But I also have this little brown dog in my lap, who has fallen asleep and whom I don't really have the heart to wake.
So while I'm waiting for Mum to come 'round and wake him with her presence (I swear he knows her footsteps), I'm going to write as much of a blog post as I possibly can.
I have a practice with Youth Symphony until 9:00 tomorrow. I thought I minded, but maybe I don't. I like my symphony friends a lot. They're all so focused. And I'm not really so frightened of the hellish stand-partner I had at camp this year anymore. She comes off a confident, endlessly intimidating individual, but I've watched her, and she's really insecure, always fiddling with her hair, and pulling down her shirt, or adjusting her hoody or cleaning her nails. She finds a great deal of importance in the way she looks I think, and that's a weakness that somehow makes her seem less menacing.
Break is coming up. I get a whole week off at Thanksgiving, which is fantastic. Thank god for SotA Vacations. Now I can maybe get to that huge stack of homework and emails from friends, and cello practice. It will be nice to a have a clean slate for the last two weeks of semester.
I have been feeling very creatively exhausted lately. There is just so much to express and present in such a short amount of time here. I think it's just because I'm starting so many new endeavors at SotA, it feels very schizophrenic for now. I have to write a new song in the next few weeks and I have just barely digested the last one I finished. I have to do revisions on a Creative Writing Draft that I barely remember, it was written so quickly. (I'll hopefully post it when it's finished being edited. Or maybe I won't. Depends on how ashamed I am). It's just pretty tiring and there is not one day a week where I do not fall asleep the moment my head touches pillow. I love it here- truly, I wouldn't have it any other way- but it sure does keep me busy.
My sixteenth birthday is steadily approaching. I can't quite believe it. Sixteen is that age that every heroine magically happens to be. Sixteen-year-olds drive and drink drip coffee and have boyfriends and fully-formed opinions and jobs and party all night long. Or a least in books they do. I don't really feel like I could possibly be at that shimmery, always oh-so-distant age, but here I am, looking it in the face, a lot more prepared than I ever thought I would be.
Basil has just heard Mum coming out of her room and has jumped out of my lap. No more excuses. I have a paper to write.
