I feel weird.
We had a Christmas celebration last night with my grandparents: Papa and Jana, and Grama and Winston. It was nice, but it made me feel like today should be Christmas morning but it's not. Christmas morning's not really happening this year. It will be Christmas Eve morning, if anything. Grama and Winston won't be there since they were here today. They left before I woke up. I mean, I slept until 10:00, so it's not that weird, but still . . .
I get to build musical sets on Thursday, the day I'll go to bed and wake up and pretend it's Christmas. It's like building musical sets on Christmas Eve.
Grama gave me a stuffed cat. His name is Jelly, and he has the floppiest arms and the longest tail and he's just straight up adorable.
I think I should friend that bastard who was nasty in Christina's journal and then proceeded to friend her and several of her other friends . . . which confuses me and makes me worry that he (I think it's a he) actually knows them.
See, he seems to need some friends. He's so unhappy. I shall conquer his destructive instigating tendencies with the JOY OF FRIENDSHIP!!! *Puts fists under chin, eyes get big and watery and shiny and shaky like crazy anime girl.*
. . . or maybe I'll just leave him alone and he'll go away.
Lol . . .
( Things I Need To Do Before I Leave: )
I want to play this ballet for YHO . . . or in normal Orchestra. Dr. Inglefield already decided on some random obscure ballet, and Mr. Briddell told me that if I picked up all of the tuners on the stage that one night, he'd think about it . . . but considering how well he listened the last time I suggested something *cough*thequartetwhichIspecificallyaskedhimtofindminorand/orromanticandheshowsupwithsomesillyHadynpiecethatwastotallymajorandtotallyhappyandshallowandit'sonlybecausewespitedhimandchoseadifferentpiecewithinthebookthatwassadanywaythatIkeptanyofmysanity*cough*. At least Hadyn wrote some minor stuff. Thank you, Hadyn. You can't go wrong with quartets composing a thing about the Messiah's death. I mean, if you made that happy . . . um . . .
We had a Christmas celebration last night with my grandparents: Papa and Jana, and Grama and Winston. It was nice, but it made me feel like today should be Christmas morning but it's not. Christmas morning's not really happening this year. It will be Christmas Eve morning, if anything. Grama and Winston won't be there since they were here today. They left before I woke up. I mean, I slept until 10:00, so it's not that weird, but still . . .
I get to build musical sets on Thursday, the day I'll go to bed and wake up and pretend it's Christmas. It's like building musical sets on Christmas Eve.
Grama gave me a stuffed cat. His name is Jelly, and he has the floppiest arms and the longest tail and he's just straight up adorable.
I think I should friend that bastard who was nasty in Christina's journal and then proceeded to friend her and several of her other friends . . . which confuses me and makes me worry that he (I think it's a he) actually knows them.
See, he seems to need some friends. He's so unhappy. I shall conquer his destructive instigating tendencies with the JOY OF FRIENDSHIP!!! *Puts fists under chin, eyes get big and watery and shiny and shaky like crazy anime girl.*
. . . or maybe I'll just leave him alone and he'll go away.
Lol . . .
( Things I Need To Do Before I Leave: )
I want to play this ballet for YHO . . . or in normal Orchestra. Dr. Inglefield already decided on some random obscure ballet, and Mr. Briddell told me that if I picked up all of the tuners on the stage that one night, he'd think about it . . . but considering how well he listened the last time I suggested something *cough*thequartetwhichIspecificallyaskedhimtofindminorand/orromanticandheshowsupwithsomesillyHadynpiecethatwastotallymajorandtotallyhappyandshallowandit'sonlybecausewespitedhimandchoseadifferentpiecewithinthebookthatwassadanywaythatIkeptanyofmysanity*cough*. At least Hadyn wrote some minor stuff. Thank you, Hadyn. You can't go wrong with quartets composing a thing about the Messiah's death. I mean, if you made that happy . . . um . . .