And now, I can’t really think of anything to say.


Have you ever had one of those days that you just can’t remember a thing that happened? That was today. Today is just a blur. I remember my classes, and that’s it.


I tried to make myself some weird concoction for dinner tonight with the new sauce I bought, but it didn’t turn out at all and I ended up just throwing it away.


I’m listening to three songs over and over again…The theme from My Big Fat Greek Wedding, La Valse D’Amelie, and L’Valse des Mostres from Amelie. The last one is played by an accordian, and it reminds me of my maternal grandfather, who used to play the accordian. He died twelve years ago, and his accordian is buried in a closet somewhere at my grandmother’s house. I wish I could learn to play it, but it’s so old now, and heavy, besides;  so much so that I probably could not pick it up.


He used to play the piano by ear, as well. I remember my mom telling me stories that she would bring home a piece for him and play it a few times, and he’d be able to play it back just from hearing her play it over. They always tell me, “He’d be so proud if he could hear you play”. I don’t know why, but that’s almost upsetting to me, somehow.


I have this vivid memory of him coming to my house when I was about six or so, I guess, and bringing me a birthday card. He didn’t come up to the house; I ran down to the gate to meet him, and he gave me the card then drove off. I was so excited.


I found out a few months ago that he did that because he had seen my mom in the grocery store a few days before–I think he was with one of the women he had had an affair with, and her children–and she had angrily berated him for not even knowing the birthdays of my sister and I, who were his only grandchildren. So he brought me the card out of guilt. Talk about tainting a memory!


I’d still like to learn to play his accordian, though. I can just see myself trying to navigate the huge thing. But, my oboe teacher is worried that I’m taking to much upon myself, trying to learn the oboe and the violin at once. I’m personally a little put off that she would say that. I think it’s because I cried once in lessons, but I had had a very stressful day and was frustrated with Oskar on top of it, and it pushed me over the edge. I tried to explain my position and mentioned that I struggle with depression, and her eyes got all big and she asked if I was on medication. I tried to explain, not that kind of depression, more like when I’m high, I’m very high and when I’m low I’m veeeeery low indeed, but I think she think’s I’m psycho, now. Last tuesday, I was in a really good mood, and gosh-darnit it was like she wouldn’t let me be happy! I mean, really! Leave me alone.  I’m a perfectionist by nature, so naturally I get frustrated with myself often, but really! Let me be happy, and don’t you dare tell me I can’t accomplish something.


Well, look. I found something to say, after all.


I have an exam tomorrow I must study for.


Here’s a nugget of joy for the night:


“In poets as true Genius is but rare,


True taste as seldom is the critick’s share.”


-Alexander Pope.  


Goodnight!

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