3/5/99

what a pissy day. fucking nasty day. god.

started out not so bad...I woke up late, but that was my own fault. was busy all night sipping mai tais on the beach...or at least on the phone. the phone had slipped from my fingers and was still in bed with me when I woke up. my mouth tasted like nuclear holocaust as I sped through the house, threw on some clothes and headed for school. talk about the decline of western civilization--here I am, 23, finishing graduate school and I spend all night on the phone with a guy I met on the internet.

Would have been fine, except that I had work to do before wind symphony. I didn't know that. I had Ticheli's Blue Shades that needed to be handed out to the band, but OOPS! after the last time we performed this piece, none of us on the library staff had ever sorted out that music. It was all in one pile, a yard high, and I had 5 minutes (roughly) to get it going. I begged the conductor for a little time, at the expense of my afternoon. Wes had to help me sort-sort-sort, we got it all taken care of and passed out during the hour, but I had to spend three hours waiting for the conductor's afternoon appointments to end so he could chew me out. And ask why the hell the music from January hasn't been sorted yet. Because I'm a big dumbass, that's why. I made a lame excuse and promised it wouldn't happen again. Drove home feeling sorry for myself...*sniffle*...my boyfriend's go-o-one, I live a-lo-o-o-one, and...and....*hiccup*. I'm such a loser sometimes.

I went back to school after pouting for a bit and did Daryl a big favor by copying some shit for Symphony Band. I knew he wasn't going to get back from his parents' in time to do it, and the big guy wants it handed out tomorrow. It was the least I could do--I sort of implied that he was partly at fault for my fuck-up this morning. Well, maybe he was. Somebody didn't sort that music, and I was only one-third of that somebody. Sorry, Daryl.

And Wes was super-pissed off at me. So quiet. I hate it when Wes gets mad at me. One of his students was conducting the Ticheli for a grade this morning. The horrible thing? After all that rushing around, we played the piece and it sucked. We sucked. The student who conducted it was out of his league, he's a mediocre conductor at best. And we smacked the piece all over the place. I myself sucked a fat one. There's one section where the whole ensemble plays the same pattern, but each section is set off by an eighth note. So it's tough. And we all got turned around--come on, we haven't played the piece since January. I found myself playing along with the trumpets, conscious of the fact that the trumpets don't have the same rhythm as me. But I blasted through it anyway...until what was supposed to be the climactic silent moment, where I hammered out a frigging loud C#....

So, long day. Slaving over a hot copier. Taking the shit for being the one in charge. One more thing I won't miss when I move to Georgia.

Speaking of Georgia, John finally called me tonight. Told me all about all the cool things the Air Force is writing off for his personal use...all those tax dollars hard at work. So far he's collected one brand-new euphonium, two trombones, a mouthpiece for each instrument, a "Silent Brass" system for practicing at home, a gig bag for the euph, a euphonium mute, and the list goes on. He's leaving for a tour of Southern California on Wednesday, during which 5 day tour he will play one hour-long concert. Course, that's just ‘cause he's the new guy. Later on he might have to play for 3 or 4 hours during the tours.

I made him feel guilty enough for having such a good time that he said he'd think about flying me down there for a weekend before I actually move down there. That is, if he's not tied up with payments on his brand new PC and the Suzuki Samurai. He's checking into the job scene, too, since I had a spontaneous anxiety attack over the fact that I will have two degrees in music and am actually considering finding a cubicle job. Not that cubicle jobs are bad--I would rather like a cubicle job, after all my customer service years. But, dammit, I feel like I'm giving up my career to get married. I will not will not do that. Will I? (Click "no" to be my friend.)

So I have him looking at the small colleges and symphonies around there. Maybe I can get on the sub lists for trombone jobs. Or I could start that community music school that I've shot my mouth off about so much. Or I could get a nice cubicle job and try to record a CD. Would anyone really buy my CD?

Don't know. What I do know is that my day improved greatly once I remembered the bottle of Amaretto that was hidden in the bottom of the Easter basket from my parents. Some days you need the support of a good, sweet friend. Cheers.