It won�t be long before it will be freezing cold in my bedroom, but it�s kind of nice that there won�t be anyone around to complain about it.

My bedroom has three large windows that take up the entire south wall. In the summer, it�s the hottest room in the house, and in the winter, it�s the coldest. I�m there to experience the temperature change, but I enjoy forcing myself to be adaptive.

I feel like I haven�t been doing very well ever since I had that allergic reaction. I don�t want to admit that I�m afraid because it�s not significant to anyone else. However, I don�t play a significant role in the life of anyone else, so that makes sense. I guess when one thinks about her own mortality, that�s the first thought that comes to mind, �Who�s going to care?� No one? Let�s get on with it then.

Meow. Oh. You.

I also haven�t done any sitting meditation for about two weeks. For me, that�s like going off my meds.

When I told my brother about the allergy, I did wonder in the back of my mind if he would mention it to our father. But, I knew that he would only react by saying it must mean that I am somehow defective. Well, I suppose that�s true. An allergy wouldn�t happen to a perfectly working physiology, would it?

I�m not sure if I�m really upset about it. When I think about how my death relates to him, I think about the last time it was mentioned between us. He was upset that I split my life insurance into three equal parts, for him, my mother and my brother. He didn�t think my mother should get any and demanded that I change it.

Normally, he�s not insistent about anything. He�s too lazy to argue about much. I told him that I would change it, but I never did. If I�m going to start playing favorites, he�s not going to be on the top of the list.

Of course, it makes me unhappy that if I do die, then he�ll know I never changed it. Then he�ll know that I messed up another thing. I managed to disappoint him again, even in death.

I don�t know why, but today, I was thinking about the voice training I had when I was younger. I�m not sure it really means anything, but I had this memory of my voice teacher making me promise that I would continue studying after I left.

This is when I graduated high school. I think that I was probably expecting her to be glad that she wouldn�t have to listen to my screeching anymore. I worked very, very hard, but I couldn�t cut it as a singer. Some of that was related to stage fright. I know I performed worse in public. I just don�t know how much worse.

Anyway, I did want to continue. The first month or so I was in college, I contacted a couple of voice teachers. After a few weeks, I realized that it was nice to not be under that much pressure anymore, especially in a new town, where no one even had to know I ever had a lesson or sang anything. Plus, that�s when I discovered the internet, and the entirety of my life since has been recorded in 1�s and 0�s somewhere out in cyberspace.

I don�t know why I was thinking of that. Maybe it�s one of those things where I truly failed. I didn�t fail because I am horrendously untalented (I�m not, I have my strengths and weaknesses, just like everyone else). I failed because I didn�t push myself through it.

I feel slightly better now, but I still hate this world.

I have been under a lot of stress over the past few months, and I�ve been wondering how and when I�d crack. I guess I am improving because it appears that I�m not cracking like a psychopath, like I would have in the past.

I�m not saying I�m perfectly healthy or anything crazy like that.

Oh, so yesterday, I ended up in Greenwich Village and out of sheer luck, saw the lady below perform. I was pretty impressed. This must be why I was thinking about music. Yeah, I play guitar worse than I sing� or better, depending on how you measure quality.


0 comments so far

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2007 at 11:51 PM