May. 20th, 2017

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About a year ago, as I was telling a friend about all the fun I had with my vocal ensemble, she replied, “Oh I can imagine! I wanted to join this rock choir but too bad, there was a waiting list, ahahahaha”

… and then my old East-German instincts kicked in. 

See, when I was a kid and we’d go visit my grandma in East Germany, this would happen all the time: we’d pass a lineup and we’d just walk over and join it. Sometimes we didn’t even know what we were lining up for, but it didn’t really matter: if we didn’t need it, we certainly knew someone who would. So she said “waiting list” and I immediately thought, “I better get my name in now in case I ever want to join them, because this might take a while”. 

Two days later I got an email for an audition. I panicked and asked a friend what I should do, she was all YOU GOT NOTHING TO LOSE! DO IT!, and long story short, I ended up joining a second choir and I now have 36 songs to memorize because I have two different concerts coming up in the next two weeks. Thirty-six, that’s right - half in English, half in French. I calculated the other night that I’d just had a full 20 hours of rehearsals over a period of one week, not counting the individual memorization/practice time at home, and of course I also work full time.

My brain has decided to take over the memorizing and is now kicking into high gear. It goes like this:

Brain, at 2 am: sweet dreams are made of thiiiiiis

Me: I WOULD KNOW IF I WERE ABLE TO SLEEP. I ONLY DREAM WHEN I SLEEP. SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LET ME SLEEP.

Brain *piously*: Who am IIIIIIIIII to disagreeeeeeeee

Me *buries head in pillow* 

Me *reads a post about @thebibliosphere‘s demon rose*

Brain *bayayaaaas its way into Seal’s kiss from a rose*: IIIIIIII’VE BEEEEEEN KISSED BY A ROSE ON THE GREY

Me *aloud to myself*: not this rose, you complete arse.

Husband: huh? 

Brain, in the middle of the night: IS THERE LIFE ON MAAAAAAAARS?

Me: can we wonder about that some other time? Please? 

My nights, guys. My nights. I just want them back. 

Also, I now miss the sweet olden times when my English wasn’t good enough to understand the actual lyrics of songs, or when I just didn’t care (I can still tune out the meaning of words in English and just listen to the music of the language, something I cannot easily do with French or German). I used to love the Smiths, for instance, and now I have to LEARN lyrics like 

“if a ten ton truck 

kills the both of us, 

dying by your side 

well the pleasure, the privilege is mine”

Seriously, dude? Seriously? Wouldn’t you rather, oh I don’t know, have ice cream with your sweetheart? Or something?

Please, brain, leave me alone, because there’s a fire starting in my heart, reaching a fever pitch and oh I am so fucked…. 

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