Off I go. Off again to band camp. Off again for the last time. Surprisingly, out of my jet-lag, I'm not exactly dreading it so much anymore. No. I have so many shennanigans planned that I actually am almost looking forward to it.
I wonder, however, if it is so bad to make suggestions. I wonder if it is so frowned-upon to be discontent. I wonder if it was jumping to conclusions. I wonder if I have become that person.
If I am permitted to answer my own questions with my own opinion, I will.
To the first question: Absolutely not.
To the second question: Perhaps.
To the third: Most likely.
To the fourth: I shall have to prove that I am not.
Once again, I, too, am turning mole-hills into mountains. I still have more questions, though. What makes everything here such a big deal? A giant clandestine deal? I'll give you a hint. It starts with an 'A' and ends with a 'tude'. Something I have plenty of, especially after flight exhaustion. I'm going to have to start biting holes in my tongue, that's it. It's so decietful, because since when has Becca Robinson ever brought anything to ruin?
All I'd like to do is have a stress-free, fun time with friends. When I've got frustrations up the wazoo, yes, it is hard to sit still.
Even so, I'm thankful, as I always have been. I do miss Ireland immensely, and I wish I were there. I'd trade a small-town life with crazy marching band camps and boredom for demon-posessed people and street theatre any day. Adventure is what I'm looking for, and coming from one, nothing tops it.
So band camp won't be an adventure, but I don't believe that it will completely suck. Maybe just a little, but now we've actually got plans for actual food and actual time for actual "fun" things and actually...I'm not uber-dreading.
So that's the way it's going to be, O my brothers.