Another day has come to an end, and I have felt the need to write something with actual substance to cover up my previous post which was vague and full of angst. However, nothing really comes to mind, except that...
Lydia, a person of great strength and a freckled face adorned with wheat-colored hair, beat me senseless at a game of croquet. Even when I cheated mercilessly (it was at Kevin and Kostik's open house, okay, we don't actually play croquet on a regular basis).
I have found a new love for Russian names such as Irina and Svetlana. Too bad my heritage lies with Native America, Ireland, Mexico, and Spain...or else my future daughters might have those names. Wait...I don't want any future children. Nevermind, then. :)
There is nothing in my brain that makes me the least bit qualified to teach piano to those who are my age and older, nevertheless, I have taken Casey under my wing. She is, without a doubt, the most entertaining student I've ever had, probably because she is, by definition, my theatre sister. "A little more than my friend, a little less than my whore...she must be my theatre sister." Inappropriate as that may be, it is really rather true. I really hope that everything works out and she gets to play Ben Folds just like she wants to. :)
The Wardell family continues to amaze me, even when my subtly awkward social graces continue to surprise me. Really, though, I'm such a little rascal sometimes. That's what I love about me. I figure that I have enough guilt in my life, so I'll just embrace the fact that my ridiculously large circle of friends loves me for those graces and more.
I read an entire book in one sitting yesterday, which is something I do not normally do. Of course, it was only 256 pages, double spaced, and a book that one would read normally at age 12. Nevertheless, I found it intriguing. So B. It by Sarah Weeks.
Oh, she's a good apple and a family gal. Respected, liked, no...loved. She's one of the people I admire the most, but she's always hurt in my mind. The scarred and angry part of me comes out when she's looking. She's the one, I'm ashamed to say, that my anger attacks. I suppose that might be because anger attacks the ones that are loved the most. Even so, when these things happen, I love her more because she always is willing to wipe the slate clean. Fancy going back to this memory, but she's stolen quite the chunk of my heart. Only a rare few have done that and managed to hold on to it. These are the respected people in my book. These are the ones that I'm not afraid to apologize to. These are the ones who love me back as well. I refuse to be vulnerable again, but these are the ones who would never make me vulnerable. I thank them.
Wow, there's some substance for you.