the other way

On the outside. 

Learning things you never knew about yourself can be really cool. I had one of those moments today.

Learning things you never knew about yourself can totally suck. I had one of those moments today too.

I don’t know what to think. I have a mess that I don’t even know where to begin to sort out. I don’t know how to mentally look at it, let alone approach it…let alone solve anything.

I wish I could talk more about this,
but where are the words?
The shower is calling my name or
I’d wait right here for them.
Later, words.

This gets me enough to rant about here. I try really hard not to, but it’s seriously the grossest. Today, someone besides me took the trash out for the first time this year! Usually, when the trash can fills up, my roommates will just start another bag of trash next to the garbage can instead of ever taking it out. This is also the first time most of these dishes have been done all semester. It’s seriously the most disgusting mess, but I’ll spare you most of the details.

What gets me is one roommate in particular. I always hear her claiming “this isn’t my mess” and how she’s disgusted by it and shouldn’t have to clean it. “I only ever eat at my sorority house or get takeout.” In reality, many of the dishes that have been sitting on our kitchen counter are from when she and her friend were basically permanent residents of our sofa while they weren’t at choir rehearsal before their tour over winter break. I know because I cleaned bowls, plates, silverware, and half-empty cups and cans (all molding) out of the living room after they left for tour. I was the only other person home at the time, so who the hell else was it?! And I love how passive-aggressive all her comments are (and yes, I realize how passive-aggressive and hypocritical I’m being by posting this on the internet, but I could care less). She never asks me to clean, although I have on several occasions asked her to. I wonder if she has actually deluded herself into thinking it’s not her mess or if she just thinks I’m stupid enough to believe her. 

Then people do things like fill mixing bowls with all the dirty silverware and then put water in it to let them soak, but never dump out the water. It’s been sitting there, full of water, since the opera 3 weeks ago.

I’ve been eating off paper plates since before class started. Two weekends ago, I grabbed a few plates, bowls, and some silverware from a set my mom hates so that I don’t have to share dishes with them or eat off paper plates. I know and can in fact prove that none of these dishes are mine. I am bringing back some mixing bowls after spring break and most of the cups and mugs in the apartment are already mine, so after break I won’t have to share anything except the occasional pot or pan (which I’m really strict about washing right away anyway, so that way someone else can use it to cook). So my roommate can shut her passive-aggressive little trap.

I’ve been skipping so much class, not doing things I need to do, half-assing everything. I skipped two classes yesterday and two today. I hate missing class. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Do I just have a bad case of spring fever? Is apathy pervading my life? 

I mean. I have a theory. Firstly, I channel more of myself into things in the winter because it’s easier then. There’s nothing else to put my energy into…it’s dark and cold and often lonely. Now that it’s warm, all I want to do is adventure outside and call the world mine. Secondly, and probably more to the point, while I love what I’m doing, I am just surrounded by so much fucking bullshit every single day. I think that’s playing a big role in making me not want to be anywhere. There’s such a lack of control.

I don’t know, I really don’t. All I have are theories and maybes. I’m sure it all factors in to some degree. I’d be lying, though, if I said I wasn’t worried about me.

Take off the lace, love. Put on some plaid, button those buttons instead. Now look in the mirror. There she is, you found her! She was right there all along, I swear. But since it’s been so long, turn around and give her a hug. Tell her you love her, but only if you mean it. Find it within you. She needs it today.

This may or may not become a series. Consider yourselves warned.

When I was in junior high, I lived in the band room. It was also the choir room, but there were several bands and only one choir, so everyone called it the band room. I started and ended each day there. My study halls were all there. My directors probably saw me more than my parents did, considering I was pretty permanently locked in my room when I was home. “Home.” The band room was my home.

It was (and still is) a pretty large room, in the corner of which there was a door to the directors’ office. Mr. Lamb and Miss Ryan shared this office. Mr. Lamb was such a character. He told “6th-grader jokes,” which were just your stereotypical blonde jokes with 6th-graders as the subjects. He let me put a “Thought of the Day” on the board each morning after band and before his music classes. They were mostly ridiculous things like, “Why are there chocolate-covered raisins, but not raisin-covered chocolates?” but Mr. Lamb didn’t care. He said it gave the 6th-graders something to think about, and they needed to think.

Anyway, the office. There was, and may still be, a list on the door to the office. It was at least 4 sheets of paper long, taped together lengthwise. The list was titled “YOU KNOW YOU’VE BEEN IN BAND TOO LONG WHEN:” and it was numbered. There had to be at least 200 things on the list, and every time I went up to the office I read a few of them to entertain myself. I almost always laughed at how much they applied to me, which they unvaryingly did. Some of my favorites were, “You’ve called your director ‘Mom’ and/or ‘Dad.’ I don’t do that much anymore, but for junior high me, it was a frequent Freudian slip.

The one I just remembered, though, as I carried a cup of coffee and a plate of pastries down a quasi-flight of stairs, is one that still applies to me every single day: “You roll-step through the cafeteria to avoid spilling your lunch.”

I really don’t mind sharing what I have with pretty much anyone I don’t hate. Seriously, what’s mine is yours until you give me a reason not to trust you with it anymore.

But the second you take something without asking…

1. “It all makes sense….My heart smiled.”
2. “I knew from first meeting Sophia Maria Andricopulos that she would go into music education…I knew that she would become a leader….I watched Sophia Maria grow from a shy tenor sax player to an active member in the choirs, bands, and leadership team within the music department….she earned and took advantage of every opportunity available, and did so with a humble smile and professional demeanor. She truly found her voice within the music department, and it has encouraged her to give that voice to future musicians, something I see her flourishing with while in the classroom. She embodies every skill that SWAG stands for: Passion, initiative, communication, teamwork, independence, musicality, and spunk. I see her leading her floor meetings, encouraging dynamic relationships amongst her members. I see her engaging with the DMA Campers, encouraging students to challenge their social norms, and interacting with the rest of the SWAG team for the good of the program. She will be a fantastic asset to the program, and I, without any hesitation, recommend her for your program….I can attest that she has been one of the top students that I have had the pleasure of working with, and am thrilled to see her possibly joining the SWAG family.”
3. “I feel cornered and stupid and shaky and ANGRY AS FUCK and depressed and shitty all over…Fuck man like what the fucking actual fuck. And what the fuck gives you the right to be a bitch to me…I was right not to be interested in anything you have to say… If you really cared, you’d stay the hell away from me. If I had my way right now I’d rather never see your face or hear your voice again.”
4. You’re so worthless I don’t need to know your name. I would really rather not sit by you. We don’t need to talk. Your stories aren’t welcome here. Your experience is worthless. 

What the hell do I do with that?