Blow big man, blow.

Today was State for ISSMA solo and ensemble. I woke up at four, then fell back asleep because someone was in the shower. Then, my mother woke me up at 5 telling me that I only had a half hour. That made me mad, just because she took at least an hour in the shower and she knew I had somewhere to be. So, after quick preparation, Dad and I left for Indy at 5:30. As we approached Indy, he forgot to merge into a certain road because he missed the sign, so we got lost briefly. But, after a quick sorting, we were again well on our way to NCHS. We got there, I met with my ensemble, and we played. And played well. We got a first on our ensemble. I have yet to see the comments sheet.

So, right after the ensemble with my father with the tenor and me with my alto, I went and did my solo. I'm really bummed. I didn't feel nervous or anything at all, and I thought I'd done pretty well, but I guess not; I got a thirteen. I'm so upset. This really sucks. I don't know. My dad insisted on buying an accompianst medal for Mr. P., and I'm gonna feel like such a dork giving it to him... I'd much rather give him flowers or something. Yes, flowers.

On the way home, we navigated our way through the unfamiliar yet memory-jogging West Lafayette, where we surprised my brother and took him out to lunch. It was good to see him. I marvel at that man. We ate at Jimmy John's, which I know simply as "the place that delivers" although everything down there delivers. Tuna salad... mmm. Had it for dinner last night, too.

I really like Sean Cunningham's mother; what a personable woman, the epitome of a mother. I remember that on my first day of lessons with Mr. Pritchett, he was still in a lesson when I got there and she was sitting in the band room waiting, and once she got the chance to talk to Mr. P., she just went on and on and on and on and on talking about Sean and vacations and cute motherly things. Today, she and I started chatting before the ensemble, we got to introducing ourselves, and she is just the sweetest woman. She's perfectly normal, friendly, soccer mom, fan club president... that kind of woman. Chris' mom was there, all smiles, and everytime I saw her, she was beaming with the kind of joy that only a mother could have for her son, a pride that says, "I'm accomplished simply because I gave birth to this fine young man." She looked like she constantly wanted to giggle with delight. Kyle's mom was there too, and though I've never met her, I can tell that she really is proud of Kyle's talent, but I really think, just by reading her expressions, that she underestimates his abilities. But she's a participant of his high school career, and she's really involved in band parents.

Daddy was there, proud and smiling, applauding, being my consolance after my upesetting score. He drove, 2 hours and 45 minutes each way, voluntarily, and I didn't mind that when we ate lunch with Dommy that much attention wasn't paid to me; Dad's a dad to the two of us. What an incredible juggle.

She didn't go. She easily could have.

I love Dad.
I love Dommy.
I love her...
...but I pity her. I cannot scour empathy or much sympathy for her sour mind and the bitter taste on her tongue. To her, there's always a blame, and it's never hers; but that's not the point: there should never be a blame in the first place.

I love my brother so much.
Auto response from LiquidTemerity: have i mentioned that my little sister is wicked good at playing saxaphone? well she is.

What a wicked cool sibling.