've all concluded that if I were to wear that shirt only, I'd easily pass the fingertips-to-hemline dress code rule at school.

Attire aside, we sounded good. Mike problems are always a hindrance, but we sounded good. Only ... six more nights. Yeee.

The high point of the day was when Mr. O'Sullivan placed a chunk of pure Sodium -- which was OMGTHISHUGE (by that, I mean quarter-sized) -- in a beaker of water. There's now black crap embedded in the lights from the explosion.

Kinda worries me that that's the first thing I've learned from him specifically, in that class.

The aforementioned state of tiredness is also the same type where you feel like you'll be unconscious if you ever do get to rest.

OOH RANDOM THOUGHT NUMBER FIVETEENHUNDRED: Miss Strunc.

Bad thought. I think the interiors of my skill are shrivelling up into a little raisin.

I like raisins.

Especially the ones in the tiny red boxes.

Yup. I'm gonna sit down, and I'm gonna finish my lab.

This is the first time I've ever received flowers in my life.

Wow; ampersand-hearts-semicolon. Times one billion.


(In other news, I gave the Julian a pair of heart-shaped handcuffs as a gag gift. Red heart-shaped handcuffs. In other other news, I found out that what I experienced last night -- that gross, literal heartthrob -- at Anything Goes rehersal was an anxiety-induced palpitation. That's always a nice thing to experience.)

"We pay attention to a limited number of mostly young, good looking, and wealthy persons who fill the pages of one of our aptly named magazines: People. If they are people, who are the rest of us? What does it signify to be obscure in a world preoccupied with fame, however earned or unearned? As long as we measure others and ourselves by what we have and how we look, life is inevitably a discouraging experience, characterized by greed, envy, and the desire to be someone else."

I need to find the source of this.

It's been a really long week.

Going from last semester -- with amazing, have-had-before teachers -- to this, with mostly new teachers and more challenging subjects, isn't a very nice shock.

So much Connelly withdrawal right now.

But Miss Glancey (from English last term) almost tackled me in the hall and raved about my exam essay. I killed it, apparently, which means that I shot it squarely in the head and triumphantly speared a flag in its carcass. Makes me bubbly inside.

Word Religions seems promising. Mr Grimes, at first impression, seems laid-back but very educated. I liked the first class, at least.

Mathypoo with Mrs Simmonds, twice in a row (I'm not complaining at all). Each term, I always embark on the impossible resolve to attain a ninety in that course, and always, I think that this year may be different from the others. God, I'm blind. Oh well. I'm annoyingly optomistic like that.

Anthropology seems fine, too. There seems to be about seven people in that class. I'm in the corner of the oddly-shaped room in the oddly-shaped seating arrangement, where I have a five-meter radius of space to myself. Y'know, so I can properly brood. Or something.

Mainly because I've had a negative bias (kindled by the rants of half the school) pointed towards the teacher for over a year without even having him, Chemistry is not going to be a Fun Time. I'll save a rant on the first class for something possibly bigger along the semester.

I can't believe I remembered how to balance equations. Thanks, vigilantelaw, for putting up with me while I had a minor conniption.

... OMGZ JOKE:

When might you think that you're built upside-down?
( Weeell? )

I will never, ever get tired of this particular strip.

Ever ever ever.

So the orchestra pit's spot onstage has shifted from Exposed to Very Fucking Exposed and Slightly Dangerous. We're on risers, see, that aren't built right up against the wall. The gap that was facing my side is now right behind me. Death would now ensue if I nonchalantly push my chair back.

Anything Goes has made me their bitch.

I was also nominated for this program at Carleton U.

I can now play DDR on Light and get a good mark, which is pretty good, I guess -- seeing as I've only played four times in my life within two years.

I love Isabel.

And I'm so, so looking forward to school tomorrow. Y'know, Math. And Chemistry, with O'Sullivan. Should be the best time of my life.

Bring it, bitches.

First and foremost, to Laurel: I wish you were with us in person, though I know you were there in spirit. *CHEESE*

My trip to Toronto with Andréa lasted from Tuesday early afternoon to late Wednesday night (Thursday morning, if you're anal about the time). It was the first "independent" trip I'd been on, planning everything from Toronto transit routes to calling Greyhound up and, though it wasn't a real shock then, I was accompanied with one other person my age.

( I still can't believe my parents consented to that. )

I can't remember when I didn't love travelling, but travelling "alone" -- more like an independent being rather than with part of a group, or even family -- was a completely different experience. I just hate the lingering, hook-in-innards feeling that always comes with returning back to a mundane, routine-based lifestyle. This was way too short; then again, every trip to me isn't nearly as long as I'd want it to be.

I'm unrealistic like that.

Boston in May.