Two weeks in.

School has started. As you guys know, I was reluctant to go back. This upcoming school year, perhaps more than any other, did not have a very appealing future. But I have been pleasantly surprised. It has been easier than I ever would have imagined to get back into the routine. And being at the top of the school certainly does have it's own subtle perks.
He is not around, yes, but life goes on. Chances aren't taken. Feelings go unnoticed. We keep moving.
My classes are mostly enjoyable. My social studies class is a extraordinary improvement on last year, obviously, and orchestra is, as usual, my most comfortable class. The english curriculum this year seems to have been thought up with exactly me in mind. It's as though all the english teachers in the district got together and asked themselves what exactly Miss Pip would like to write about this year. It is early days yet, but so far I am pleased.
This year in the youth symphony I am in the third group. I am also second chair cello, which was a complete surprise. My audition, apparently, went better than I thought. We are playing some very emotional pieces, which, I think, will turn out nicely
I went to the fair with my friends on Wednesday. We went on a lot of rides and did a lot of random and impulsive things. I got to spend some quality time with my best friends. People in my life that I love and trust. It was a good day.
Homework is not excessive, though, of course, it is still too early in the year to tell. I have to lug my geometry book back and forth which is really annoying. I enjoy doing the english homework.
All in all, the first two weeks of the school year , excepting a few events and conversations, have been the same as past years. Simply put: normal.
But, then again, not. Not normal at all.
With him gone, it feels as though I have lost my center. Like a clean cut has sliced something out of my being. I am not lost, per say. In fact, I am more sure of myself now, than I have been in months. No, it is more a sense that there is less to aspire to. Nothing to grasp. And yet, ironically, I'm still holding on. Stupid me. Stubborn me.

Destined to fail, I relish my tiny, inconsistent triumphs.