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"Beethoven's Ninth Symphony (Ode to Joy)" has been my best friend all afternoon, since I got home from school and sat down to do my final additions and drafts for the fiction contest. And, oh, it feels so good to have that finally done and submitted. The deadline is "before September 1", and I submitted at 8:45-ish PM Arizona Time, which is congruent with Pacific Time right now. I did not realize until I was looking at the address for the application fee that the moderator lives in... Maryland. On the East Coast. I hope to dear god she considers that most of the entries are coming from the West Coast area, or that for us, it was still four hours from September 1.
PLZ. Because if I'm defeated by forty-five minutes on the freaking East Coast, I'll maim a rabbit.
One of Rachel's friends overdosed on heroin and died this morning, which is pretty horrific. His mother found him and thought that he was just sleeping. I can't even imagine being in that position. He was not one of Rachel's close friends, but she hung out with him over the summer, and she saw him Sunday night. She's pretty upset. I wish there was something I could say or do to make her feel better. And, though I don't even know his family, I feel horrible for them too. Call it common human empathy.
Mom is back until Monday afternoon. She looks utterly exhausted, and she has so little energy anymore. I'm realizing that this may be my last year at home, as is she; when I mentioned that I will be legal in a month and a half, she told me never to mention it again.
I was planning on showing up to Men's Choir tomorrow morning per suggestion and seeing how long it would take Tutnick to realize that I am lacking some key prerequisites for joining, but I'm going to do it next week instead. I have a short-hair wig and some pretty boysy clothes that make short work of my figure, and the voice that makes people think I am my father over the phone, so this might actually fly for, like, five minutes. I'm just five-foot-four and have very fine, feminine features; that might be a problem. I have to actually start tonight's homework, and the past three nights I have not gotten much sleep. But soon, my brothers.
Calculus test results: t3h suck. And all on simple mistakes, too. RAGE.
I start homework now. But I'm still feeling the completed-story high.
PLZ. Because if I'm defeated by forty-five minutes on the freaking East Coast, I'll maim a rabbit.
One of Rachel's friends overdosed on heroin and died this morning, which is pretty horrific. His mother found him and thought that he was just sleeping. I can't even imagine being in that position. He was not one of Rachel's close friends, but she hung out with him over the summer, and she saw him Sunday night. She's pretty upset. I wish there was something I could say or do to make her feel better. And, though I don't even know his family, I feel horrible for them too. Call it common human empathy.
Mom is back until Monday afternoon. She looks utterly exhausted, and she has so little energy anymore. I'm realizing that this may be my last year at home, as is she; when I mentioned that I will be legal in a month and a half, she told me never to mention it again.
I was planning on showing up to Men's Choir tomorrow morning per suggestion and seeing how long it would take Tutnick to realize that I am lacking some key prerequisites for joining, but I'm going to do it next week instead. I have a short-hair wig and some pretty boysy clothes that make short work of my figure, and the voice that makes people think I am my father over the phone, so this might actually fly for, like, five minutes. I'm just five-foot-four and have very fine, feminine features; that might be a problem. I have to actually start tonight's homework, and the past three nights I have not gotten much sleep. But soon, my brothers.
Calculus test results: t3h suck. And all on simple mistakes, too. RAGE.
I start homework now. But I'm still feeling the completed-story high.
