... a few weeks ago, I found love.
I'm writing about it now because I can't seem to completely shake the feelings of withdrawal and strange loneliness that have cropped up, and also -
- because angst can be fun.
(Just by writing that, it becomes obvious that I don't understand "the point" of angst, but based off of my calculations, it seems to amount to, roughly, sounding like a whiny bi...nt.)
In any case - love. Angst. Harry Potter with Emo Facial Expressions = Mahler. All of these things are important because, together, they turn three fragmented sentences into a partial reason for my lustful cravings.
... I miss Cincinnati like a crazy person.
("Ah", you sigh - "here she goes. Buggering off as if she's some swooning teeny-bopper who doesn't know the difference between a viola section and a band of rusty musical saws.")
Well - I *do* know the difference. The viola section sounds better (they practiced), and, quite frankly, violas aren't the problem here.
I am *not* a teeny-bopper.
... I am a little swoony, though.
Situations like Cincinnati - where you aren't sure how people will treat you, how the music will come together, how you'll fit (if you dare assume as much) with the rest of the section... its kinda sorta quasi what I live for. My version of jumping out of planes - will the parachute open? Don't know, but it's too late to ask that now! Same idea. Will I mesh and feel comfortable, or will I get beaten to death with the score of Mahler 8?
(See? Even the mortality question is there.)
Combine that life/death parachute/score idea with the fact that I am, yes, a 21-year-old, swooning, awe-struck, green/naive small person, and it's a crack of sorts.
... Wide eyes, yes, jittery jaw, no.
IU Phil was brilliant but I let nerves overtake the first half of the year. My mistake. Things worked out, but it took a pint of Guinness (or two) to really, truly clean things up at the end of everything... Hindsight (and Guinness) is fantastic, but there was no way in all of my teeny-bopper themed hell that I was going to destroy Cincinnati.
... so I worked my tush off, survived my van's attempts to kill me (via heartattack and/or nervous breakdown), and now I'm slowly starting to ween it out of my system.
I miss the bass section: thus, goal for the day: try not to surf facebook more than 3 dozen times looking for new reasons to go back to Cincy.
I miss Mahler: blast other music until either, Mahler loosens his tentacle-like grip upon my mental juke-box, or lose hearing entirely.
I'm craving banter: go talk to the dog. She doesn't mind awful jokes - humanity generally does.
... I just want one last rehearsal, if only to hear Wayne Anderson start another diatribe post-coffee consumption.
... where's my sardonic yet lovable little sister when I need her at her crankiest?
It hasn't been easy, but so far it's gotten better. Anberlin - Alternative Christian Rock - has replaced... somewhat... Mahler (Alternative Christian Post-Romantic.) Georgia, packing, and cleaning around Grandmom's house has distracted me from facebook; the dog has hidden herself, which means either I banter with myself (not that far-fetched) or not at all... and Mary Frances returns tomorrow.
... Hoorah!
Things might just be okay, afterall.
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