It's fucking lonely in this little goddamned box.


It is so difficult to watch myself sing. Why do I even make other people sit through it? All I see and hear are when I'm not matching the intensity of my facial expression to the text(even when it feels like I'm really trying hard),or comically changing vowel shape in the middle of a long note, or my support is not correct and I'm flat/reedy/have unstable vibrato/strained, and it just makes me GAAHEFDRRERGIDHVODVHOFVIUHRvisdofvhslidfuvhweolirufhvp;aeidikxcfjruv ,ndcfrju.


I hear all the time how good I supposedly am, and maybe I'm not doing as badly as I think. But I don't see that as any guarantee of success. I'm finding it hard to have a competitive spirit when I don't honestly think I deserve it, like I'm just pretending that I can sing. Bigger, richer voices generally have more troubles in their formative years, according to my teacher. But I'm not even really sure my voice counts as bigger. Bigger than whose? The five foot nothing coloratura? I guess. I mean, according to the video it seems like I had a healthy sound in the hall, but that's all I can say. Maybe I'm still bitter over never really getting the heyday I wanted while at this school. And I feel like now  I'll be stepping naked into the "real" world.

I've been considering what sort of life I want to live in the future, likely apart from my training, or any remaining schooling. The motivating factors for me are: love for what I do, economic stability, freedom to shift schedule and location, and opportunities for creative/personal growth.

The first seems to be a given. I know that if I tried to do something I couldn't enjoy, I would just fucking kill myself. Though I know I'll have to do mundane jobs in the future, I can live with it if there's a finite amount of time I have to do it to do whatever it is I enjoy, or that I will have opportunities to do what I enjoy alongside my mundane job. The fear of course is working college-oriented jobs for the rest of my life.

Creative and personal opportunities are just that. As in, my career will either give me opportunities to do more abstract thinking and problem-solving, or give me the time in which I can cultivate and accrue more skills of my own. I have that time now, but it seems poorly directed.

Those two may exist mutually in the career I choose; there are multiple choices within those criteria. However, trying to fit in both economic stability and personal freedom together may prove to be an issue. It is true that economic stability will give rise to a more flexible personal life. That also requires patience, which I hope to have more of in a couple of years. I know for a fact that I no longer will tolerate poverty, so I will have to figure out what is "enough" for me, in the words of Michael Morgan. However, in most cases, it seems that "enough" for me is a bit more than even rather successful musicians make, and they break their back for it.  I don't want to be at the beckon call of every rehearsal director, nor do I think I can sustain an every day 9-5 position. If there's nothing that seems to suit the lifestyle I desire, then perhaps I'd better get creative. I'm bad at compromising quality, though its difficult to call that a negative quality.


I wish I could be nearly as eloquent and organized in my speech as I can be in writing. I feel constantly inadequate in conversation. Whatever little neurological stutter that causes me to use words that, while being similar in meaning, are obviously incorrect and I really meant the other one, is very frustrating. Not to mention whenever I can't decide how to end a sentence, or I don't actually have anything else to say but my voice keeps going as if I did and that if I just keep talking I'll find whatever other thing I might have been trying to remember to say but then I don't so I just kind of trail off instead....

There are other obvious problems. I almost laughed at myself when I tried to reply during that  Philosophy Club talk, and all I was really trying to do was to say was "it's vague" but I felt the need to clarify by over-explaining in an atmosphere that requires succinct, precise language. The next time I go, perhaps I just should not speak unless asked to do so. :x 


I could spend all day and night with my feet in front of a warm fireplace. Provides me with such a comforting and perhaps primitive sense of satisfaction. Fire good. :3


Moving Forward, or...something

I went to my first therapy appointment yesterday. Since it was the first meeting, I was mostly asked a lot of questions in a clinical manner, asking me whether I experienced certain symptoms, as well as being asked to identify the symptoms I associated as being abnormal, as well as their frequency, intensity, context, whether there were certain triggers, etc.

It's a tad early to confirm, but the therapist was already fairly convinced that I may have dysthymia at the very least, and quite possibly major depressive disorder. Both sound rather apt of my state. I just never want to be that person who looks for a medical reason to excuse their behavior. It seems as though I've had it for a while though, at least since I was 13 or 14. I'm a little upset I didn't get the right kind of help sooner. I guess all the "grief counseling" I've had in my adolescence wasn't what I needed after all. I'm hoping that this limited amount of therapy will give me better ways to cope; I'm open to medication if therapy isn't enough, but I'm aware that it can be a lengthy and unpleasant process.

As far as the Sam situation is concerned, I just have to deal with loving him without caring about how his actions affect my life, and vice versa, because they shouldn't. This also means not caring about an unknown future date that we might reconnect. If it ever happens, it will be because he enjoys the person I've become, not because I made myself into the person I predicted that he may want. I've known this for a while already, but I still had a barrier in my head that kept me from really accepting this as a reality. I think that my weird mental break on Saturday(I think it was Saturday) really broke down that wall and pushed me into a more open state. It's still going to be difficult, I can tell. I chose the harder path to take by living with him. And yet I wouldn't have it any other way. He is quite possibly the most valuable friend I have ever had, and one of the more valuable people in my life in general. In that way, I'll probably never stop thinking highly of him. That being said, I will generally  try to weigh his words more equally to the other dear ones in my life, as opposed to just going along with what he says(though he's often in the right).

For now, I just want to see what's it's like to be me again. Perhaps I'll even find some sense of contentment.


I don't know when I stopped being creative for my own growth and pleasure. I've never quite considered myself a writer or artist by trade, but I did care and enjoy it enough to try to improve, to expose myself to different styles and mediums, and to try different methods of execution and improve upon what little technical prowess I do have.

I certainly know why. I am aware that I've always been a little sensitive to critique; after all, its more for me than it is for anyone else, but I do take some pride in what I do. It's a very private thing for me to show my work to others, especially those who know anything about what I'm doing. The works are a tiny peek into my mind, and an extension of my personality.

When you start spending a lot of time with someone who has impeccable taste, and who has been exposed to various art mediums and has very high standards, it's both enlightening and intimidating. 
Whatever I showed him at first he seemed to just shrug at. I couldn't blame him, partly because he had no special love for the visual arts(or so he claimed at the time). Same went for my photography, and whatever commentary I got from him on my writing seemed minimally interested as well, though I do think that at least on one occasion he told me my poetry was bad. Other than that he just didn't seem interested. I think I took it as a personal affront. And since I like to share with my loved ones what I create, I think at some point I just didn't want to make anything for him to look at. I didn't dare bare my soul in front of him anymore.

Even now, I feel a burning shame for some reason any time I'm expressing my thoughts, whether in a journal or making a drawing, and he asks me what I'm doing. I won't lie to him, but if he has to see my stuff then I don't want to be around to see his reaction. I don't want to hear how stupid, how silly or how artless I am. Because that's not why I do it. I'm not trying to be some highfalutin artiste, but I do hope that everyone sees something beautiful in my work. Because it's me. And maybe I put his thoughts on a pedestal still. And its only because his opinion still holds too much value to me. All I can do is try to be more open.

Old Shit

Just trying to get all my typed poetry in one place. I remember a collection I made some time ago. I lost it back when my old laptop went down. I figured I should transmit all my remaining stuff to one place that isn't facebook, for various reasons. I know they're all old and the imperfect work of a naive college student, but I love them anyway.

Hello World,
You look nice today,
But you could look better.
I'm sure you want to clean up,
Get rid of all those nuclear zits
And grease stains.
You've also put on some weight,
On your shoulders, chest, and heart.
We need an epidemic makeover.
But don't worry,
I'll probably live to see you again.
I'm sure you'll look much better.

Word Up





  The Spirit

Is past, is transparent
As reality
Is Passing the wonder to your
Is wandering from
Wander to Wonder,
To wording, to phrase,
Cannot be Phrased,
Cannot be phased,
cannot be treated,
Nor heated,
or Beaten.
Unsweetened, and
Freed from restraint!
From Thing,
And Person,
and Place.
Spirit is none to be,
except to be.


Much abated,
Chaos that has

Merrily we roll along,
Stabbing songs,
Meshing throngs,
Stabbing throngs,
Meshing songs,
and puppies.


Hairy Harry harried Hairy Henry.
Hairy Henry hurried when harried.
Hairy Harry could not tarry,
But Hairy Henry hated being harried.
Hairy Harry hurried,
While Hairy Henry tarried,
and stabbed Hairy Harry in the back of the head.

Nervous Murphy

Nervous Murphy stands before the stairs,
Attracting attention in his underwear,
The people in the hotel lobby below can only stare,
As he liberates himself by whipping it out right there.

Hammers in Spring

Jewels germinate in geriatric fashion,
carrots cannot contemplate fate.
Pliers pull on prairie faeries,
Bunnies barrel into batches of mates.

Yellow yarrow yells to friends,
Sensual serpents spit instead,
Every errand is earned in earnest,
when wrens wreck where wrens would win.

Late larks lapping the lake,
Gnats nap near the night,
Everyone settles for the time,
and come tomorrow we'll try again.

 Warm is the night and faster the beat,
Of air all around and of grass-stained feet,
An energy pulses in all of their hearts,
To celebrate life and the ice's depart.

The willows and reeds all rise from the thunder,
Encouraged to waken and sway to and fro,
The creatures of young all grow to the rhythms,
From every hare to the guppies below.

A whirlwind of color settles in view,
The dancers are somber now in review.
"We take in the energy given to us,
Inanna's again of more than just dust."

The stamping rhythm again echoes cross the lands,
but no more are they dancing,
The warm stench of wet earth they hold in their hands,
For now it's rain's turn to be stamping.

 All of them love,
And all of them
But Fairy Foibles
Will catch their eye.


I never expect my assumptions to be correct. When they are, it tends to be surprising in an unfortunate way. I invent hypothetical conversations in my head which confront issues with other people, and try to make the responses resemble whoever is speaking to me, but I always expect my ordering to fall apart in real life, or to be surprised by one or more of the actual responses. My stomach fell pretty hard when that didn't happen. What a miserable person I must be, to avoid my emotional baggage and to be devoid of any willpower whatsoever to the point where the other person feels they must be the bigger person and cut me off.

I walked for nine miles. I actually had left the apartment as soon as he had, with the intention of not coming back that evening. I didn't want to be there, confronted by the fact that I might never feel his touch again, or worse, imagining him touching someone else. It turned every square inch of my skin into flame and anguish. I was Medea. I was one or all of the Furies. I was motherfucking Kali. I had to go somewhere or I would destroy the apartment. But I couldn't talk to a friend, not at the moment at least. I knew I'd just be sobbing and incoherent and spitting mad and sounding far too upset and possibly obsessive.

 I can't say I didn't get sound incredulous looks from folks on the main street when I absolutely couldn't contain myself. I wanted to go somewhere where I could scream without a pillow, to be allowed to just be in nature by myself and grieve and lick my wounds and scare away small animals. I didn't quite get there. Unfortunately it was a sunny day and no matter where I went around the little trails on the river there were others just enjoying their day. The beautiful houses in the neighborhoods, the happy folks, the soft, sandy trails. It was overwhelmingly beautiful and it just made me hurt worse. Eventually I just turned around because my feet hurt and I was quite tired already. I had to go home; I hadn't even fed the cats.

I know I can't disassociate my feelings from my physical desires. I was foolish to try, or else, I wasn't trying at all. I was too busy fantasizing. And that only makes me feel worse for him. I thought I heard him choke up just a tad when he admitted why we was being unapproachable. If he did, then I wasn't sure if it was for me, or for himself, or for the both of us.

Though to say that I'll stop being sad when I can disassociate/stop being intimate is an oversimplification.

On a related note, I got a call from the school's counseling services(read: therapy). Perhaps I'll finally be able to talk to a professional.


It's done! The "culmination" of my undergrad voice studies is finished. In all, I'm glad to say I did it. Now I have to make enough money to reabsorb the expense. It was around what I expected it to be, but I wish I hadn't overextended myself just so I could be satisfied with the results, especially with my physical audience being so small. Still, it paid off big time for me emotionally. And I'm glad he came. I know I pressured him a bit, but I know that if he really didn't want to come at all he would have just made an excuse and have me borrow the car.

There is much more on my mind, but this doesn't feel like a suitable place or time to post any more at the moment.


It's okay to feel bad some days. It's okay to feel bad some days. It's okay to feel bad some days. Fear of panic just brings more panic. It's pointless to chastise yourself about a state you didn't make the decision to be in directly. 

I hate wishing I had more of this or that quality of another person, whether it be  physical or expressive. I can only be who I actively work myself out to be. Everything is deliberate, even if its subtle.


Well, the 16th is officially done with. I am going to sleep so hard. I would like to not have to do a ridiculous amount of tasks that require a lot of energy in one weekend.


I want to throw things. I don't have the will or focus for anything. I can't go back to sleep, not until he's home, at least. I'm burning inside, but I can't cry. When will I stop suffocating? I feel a fluttering, a curling at the back of my brain when I try to relax.

It's so strange to read these when I'm calm because they sound so ridiculously dramatic, yet they seem so accurate a reflection at the time. Even now someone might be rolling their eyes at the hyperbole. But...I can't really stop myself. I won't. I've chosen to see this as a sort of emotional spectrum journal. I can't ignore it.
If there's one thing I do miss, it's going out to events with him. I didn't even do anything tonight except to get poor sleep. And now I've worried myself awake.

And when on earth am I going to stop worrying about him having a liaison with someone any time he goes somewhere by himself?? The knowledge that it will happen someday doesn't make me any more prepared for the event. Frankly, it just makes me ill.


So today has been...well, emotional, for lack of a better descriptor. I finally called for a consultation with the school psychological counseling services. They were even able to put me on a waiting list for private appointments, and directed me to a group if I didn't get a call back from them to start those in the next week. Regardless of if I'm "suffering" from a specific ailment or not, the fact is I still have these intense emotions lingering, or sometimes lack thereof, and its becoming difficult to rein them in during my everyday activities. And today I seemed to have a lot of triggers aside from the phone consultation. On the upside it seems I've been able to stabilize another very important technical concept in my voice studies, which is great because with such limited voice right now I can't afford to wear myself out, and I need to do good work. I'm so tired. But I have quite a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time. I think the end of my recital will be a huge relief.


So, Philosophy of Science is still challenging. But I'm proud to say that my average is climbing. I've gone from barely passing, to an 85% on the last module. Given, it was a lot more about history than it was about conceptual thinking, so it was a little easier overall to absorb. But I still hope the trend continues. I consider the sort of thinking done in this class as a sort of training for the class(es) I plan to take in the fall. I still need to get into a better mental shape, and I want to stay there for as long as possible. I've been sort of neglecting my Lumosity training, though I did check in yesterday and the day before to make sure I wasn't backsliding too far. The good news is that I'm still in pretty good shape since I'm being continually stimulated, but I do continue to use the site to gauge what might be my problem areas for the day, to keep my sharpest abilities sharp, and to bring up my weaker areas(speed, attention).

I'm going to complain about period shit for a moment. I don't get to, really, unless I'm around female comrades. Though I've had mine for over 13 years, in some ways I've never entirely gotten used to it. I've found ways to mitigate the pain, to manage the cramps, bloating, intestinal problems, back/pelvis/leg pain, the anemic-like weakness, fatigue, the depressed feelings, and so on. After learning just how disruptive my symptoms are in comparison to many women(like missing school because of symptoms, though that's still rarer now than it was in high school/community college), I'm seriously considering getting hormonal help. I admit I'm a little scared, not only because of my family heart history, but also regarding things like weight gain(which is still manageable) and mood swings/depressive symptoms(less manageable). That and the fact that I am a chronic failure at taking regular medication. I would have to make an extra, conscious effort to make sure everything was working. I also found out I should not get an IUD, not even because it can be displaced, but because it actually causes heavier bleeding. For someone with an already heavy flow for the first four days, that doesn't sound terribly appealing.

I remember taking an evaluation to see what my chances were of having PMDD. I remember being a little confused because the questions kept referring to the time before my period starts. I ignored that but otherwise answered questions about symptoms truthfully, and in fact it said I had a 99% likeliness of having PMDD. But as I was reading more info, I became confused. I had always thought premenstrual symptoms could refer to symptoms that occur before or any time during my period, because I had never heard of a separate condition that addressed the same symptoms during my period. I figured since they were all the same that they were all PMS symptoms, even if the "pre" part was a little counter-intuitive. In fact, there were a lot of details about me that I didn't know were kind of on the edge of "normal". Even though a "normal" length of a period is considered from 2-7 days, the percentage of girls who experience 7-8 days like me are likely fewer than the percentage of  girls who have 3-4 day periods. I used to just say eight days, but by that point its so light that I think its just whatever didn't totally come out on the seventh day. Eight is sort of abnormal. Which, I don't know, maybe I am. But they've always been this long for me, and they've always sort of followed the various phases. I never knew either that different women could have different amounts of lining, even if it were two women of the same size and lifestyle. And I most of all did not know until last year that I experience primary dysmenorrhea(which about 30% of women experience, though its typically experienced more during adolescence) practically every month, and that's the condition the symptoms I have are attributed to.

This is my body. This is what it does. I don't live to complain, but I also should give myself a little room to not feel ashamed or as if I'm just searching for sympathy when its just okay to admit you don't feel up for much, or are feeling particularly crappy. I have to admit, I wrote this in part because I'm cramping rather badly and I want to lie down, even though I'm not actually tired enough to sleep and I know I'd just spend the night tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable while at the same time trying to make sure I don't leak. Which basically means I can't lay on my back unless I have a pad that goes AAAALLLLL the way up my backside. Not so fun. So I decided to vent my frustrations a little. :P


I'm quite tired already, but I can't quite sleep yet. I've been doing not much of anything for the past hour. I feel like I don't have the mental energy to use on games, or else none of them sound appealing, but yet I sit here doing nothing. I'm upset, and I can feel the waves and they come, and yet my eyes remain dry. It's almost worse than a breakdown. There seems to be an imaginary dam somewhere in my brain.

I actually found myself incredibly angry at Sam the other day. Irrationally so. When I was panicked because I was late and trying to find his car, I just imagined what his reaction might be like I always do. I felt if at that moment I were faced with him and the imagined reaction, I would have screeched at him. So often it just seems I can't go a single day without upsetting him. There is no pleasing him sometimes. It's not as bad as before we broke up, some days are fine, but other days it feels like he is  belittling me. I'm just doing my best and trying to take care of my shit. I don't have time for his expectations. I've been so angry and upset. I don't even think he really deserves this kind of wrath. I don't understand why I'm so pissed.