i wanted to leave you

today i feel: mellow, finally
today i'm hearing: semisonic -- feeling strangely fine
today i'm thinking: that my trust in humanity is fading

It's been one of those days.

I got a note from the police this morning saying that, after all of the stress and irritation that's gone into fixing this ridiculous situation, they're going to let it sit and see what happens. While I feel that I need to respect their decision as a law-enforcement agency, I don't feel that I need to agree with it. Which I don't. Maybe that's just my own fears or something, but if there was someone in this much distress thinking the things that this person is thinking, I'd want to help them as quickly as possible and not let the situation fester any more than it all-ready has. But what do I know. I'm just a kid, after all. Jisus.

Today was the day of my very first official voice lesson ever. I don't like voice lessons; this is why I've never had one. I know my voice very well. I've been dealing with it my entire life. I actually have a relatively good grasp on it: its needs, its capabilities, its strengths and its weaknesses. Me and my voice are tight, yo. I have never had professional voice training, but my voice has been trained my entire life. That's what happens when you live with musicians and vocal performance majors. The thought of someone dicking around with my voice is honestly terrifying. I'm not saying this to sound pretentious or anything, it's just how I feel about it. Singing is my thing. Just mine. No one else's.

So I go to my voice lesson and I meet my teacher and she's nice and everything, no big deal. But I'm out of breath from running across campus in the cold and my asthma decides that, hell, this seems like a brilliant time to act up, and I don't sing as well as I would like. And she starts correcting my German pronunciation, which hits me a little hard because I've been told I have really good German pronunciation and, no offense meant by this, but she's Japanese and they sound different when they speak German, you know? Watch 1941 sometime. It doesn't fit right. The languages are completely different!

And me being me, I get really frustrated. Because singing is my thing, remember? It's easy for me! Why is something so easy for me being so damn hard? This probably isn't helped much by the fact that the day before I was having problems with my German homework (German being the other thing that's really easy for me). What? No! Easy things aren't allowed to be hard all of a sudden! That's why I try things that are hard for me! I get my difficult fix in! Don't turn on me, easy things! Not now! Not when all of these difficult things keep popping up out of the ground like daisies!

So I ring my mum up to talk to her about it because I think that sharing this with someone who understands the whole 'Kiri+singing=easy love' equation will help. The mistake here, of course, is that I ring up my mum and not my da, who's actually good at making me feel better about life. So this conversation results in me getting even more frustrated to the point of actual tears. Walking around Thompson Woods crying does nothing for one's ego, not to mention getting frustrated at something as stupid as a voice lesson. I am an emo kid. That is the moral of this story.

Then I get home. And go talk to a friend of my about a mysterious text message--supposedly from her--that I received last night. And the frustration mounts as I discover that the Love Prism I so cleverly find myself in has grown and blossomed with outside forces deciding to hop on the bandwagon and intervene. Thus occurs the beginnings of what my brother likes to call a 'berserker rage'. And the instrument of frustration becomes 'what business is it of yours what I do with whomever I hang out with'. I decided to take out my irritation on Clarky's desk, a box of whale crackers, a piece of fish, and soothe it with my newly-adopted chew toy. The moral of this story is that I should never leave Christie's presents in B-Town.

I crawled into my cubby and did a bit of homework, took a little nap, did a bit more homework, took another nap, and did more homework and listened to Semisonic. The naps alone have filtered out a great deal of my rage, though I'm still feeling a little antsy and sore from the weird angle. But at least I'm not foaming at the mouth anymore, right? Right! Improvement is good.

Oy vay.

People frustrate me. They frustrate me a lot. I think that my sudden push for honesty in the past year or so has jaded me a bit more than I originally suspected. Even more than that, my sudden need for privacy as a way of protection has caused me to adopt this strange irritation at the spread of rumours. If you want to know something about me, for God's sake come ask me! Don't go on the claims of some secondary source who doesn't know nearly what they think they know and consider that the Word. More often than not, I'll tell you what's going on. If I want to protect someone else, the chances are far slimmer of you getting an answer out of me, but I'm not going to lie to you. Might leave something out, might refuse to tell you, but lie? I don't like lying. I'd go so far as to say that I hate it.

Jisus... I miss frankness. I feel like I should constantly ring up Paige, just so there's someone telling me like it is. Just so that I have that one person that will flat out tell me when I'm being a bitch or depressing or annoying. Just so there's that one person in my life who will say, 'this situation is bad,' or, 'this position is awkward,' or, 'you are a crazy pants'. My love for Paige aside, I really miss that. I really miss having my personal shoulder advisor with me everywhere. Da's pretty good at it too; he's just a little more vulgar about it.

Is this going to be another week of irritating things? ...It is? Damn. I was afraid of that.