Oh. Hello there.
I'm sitting in an empty classroom, waiting for ear-training to start. I love ear-training, by the way. Mostly because Saint Paul actually taught us a little bit about what we need to know in college.
Huh. Maybe that can constitute my rash college makeover: I follow an alternative religion now. We worship our teachers for actually preparing us for college. There's some elements of Jainism thrown in there too.
This week, my sweater-clad and mason-jar-armed friends, has been Hell on ice. That's a loaded term. Obviously, Hell suggests that the week has been disastrous, overwhelming and has possibly involved torture.
The on-ice part, though, indicates that it has also been full of pageantry, tinsel and tight pink leotards.
And while I have to concede that the fuchsia spandex may have been missing, the rest of it is pretty damn accurate.
This has been PLU's illustrious Dead Week, thoughtfully coinciding with the most rigorous concert schedule I have ever had. Six concerts, people. Two long bus rides. Lots of talk about the holiness of Christ and the beauty of Mary.
As a side note, wouldn't it be funny if Mary actually turned out to be super, super unfortunate looking? Can you imagine the justifications that would be attempted? "She's just big boned!" "She was going through and awkward stage!" "She was an adorable toddler!"
It would be glorious.
***
Despite their terrible planning in terms of considerate musical programming, I do find myself falling in love with the school I have landed in. I like walking around campus at night. I like the little tables outside the cafeteria, each with their own half-assed cause in need of my support, please, it'll just take a second. I adore my English professor, but don't tell her because I am doing a really good job of loving her from afar. I am making tentative friendships, but I'm being careful. I like the coffee-shop on the corner, where I know a girl who has a mohawk and where I curl up beside Alex on the couch and try to pretend like I don't have an appointment in twenty minutes.
There have been some downfalls. Moments where I wonder if I'm in the right place, seriously, a middle of the morning, cold-sweat kind of panic. I missed my first concert. I've played some Shostakovich really badly. Not like picky-stuff bad. Just flat out ugly. And there vast days of feeling a little lonely, because there is an unholy lack of flannel and guitars here. No one dyes their hair the shades of a rainbow. And I miss, pathetically enough, Savage underlining things on the whiteboard, and Paul getting excited about some concert that we will barely pull off.
Yes, I think, I have missed things. Worse at the beginning of the year. But now, new things are creeping up on me, and I'm starting to feel like this place might be home soon.
***
A quick story:
The other day, I was walking toward the University Center with my cello on my back and my enormous bag on my shoulder, and I was kind of toddling along like I normally do, and trying to pretend like I was totally used to lifting this amount of weight on a cross-campus journey.
So I'm stumbling along, headphones for once silent, and I hear this kind of crazy clapping of flip-flops on the frozen path, and suddenly there's this guy, who I've honestly barely said two words to, telling me to hand over my bag. And after a little debate, I handed over the bag and he helped me deliver my things to the University Center.
"That thing is bigger than you are,"
I promise he wasn't trying to hit on me (Ha!), or on anyone in the area. I think that's when I started to feel like I was in the right spot.
***
I hope I see you all quickly. I hope that you are rosy and calm and relieved and happy. I think I am, although, with two papers, a concert, and several finals to study for, I don't think I look it at the moment.
I'm going to sign off here, otherwise, we're headed for even more sentimentality, and things could get ugly.
but do take care,
Piper
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