Without You

I miss Amber. Yesterday I wrote a letter to Cat Fancy magazine. "...I don't have any cats because my dad is allergic and refuses to consider getting one even with all the new medicines and your article about how to control cat allergies. Well, I suppose this isn't quite true because last year a stray cat took up residence in my backyard. I named her Amber and set up a home for her in the gazebo. We think she was abandoned because she was too friendly to be a feral cat. We put up found posters all over the neighborhood and put her up on the internet, but no one claimed her. We kept her for two months until we took her to the local animal shelter for adoption. We did this because Amber needed more attention than I could give her, and she needed to be inside. She couldn't come in my house because of my dad's allergies. She may also have had separation anxiety problems from being abandoned. Although we never officially owned Amber, the paperwork at the animal shelter says it was an owner surrender, so I like to think that she was my cat...."

I started reading "Without You: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and the Musical RENT" by Anthony Rapp today. It isn't helping. It's actually making it worse. And listening to "Your Eyes" and "Finale B" is definitely not helping. And talking on the phone with my sister about how stressful school is and how many things I need to do and how many clubs I need to join and how I need to get a boyfriend isn't helping. And telling her that everyone in band thinks I'm just a stupid freshmen doesn't help. I feel so alone, and Amber's not here to comfort me. I remember one Friday that one Friday was the worst. Mr. Knapp was making my life miserable. That was the day we all started crying. He didn't notice. I was hit in the face with a book. He didn't notice. I was so disturbed I got out of sixth period to go to the office and tell Ms. Rav. But I couldn't speak because I was crying so much. THen when I got home, I wrote a poemish. I was too disturbed to distinguish between prose, poetry, and what/who I was writing about. It sounds really bad. But it gets the point across.

The sky is crying

But not with me

It’s crying for all the things

You used to be

I had high hopes

But you proved me wrong

I thought you were my friend

But you weren’t for long

There’s evil in this place

You made a promise

To hide me from it but you couldn’t

Shield me from yourself

Is this a circus?

Are you doing your job?

If I even have to ask

You know something’s not right

You know something’s wrong

When you cater to the slackers

And forget those who work

Those who matter

You forgot me

Or did you ever meet me in the first place?

You mattered to me

I thought it was mutual

But when you didn’t notice

My friend was hurt

I began to notice

You were too wrapped up in yourself

Who are you to change the rules?

I’m afraid and I don’t know of what

I began to hurt and you didn’t even care

Maybe because you didn’t even see me

You pay more attention to my enemies

Than you talk to me

You say you want to help but you never come through

Do we really need to set up a time for talk?

Have you ever felt remorse

For what you’ve done

To not only me but all else

You’ve influenced us

We’ll never be the same

Thanks to you

We’ve learned to distrust

Those who are new

But you’re not new anymore

Stop fooling yourself

I need someone to lean on

You’re just a setback in my quest

I thought I had found who I needed

Thought you could make a difference

But you’ve just confirmed my beliefs

There’s no one for me

Let me be afraid for you

If I’m like anyone else

They’ll all be singing their own lament

About a false friend

I don't know if it sonds like this to you, but it sounds like I'm breaking up with someone. What I meant was I thought I could rely on him to be a good teacher and help me succeed, but he didn't. So I wrote this and went outside to see Amber. It was raining. I love the rain. Amber jumped up on my lap, expecting to be pet. I tried, but I was crying and shaking and Amber didn't like that. She jumped off my lap and went to the other side of the gazebo.

I was all alone and even the cat didn't want to be near me. How pathetic.

And yet, that's how I am right now. I'm all alone and Amber's just a picture on my wall. A handprint on my heart. Pawprint.

It's not that I want to be comforted by someone, I actually want to be left alone to vent. And I know I'm not alone because God and Erik are always there. Sometimes I wish I had a sign from them that they were there to watch me. Then I cry a lot because no sign ever comes. Then I listen to my iPod to go to sleep and I get the sign. It's called "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

"If you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind"

That's not Paul Simon, that's Erik. Erik's message. It's everywhere. Just open your ears. He's with us all the time. I wonder if this is how Christians feel about Jesus. ttyl!

Adventures in Geography

I don't know if I've complained about geography in my blog, but it hasn't been going well. Mr. Ballou is constantly unprepared, assigns us homework on stuff we haven't covered, tests us on things he says he won't test us on, and tries to be too creative in his lesson plans. He can't focus in one topic and can't control the class. It's pretty stressful when I'm trying to learn because it's not a learning-friendly environent. Plus, it's the only class where I can actually smell the smoke on the kids, so that sucks.

But today, we were finishing our posters on Africa (which I protested because I don't learn by doing posters and I can't learn from posters my peers have done because they're not thorough enough and the extravagantness of the poster distracts from the info, so it doesn't stick in my mind.). My group finished (I think), but it doesn't matter because they wre due today so we turned it in. Whatever. So Mr. Ballou was playing some song on his computer, and he had his iPod. So I took out my iPod and we tried to load my songs onto his computer, but it didn't work. But it was nice because we listened to The Who Live at Leeds while my iPod was connected to the computer. But everyone was getting pissed because they couldn't figure out how to get songs from my iPod onto the computer. Then we figured that the songs were encripted specially so it was impossible for us to do that. So we were sad, but then the bell rang and I left.

Having my iPod at school makes my day a lot better. In biology, after I finish my work, I listen to my iPod. After school, iPod. Running in PE, I think I should, but I don't know if Ms. Peisch would let me.

Estoy muy emocianada porque acabo de aprender progressive tense en espanol! Que chevere! Progressive tense sounds prettier than present tense. Which is prettier: Bailamos o Estamos bailando? (it means we are dancing) Estamos bailando, although longer, is just prettier. Especially if you use it a lot. Estoy escuchando los jovenes quien estan cantando muy fuerte.

yay! ttyl!

Music Theory Lessons

Yes, I figured out that the answer was $96 right after I posted my last blog entry, but your way is a lot more logical than how I went about it. Cameron, I need to got your email address so we can talk. Oh, and the dream I had about a cross-dressing Cameron was about a different Cameron, FYI.

A few days ago I felt like being random, so I asked one of my favorite authors on fanfiction.net if I could borrow her Erik for an afternoon to help me with my music theory homework. She agreed, and I wrote a sketch about it. Plus, it actually helped me remember everything. So now whenever I think about direct octaves, I'm going to imagine Erik getting really mad at me.

I want you all to read it, but I doubt any of you would go to it if I linked it, so I'll just paste the whole thing in. Just a note, the Emily in the sketch refers to the Emily that I borrowed Erik from, not myself.

Saturday. Such a wonderful day, Saturday. It was just another Saturday, a day filled with homework and chores. Fun, fun. Except that it actually wasn’t. Because this Saturday was different. Erik’s coming over!

I completely cleaned my room. I threw all of my sister’s stuff out of it, and vacuumed. Everything was going to be perfect for Erik’s arrival. But I couldn’t figure out whether or not I should cover up the mirror on my closet door, and if so, how.

I wasn’t quite sure what time Erik was coming over, so I decided to start on my geography homework. I had to read one of Jules Ferry’s speeches on French imperialism in the late 1800’s and answer a few questions about it. I was halfway through answering the questions when a voice behind me says, “What a freak. He’s saying ‘superior races’ have a duty to wipe out all the ‘inferior races’?”

Of course, I totally freaked out. I was surprised someone was in my room because I thought I was alone, and then to hear this absolutely amazing voice right in my ear was an experience I’ll never forget. I spun around in my chair so quickly that I hit my arm on my desk and fell out of my chair. Then I saw him. Erik. The Angel of Music. In the flesh. In my bedroom. That fact that we were still in my bedroom disproved the notion of me having died and gone to Heaven.

I was in shock. I stared at his intelligent green eyes, and his sensuous mouth, his thin but well-muscled frame, his hands. I used to fantasize about Erik’s hands because they were supposedly so amazing, but that adjective doesn’t do them justice. His fingers are abnormally long and thin, bony jointed, and pale skinned. But what he can do with those hands! Make the most exquisite music, build the sturdiest building, pull the funniest prank on Carlotta, or hold a pencil and write my music theory homework for me.

I’d love to make this account extremely romantic and say that I fainted and he picked me up and put me on my bed, tenderly caring for my scraped elbow, but that didn’t happen. Unfortunately. What really happened is that I blushed so much I was certain I had turned purple. Erik ignored me and went to pick up the paper with Jules Ferry’s speech on it. He skimmed the page, flipping it to the back. “The audacity of it all…” he muttered.

His lips moved. It may not sound like all that, but trust me, it was. I don’t know what I wanted to do more: make him speak again, or just kiss him. Luckily for him, I managed to restrain myself by reminding myself that Emily would kill me if I even thought about such things.

I picked myself up off the floor, running my finger through my hair to make sure it looked okay. I realize now how stupid that was, for Erik is the last person in Heaven or on Earth to judge anyone on their appearance. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t quite think straight. Erik finished reading, and he turned to look at me. I was lucky my knees didn’t give out.

Then he spoke again. “Marin School of the Arts presents ‘Hamlet’?” he asked as his visible eyebrow rose.

I was extremely confused. Then I realize he was reading off of my sweatshirt. “Oh. Yeah,” I replied, looking at my sweatshirt. “It’s my school play. I saw it last night.”

Erik lost interest in the subject and turned back to have one last penetrating look at the copy of Jules Ferry’s speech. He then put it down and picked up the red folder on my desk. “What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s my band folder.”

“Oh yeah. You need help on your theory homework,” Erik remembered.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling out my theory homework. “Here it says that parallel 5^th and octaves are bad, but then on this page it says they’re okay.”

Erik took the packet and began reading, “‘The reason Examples 5-11a and 5-11b are unacceptable in the tonal style is that they contain parallel 5ths and 8ves. Although such parallels regained acceptance in the twentieth century, composers of tonal music generally followed the convention, dating from around 1450, of avoiding parallel 5ths and 8ves as well as their octave equivalents, such as 12^th and unisons. Note that this does not rule out the duplication of a line at the 8ve, which was common in orchestral writing. The reason for avoiding parallel 5ths and 8ves has to do with the nature of counterpoint. The P8 and P5 are the most stable of intervals, and to link two voices through parallel motion at such intervals interferes with their independence much more than would parallel motion at 3rds or 6ths.’” He thought about what he just read and said, “Well, that makes sense to me. Do you have any questions so far?”

“If parallel 5ths and 8ves are acceptable today, why am I learning this?” I asked.

“Because they still sound bad, even if they are generally acceptable today,” Erik answered patiently. “Shall I continue?”

I nodded.

“‘We can deduce a rule of parallel motion: objectionable parallels result when two parts that are separated by a P5 or a P8, or by their octave equivalents, move to new pitch classes that are separated by the same interval.’”

“So objectionable parallels are bad?” I asked.

“Yes, hence the name objectionable parallels,” Erik answered.

I blushed again, but Erik didn’t notice because he began reading again. “‘If you apply this rule to the three parts of Example 5-12, you will find that all of them are acceptable. In Example 5-12a, the soprano and tenor do not move to new pitch classes, whereas in Example 5-12b, the 5ths do not occur between the same pair of parts. Finally, the parallel 4ths in Example 5-12c are allowed, even thought a P4 is the inversion of a P5.’”

Erik read a lot more, but I kind of lost interest in what he was saying because I was still stunned by his appearance in my bedroom.

Time passed. I don’t know how much time passed because I was slightly in a daze from the sound of his voice. I snapped out of it when Erik touched my hand. I looked at him. He said, “Are you paying attention? Are you even listening to me?”

I didn’t move. Erik was touching my hand. I sensed he was getting annoyed with me, so I pretended I didn’t care. “Yes, of course I’m listening.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“You asked me if I was listening to you.”

Erik sighed and I lost my breath for a moment. He let go of my hand and turned back to the paper. “Here’s a review section. ‘What do we mean by the focal point of a melody?’”

“The highest note,” I answered.

Erik picked up a pencil and wrote down the answer.

“‘What scale degree is the strongest tendency in tonal music?’”

“7th chords always lead to 1st chords.”

“Good. ‘In a four-voice texture, adjacent upper parts should be kept within what interval?”

“An octave.”

“‘Under what circumstances are unequal 5ths unacceptable?’”

“What are unequal 5ths?” I asked, confused.

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Erik scolded as he flipped back to the page about unequal 5ths. “Unequal 5ths is when the music goes from a P5 interval to a tri-tone, or vice-versa.”

“Okay…” I muttered, still very confused.

“It says here that unequal fifths are acceptable unless they involve a °5-P5 between the bass and another voice,” Erik answered for me.

“Oh, I get it…” I lied.

“Then you better get this last one right,” Erik said. “‘What are direct octaves?’”

I had no idea. I shifted uncomfortably, “What are you going to do if I get it wrong?” I asked, feeling very small.

“I’m going to get very frustrated with you,” Erik answered, tapping his fingers impatiently.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

Erik grumbled, “Emily will get mad at me if I don’t help you finish, so no, I won’t leave.”

I felt a lot better, even though I still didn’t know the answer. In fact, I couldn’t even remember what the question was. I sat down on my bed. “I forgot the word,” I said quietly.

“Direct octaves,” Erik repeated, looking at me with a cold gaze.

I couldn’t meet his gaze. Looking away, I said, “I don’t know.”

Erik threw the pencil down, “Weren’t you paying attention? Everything in this packet is perfectly clear! I read the whole thing to you! Why didn’t you stop me if you didn’t understand something?”

I felt like crying. Erik, my idol, the Angel of Music, whom I had dreamt about so many times and been obsessed with ever since I first heard of Phantom of the Opera, was mad at me. My whole life seemed pointless. I wanted to curl up into a little ball and die. Okay, maybe I’m overreacting. But I did feel like crying.

What was I supposed to say to him? Proclaim my love for him and tell him I couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying because I was so madly in love I couldn’t concentrate on anything when he was so near? No, I couldn’t say that. He’s got a girlfriend already.

“I don’t know,” I said again.

Erik muttered something.

“I do not have ADD!” I exclaimed, indignant.

“…Yeah,” Erik said sarcastically.

“So are you going to tell me the answer?” I asked timidly.

“No. Since you weren’t paying attention, you’re going to read the entire packet over and then answer the question. Then we’ll move on,” Erik instructed.

“But that’s like, over ten pages!” I complained.

“Hey, if I read it, then you can read it too,” Erik shot back, throwing the packet at me.

Sulkily, I took the packet and scooted to the other end of my bed, away from Erik. I tried to ignore him and read the packet as quickly as I could, but I didn’t comprehend anything that I was reading.

Erik got up and looked around my room for the first time. “Wow, you sure like cats,” he muttered, looking at my collage of 593 pictures of cats spanning across two walls.

I pretended to be mad at him and said, “Shhh, I’m reading.”

Erik ignored me and walked over to my bookcase. He scanned the titles and papers on various shelves, getting a sense of what my interests were. “Cats, science fiction, architecture, music, and Phantom of the Opera,” he listed the most common themes of my bookcase.

“That’s great, but I’m trying to read,” I said.

Erik was quiet for a few minutes as he flipped through some floor plans I sketched. Then he became bored and walked over to me. To tell the truth, my room is very small. He didn’t really walk, more like he just pivoted and he was on the other side of the room.

The stood next to me, watching me read. I couldn’t focus, so I looked up at him. He was bored. He took the packet from me and flipped to the page about direct 5ths and octaves. Then he pointed to the paragraph with the definition. I read aloud, “‘Direct 5^th or 8ve results when the outer parts move in the same direction into a P5 or P8, with a leap in the soprano part.”

Erik nodded and brought the packet to my desk so he could write the answer down. “Okay. Now it says, ‘Label the chords in the excerpt below with roman numerals. Then label any examples of parallelism that you can find.’”

I got up and leaned over Erik’s shoulder so I could see the excerpt of which I was supposed to label the chords.

“So what’s this one?” Erik asked, pointing with the pencil to the first chord.

I looked at the notes. “Um, G, so that’s I.”

“Good. Keep going,” Erik said.

We went through all the chords and circled the parallels before moving on to the next exercise. The next exercise was to find and label various errors in the music. It was tough, but I kind of understood and we suffered through it without getting mad at each other again. Finally, we finished the work and got to the last page. It was a summary of the chapter. Erik made me read it because he was afraid I wouldn’t understand it if he read it. I wanted him to read it because his voice was so beautiful. We compromised and agreed that Erik would read it to me and then he’d quiz me a little.

“‘Chords in tonal music are produced by the motions of individual musical lines, and the manipulation of these lines is called voice leading or part writing. A closely related term is counterpoint, which refers to…’” Erik’s voice washed over me, and I fell into a phantasmagoric state. Unfortunately, summaries are quite succinct, and Erik was finished reading after a few minutes.

I snapped out of the trance caused by Erik’s voice and thanked him for helping me, “Thanks so much, Erik! I bet now I’ll be the best in my class.” But then I realized I already was. “Erm, I’ll be so good, I’ll have to move up a class or two.”

Erik tried shrug off the praise, but I could tell that he was pleased by my words. “Do I get a hug?” Erik asked.

I don’t know if my reaction was to faint or to throw myself on him. Instead, I returned his hug nonchalantly and took in his famous spicy scent. I guess I hugged him too long because he kind of pulled me off of himself. Nevertheless, he smiled at me. I think for sure I fainted at this time, because the next I remember is lying on my bed with a red rose in my hands.

I hope you liekd it! ttyl!

I know I haven't updated in a really long time. But I have three dreams to record.

Dream Number One: We were at this mansion. It was north of where I was standing, and I was facing east. It was quite some distance away, and I was on the big grassy field that surrounded the mansion. I was with Christina, and I saw Anthony Rapp walk by. I ran after him because I wanted to say hello, but I tripped. Then I had an out-of-body experience and saw through Erik's eyes. He was underwater, hiding. Christine and Raoul were on the boardwalk near the mansion. Erik was trying to kidnap Christine by snatching her away when Raoul wasn't looking and taking her to his lair, which could be reached by the bay he was swimming in. Then I returned to myself, and Christina and I went in the mansion. We went upstairs to a room facing east, where there were lots of other people. I was reminded vaguely of the time I went to the Young Americans thing. It was a lot of work and I didn't quite know what I was supposed to be doing. I think we were either folding or untangling either fishing nets or cotton sheets. Anthony Rapp was there, and I kept trying to get next to him, but to no avail because then we all went out to the boardwalk. I saw Erik and Christine and Raoul, and I think either I got in the water with Erik, or I saw through his eyes, but I remember looking at Christine while I was in the water. Then I woke up.

Dream Number Two: My mom and I were driving into San Francisco. It was night. We arrived at this little ampitheater. It was in a park, so we were surrounded by grass before the buildings started again. The was a little circle paved with stones and raised half a foot above the concrete surrounding it before the grass started. The concrete was where the audience was supposed to be. The stage was encircled by Roman columns. There were lights on the columns, so we could see the stage. They were putting on the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. I didn't know when it was supposed to start, so I got on the stage to explore. Then the loudspeaker began right hwen I got on stage, "Ms. Pereti, please spell-" but instead of saying syzygy, he spelled it "S-Y-Z-Y-G-Y... We have a winner!" And since no actress was on stage, I pretended to be Ms. Pereti and thank everyone with expressive arm movements. Then I got off stage and stood next to my mom to watch the rest. Everyone came out of stage and began singing "At the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee...". And I saw Christina in a frilly white dress. She was singing Olive Ostrovsky's part. She had an entourage, of which Tess (who played Bertha Robusta in Love Life and Mayhem) and Idina Menzel. They both had frilly white dresses on too. Then I realized it was a dream and I wasn't seeing the Spelling Bee for the second time, and Christina wasn't really a famous Broadway star even though I was really proud of her. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't because I was at school. I was Scout, and Tim Johnson the rabid dog was on the loose. He was shot two times in the chest, but he was still alive and saw me and ran across to maul me. I tried to run, but I tripped over a tree root. He bit me and ripped out my hair. I screamed and called for Atticus, but he was in the library. There was a trial and he was prosecuting Mr. Knapp as a bad teacher. Tim Johnson somehow disappeared and I went in the library just as Mr. Knapp was convicted. All the lawyers had their resumes and they had all been in Cats. I wanted to tell one of them that I had seen Cats recently, but then I remembered about the Spelling Bee and wanted to cry again because it was all a dream. Then I woke up.

Dream Three: It was the day before finals, and we were all at this huge house party. Cameron was in a red dress. I was a bit confused, because he's not a cross-dresser. I was talking to him for a while, but then it was time to go home. I had a motorcycle and I rode to a hotel near where finals were taking place. It only cost me a nickel to stay the night. Then finals came and I didn't understand any of the questons (which were all about biology) and I didn't have one of those papers to bubble in the answers on and I was afraid to ask the people sitting next to me how to answer the questions because then I'd get in trouble for talking and my test would get taken away.

In other news, I took the Honors Chemistry test today. I didn't understand this problem. A store makes $823 selling 5 tape recorders and 7 videos. The 5 tape recorders aggregated $137 more than the 7 videos. How much does a tape recorder cost?
I said $68, but that was a guess. Someone explain it to me! ttyl~

It's a Wonderful Place

I just got back from seeing "It's a Wonderful Place". It's a real work of art. I cried. It moved me. I consider that art, becausr it moved me. That's the difference between art and decoration/entertainment. Whether it moves you or not. You could go to a museum and see a picture of an African slave girl being sold from her mother. It would move you. That arm reaching out to her mother; if only their hands could meet for one final time, everything would be better. The look of anguish on the yougn girl's face that is echoed on her mother's face tenfold. Those cold, masochist white men who have the temerity to think that they are allowed to separate these two. Sure, it's not plesant to look at, but it moves you. Empathy. You suffer with them. You cry with them. You cherish your loved ones even more because of it.

Or you could go to the movies and see a comical love story about a UPS delivery man and the CEO of a frozen food company. It probably won't move you. Heck, it probably doesn't even have a theme. But it's entertaining.

Are people not looking to improve themselves? Would they rather buy a photograph of a tree in autumn because the colors go nicely with the furniture, or would they rather buy a drawing of a plant with one bud and one wilted flower because it reminds them to look ahead and keep going even after something bad happens? Would they rather buy a photograph of a tree in autumn because it invigorates them to get outside and appreciate nature, or would they rather buy a drawing of a plant with one bud and one wilted flower because it's a good drawing?

I'm in a very cynical mood right now. The movie has moved me to think of the wrost in people. I'm not blaming it, it's a nice change to see both sides of everything.

I wouldn't go to that museum because I couldn't handle the emotional onsluaght just now. I love being overanalytical and metaphorical, but today was a lot. I need to numb myself. I need to be a conformist and see the movie instead. Be like Mark. He survives, but he doesn't live. ttyl

And if...

My mind works in strange ways. If someone says something, I can connect it to a song. My mom said "And if you don't like it then we can get you another one" or something, and I was like, "And if it turns out, it's over too fast, I'll make every last moment last, as long as you're mine". And if. That's all it took to connect it to a song.

I had a dream that I borrowed Mr. Ballou's laptop for something. It had tape on it, and it was coming off. I didn't say anything when I returned it to him, because it had been like that already. Then Drew (why is he in so many of my dreams!?!?!?) borrowed it, and showed Mr. Ballou that the tape was coming off. They blamed it on me. So I had to go get more tape to fix it. So I went to the library where my dad was. He was watching this documentary about some National Park in Nevada or something that had a really famous waterfall. It isn't a real place. Then he went over to some kids that had watched the show and he told them about the show. And I was annoyed because they had seen the show too, so he didn't need to tell them about it. He was taking a really long time to talk to them, and Mr. Ballou wanted his laptop fixed so I needed to hurry. I think Allie was with us. Then they got in the car because we had to go buy tape. And I had to change because it was getting dark outside and it was cold. The shirt I wanted to wear was a green floral print fitted long-sleeve shirt. I was wearing it with khaki pants, or something. And a white beater underneath. Weird. I had no jackets to wear with my shirt, so I decided on something else, but then I wanted to change my pants too and I had to take my shoes off to do that and blah blah blah and I was taking a really long time and we were in a hurry because Mr. Ballou would get mad at me if I didn't fix his laptop in time but then I woke up and I never got the tape. But I don't think I woke up. I think the dream just changed, but I can't remember what else happened.

I have to go, ttyl!

Pony trekking or camping! Or just watching TV!

Go out and rent the soundtrack to Monty Python's Spamalot by Eric Idle. Right now. Reserve it on the library site, and go get it. Seriously. We were talking about Finland in geography, and I said I had a song about Finland. Then it was stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

I had a dream that I wrote a play. It had Erik, Christine, Raoul, King Arthur, and Lord Chuffrey in it. It was like a Thousand and One Arabian Nights in terms of setting. But it was like Spamalot in terms of plot. I don't know how Lord Chuffrey got into it. So I had it all set up, and I got a group of people so we could perform it. We went to this library, and all of the books were spin-offs of other books. So instead of having Phantom of the Opera, they had the Angel of Death, which was all about how terrible Erik was and how he killed everyone. And Wicked would have been turned into a book of memoirs from Glinda's point of view. So it was weird. I bought two books. Then we had to run through this gym/water park where everyone was playing dodge ball with basketballs. I got hit, but it didn't hurt, so it was okay. Then we got to where we were going to perform the play, and I wrote the cast of characters on the board (there was a white board backstage). Everyone was pissed off because they thought it was a spin-off of Phantom of the Opera, but it wasn't. And we didn't perform it on a stage, it was like this house and each room was like a scene for the play. And I had set up the props and everything just right so the performers would just go with it, and I knew what they would do in each scenario, so I could set up the whole thing ahead of time. But the play never happened, because no one would listen to me, and they thought it was Phantom of the Opera based because of the characters.
We're playing Bolero in band! You know, the one by Maurice Ravel? Everyone was complaining that it was boring, but I'm so excited! And we're playing a song by John Williams called "Sound the Bells!". It's by John Williams! We have such a cool set! And we played excerpts from the Nutcracker last semester. It's so great to be in a band that plays professional grade music. I just remembered that I have theory homework. ttyl!

Son of a Witch

I finished Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire yesterday. It was really good, I recommend it. But you should read Wicked first. And have read or seen the Wizard of Oz too. I totally predicted the ending; I knew Candle and Liir's daughter would be green. So now Liir has to find Nor and Candle, and take care of his daughter. I wonder what her name will be? Wicked the musical was written by Stephen Shwartz. Maybe her name will be Eshua. For S. Shwa- rtz. Get it?

I had a dream last night. It was a dream within a dream, which makes it superly creepy. My friends and I were all witches and I had a spell book except it was one of my clarinet solos books. And whenever you sang one of the songs, you became the title. So if you sang Defying Gravity, you could fly. If you sang Primma Donna, you would be an Opera diva. So there was this evil thing, I forget what it was, but it was going to kill my cousin and my sister. But I saved them by performing CPR on them. Then I "woke up" and told Drew, Ms. Z-B, and Mr. Halbe about my dream. And then I woke up for real. And it was really cool because my friends and I had gone to a witches convention, where we were on this giant lilypad that floated around in the sky, and we conspired in small groups, but the noise level was so high that I sang at the top of my lungs and only the people conspiring with me could hear me cast the spell. And then I flew away and saw all the witches in their tight groups conspiring loudly, and it was cool because everyone was wearing dresses like the one Idina Menzel does in this picture http://www.beyondtherainbow2oz.com/wicked-b4defy2.jpg. And in this picture http://www.beyondtherainbow2oz.com/wicked-ozcot3.jpg. Or in this picture http://www.beyondtherainbow2oz.com/wicked-end2.jpg or http://www.beyondtherainbow2oz.com/wicked-end3.jpg. So look at them if you want to see the coolness. ttyl!

Klangfarbenmelodie

Klangfarbenmelodie is a term coined by composer Arnold Schoenberg to describe a style of composition that employs several different kinds of tone colors to a single pitch or to multiple pitches. This is achieved by distributing the pitch or melody among several different instruments.

You should all look up a word today. Look up fenestration, prurient, ineffable, solipsistic, soporific, spiv, or ralliform.

Lestat and the dream it triggered

Firstly, of course Chronicles of Narnia wasn't better than Harry Potter. Though I have to say I like Hans Zimmer a lot more than Patrick Doyle, or Charles Doyle, or whoever did the music for the fourth movie.

Lestat was pretty good. Allen Biggs, if I ever meet you, I will not be responsible for my actions. You need to learn that we came to hear Hugh Panaro sing, not you blow our eardrums out on suspended cymbal. It's not your place to challenge Panaro's voice, so back off a little bit. Sure, as suspended cymbal player, you do have to lead the crescendos, but obviously no human voice can get as loud as you, so don't go all out.

On to the actual musical... the good songs were "Make Me As You Are", "The Crimson Kiss", "I Want More", and "Sail Me Away". The others weren't very good. But I don't have a very high opinion of Elton John. He says he wrote Aida. Sorry, Elton, but those rights belong to Giuseppe Verdi.

So Lestat isn't the new Wicked. It's not going to go as far as POTO, or Wicked, or Jesus Christ Superstar. Maybe if they had gotten Andrew Lloyd Webber to do the music, I would've enjoyed it more.

At intermission, I really wanted to go to the first row and talk to Brad Haak. He's the conductor. I also wanted to talk to Hugh Panaro. On the drive home, I had a conversation with him in my head. I want to ask him how it was portraying Erik. What was his favorite kissing scene in POTO? Did he love singing Raoul's part in "Wandering Child"? How was wearing the face applying process? What's his favorite song? How does Andrew Lloyd Webber compare with Elton John?

I couldn't sleep last night, so I dreamed a lot. I dream most when I'm half-asleep. I dreamed that I was directing Lestat, and then when they performed it, I was watching it. And when it was over, I saw Erik, because he was playing Lestat. I was very proud of him, but I couldn't talk to him, so I was sad. James McAvoy was there too, I think he was playing Nicolas. Then I was at this huge house on Balboa Island. Piera was there, only she was Christine. She had lost her memory. I helped her make a turkey sandwich, but there was no whole wheat bread left. It was really random, I know, but that's what happened.

Back to Lestat, I really liked Roderick Hill, who played Nicolas, and Allison Fischer, who was Claudia. She was fabulous! I bet she plays Glinda one day, but I don't know how old she is. She's short, so I'm guessing she's young, but her picture in the cast bio in the program suggests she's older. She's definitely not ten, like her character is. Not that young. I don't think she's got a fansite, so I don't know how old she is.

That's about it, I'm going to leave now. ttyl!

Christmas Update

I saw Chronicles of Narnia on Friday. That James McAvoy, he's pretty hot, isn't he? He played Mr. Tumness. It's kinda funny how he and Gerard Butler -- the only two really goodlooking actors I've seen so far -- are both Scottish.

I remembered the dream I had a while ago. I was at this old house with KK and some other people. It was a two story house, with a wrap around porch. It looked like the stereotypical haunted house. It was night, and we all had brooms. We were learning how to fly. KK and I were the only ones that could do it, and she was better than me. Then KK and I flew above the roof of the house and sang 'Defying Gravity' from Wicked. It was so much fun! Except that I couldn't really control my broom. But I got the hang of it eventually.

I went shopping at Nordstrom and I'm so excited because I actually have a lot of pants now. I've got five pairs of jeans! Yay! We're going to go see Lestat, so I have to go. The main character in Lestat played Phantom no Broadway for a few years, isn't that cool? His name is Hugh Panaro. Go look him up. ttyl!

Lunch at the Paris Opera House

I've got so much to talk about because I've had so many dreams lately but haven't had time to update my blog. Of course, by now I've all but forgotten them all, but I'll do my best. My first dream was crazy, and you probably don't want to hear about it, but I'll talk about it anyway. I was in my room and I was making out with Erik. We were in our underwear for some reason, and Raoul was there, and he was narrating. He was decribing how lacy my underwear was. So it was weird. Then Erik and Raoul left. And then Drew was there. And he wanted to make out with me. And I was like, "No, get away from me!" But he was like, "But isn't the reason why you're in your underwear because you want to make out with me?" Because he didn't know that Erik had just been there. And then I was like, "No, Drew, get out of my room I need to get dressed!" But he wouldn't leave for a long time until he finally did. Then I got dressed and I found out I was allergic to rain. This is because I was reading Wicked at the time. I finished it today. So then my mom, my sister and I went to Grant Avenue to get our hair cut, but the only allergy medicine for rain was for cats, so I didn't know if it would work, so I was nervous to go outside. But then I did and it was okay. And then we had to go to Loma Verde for a school project, I was making a video, but all these kids were there and they were in their pajamas, so I couldn't do it. And then I woke up.

So that was dream #1. Here's #2: I was in San Francisco on a big hill near the top. Like a block or two away from the top before it went down again. It was a street called something like "Chamylile Street" even though that's not a real street name. And there was this van and people jumped out of it and tried to kidnap me. So I ran down the street. Then I was safe. But then it repeated itself and I ran up the street, and then there was this homeless guy and I was afraid of him too, so I started yelling for help. Then Mr. Sinaiko was in a garden in one of the houses on the street, so I ran to him and told him I was scared. Only he was like, 20. Then he let me in his house which was really small but very nicely decorated and he asked me some questions. I told him I was called Robika and an architect and all this other mumbojumbo I made up. Then he was like, "It must be tough for a 15 year old architect to be living by herself" because he finally recognized me from school. But then he turned into Collins from Rent. But only for a second. Then he turned back into 20 year old Sinaiko. Then he said I could stay for a while, but he had to go to this convention, but I could come with him. So I went and Ali was there, but all these little kids were bugging us. I can't really remember this part, except the table we sat at was big and round and had a white lacy tablecloth on it and there was a huge pink Trix cereal rabbit painting on the wall. THen we were back at Mr. Sinaiko's house, except now he was like, 40. Then I asked if he would walk me down the street where I would be safe because I was afraid to go by myself. So he did. But then I realized I had forgotten my shoes at his house, so I went back. So I walked up to the door, and 20 year old Sinaiko came out but he had just taken a shower so all he had on was a white towel and I was kind of creeped out and looked away like a normal person would. I told him I had forgotten my shoes and he made a joke about my forgetting stuff at other people's houses because I had left my purse at someone else's house in my dream. Then I left and woke up.

I can't remember my other dreams, so I'll tell you about my day instead. Since it's Wednesday, we ate lunch in the Lecture Hall, because Improv Club is on Wednesday in the Lecture Hall. But no one felt like doing improv, so Linda, Stina and I went to the Lecture Hall and Stina showed me the new loft things they had put up they were really cool and I felt special because I could stand underneath them without having to bend over like they did. Then Linda and I pretended it was the Paris Opera House and that the left wing was the chapel, and the back stage classroom was the dormitories for the corps de ballet and then we found a trap-door and went in it and found a superterranean lake because it was a table. So we rowed through (around) the superterranean lake and ran through the maze of tunnels and found Erik's lair, which was a broom closet. It was very messy in there and we said that the maid had died. THen we found Box Five which was the sound booth and another closet that had an attic acess in it that I wanted to go up, but I didn't want to get in trouble. Then we found a door and went outside and we didn't know where we were which is a very scaring thing for me because I always know about where north it when I can compare my position with my house, but since I didn't know where I was, I couldn' do that. Then a car drove by on the acess road and we said we almost got run over even though we were 10 feet away from the road. Then we ran around the outside of the Lecture Hall and went in the classroom door and were laughing a lot. Then we went to find Stina, and it was fun because we were trying to hide from her but we couldn't stop laughing. Then Stina and Linda started dancing andf we were all killed because Linda strangled us with her scarf, which was the Punjab Lasso, and Linda died because she danced so much and then we performed the Heimleich Manuever on her head. So that was fun, to pretend to be 7 again and go on adventures like that.

Since I still can't remember my other dreams, I'm going to leave you all in suspense!! Muahahaha! ttyl!

Think!

So I haven't written in a while. I'm getting over my obsession with Erik, but I have a slight feeling that KK's trying to convert me to Greek Orthodoxy. Anyway, I'm trying to think about a solution to a problem, while putting off my English homework.

You see, some of my friends are extremely afraid of spiders. I used to be, but I'm not anymore. They were even freaked out about how Voldemort looked in the fourth Harry Potter movie. I'm not a teratophiliac, but his appearance didn't bother me. Nor am I a necrophiliac or anything like that. And yes, I am aware that teratophiliac isn't a real word, but it makes sense. I didn't make it up. But that's besides the point. So a week ago, I had a huge meltdown when Christina was going on about how she hated spiders, and couldn't stand them and she was afraid of them and all that stuff. This was the night after I had an hour long cry fest about Erik. So I was calm, on a night hike with KK's youth group, and I was walking alone, because I wanted to reflect. I didn't want to start crying again, but the words of Rent kept going through my head, "Forget regret/ Or life is yours to miss" and I got so depressed because I didn't want to forget, and I couldn't listen to myself when I sang that to myself, which made me frustrated and cry. And then when Christina went on about her loathing for spiders, I got really depressed because I always overanalyze things. And I got upset because I was so obsessed. I didn't want to start crying and ruin the whole trip, but when KK hugged me when we got to the car because they hadn't been walking with me, I couldn't fight the tears back any longer. And I couldn't control my diaphragm. You know whenever you've been depressed and then someone is kind to you, you always want to cry? That's how it was. I was so disgusted at myself for being so obsessed that he had become part of my religion, I didn't know what to do. But I knew that if I told KK, she would make it better, because since I haven't seen Nina in a long time, KK's become my spiritual guide. So I was ashamed that I had become so obsessed, because I knew that Stina and Kati wouldn't understand, and I didn't want to tell them, but I had to tell KK, so I had to talk about it without letting on what I was talking about, which was hard even though KK knew what I was saying. So why Christina's hatred of spiders set me off is because I read Phantom by Susan Kay. In it, they use a metaphor to describe Erik. They use spiders. So it's like this: if you fear spiders, you fear Erik's face. If you hate spiders, you hate Erik's face. If you are indifferent towards spiders, you don't mind Erik's face. If you are fascinated by spiders, you probably would love studying Erik's face. What Christina was saying was that if she ever saw Erik's face, she would be terrified of it and hate him for it. And then the thing with her squirming in her seat when Voldemort's face was on the screen. It depresses me to think that even some of my closest friends could hate and fear the one man/Angel I love.

I tried to tell myself "Fear can turn to love" but it usually turns to hatred instead. In fact, it practically always turns to hatred. Have you ever read a story where the protagonist falls in love with the villain? Beauty and the Beast doesn't count; she didn't fear him, she hated him, and then loved him. That's different. So I don't know what to tell myself when someone starts talking about something like this. That's why I need to think!

I don't love Erik because he is deformed. I love him because of his genius and my motherly instinct pities him. I don't care what he looks like. I love him for himself. The blind girl loves him for his voice, teratophiliacs love him for his deformities, I love him! All of him!

So what am I to say to myself when someone says they hate Erik without knowing it? I need to think! And eat dinner. ttyl!

Poor, unhappy Erik!

I started reading Phantom by Susan Kay yesterday. It's very good, though not true to Gaston Leroux's book. But it's a phan fiction, so it's okay. I just finished the section from Giovanni's point of view, and it's very depressing. Giovanni should have given Erik the choice and said, "Erik, my daughter is entertaining the thought that she loves you. You must decide for yourself whether to let her continue her behavior or take the mask off and discourage her once and for all. I apologize for the atrocious manners on her part, and wish you to do as you see fit." Then Erik could decide if he wanted her to stop bothering him, or if he would rather endure that than reveal his face to her. That's what I think Giovanni should have said to him.

When I grow up, I'm going to spend a year abroad at the Scottish Agricultural College and study botany. Then I'll be able to find a flower that's vulgar and garish, but extremely medicinal in its properties. BTW, if anyone knows of such a thing already, please tell me! Ok, so then I can tell Erik, "Look, Erik. See this flower. People may frown upon it as a weed, but if they looked closer, they would find its extraordinary healing powers. Erik, don't hate yourself. If people dismiss you as a weed, then they don't matter in the slightest bit. Those few who take the time to get to know you regardless of appearance, they are the ones that can change you and learn from you. Erik, you should value yourself. The greatest artists create such subtle art that the common person can't find it. It is only the select few who are patient that such art is revealed to them and they are moved deeply. You don't believe anyone can love you because you do not love yourself. That flower doesn't droop in desolation that no kind eye passes it by; it smirks to itself that the foolish walk by such an exquisite specimen and don't even notice. Of course, you never gave yourself a reason to love yourself. Erik, you are the Angel of Music; you love music so you must love yourself! And once you accept that, you'll be able to look out of your window and see all of the adoring phans lining up to give you their own speech. And if that doesn't convince you that you are loved, go to the old widow down the street, whose eyesight is so poor she can't count on her fingers. She won't care what you look like. She'll hear your voice and know your troubles. She'll reach out to you with her crippled hands and stand you in front of her. She'll give you her own matronly speech in a way only the wisest can. And her dark, unseeing eyes will squint up at you, searching through the darkness, for that spark of light that you show you that you can be loved for yourself, but only if you love you for yourself first. And you'll love you for all the reasons those phans love you: for your voice and your genius and your architecture skills and all of your talents, and for your bravery. And Erik, you'll be able to see that we love you for your face and if your face were any different, we wouldn't be able to love you more. Your bravery that you can acknowledge your face and yourself and that is beauty, Erik. Your inner beauty of your musicality and all around genius is out-shone only by the radiance of your ubiquitous eyes. And no one can withstand such a concentrated amount of brilliance that resides in your eyes. You see, most people have their beauty spread throughout their person, but you, Erik, your beauty is within mostly. But such eyes! That is where your beauty lies. And within context, the contrast of your eyes and your face magnifies the beauty so much that that is why people are not worthy of seeing you. If you could just embrace this, Erik, and see that so many people love you for yourself, and that we love you so much no matter who or what you chose to do, we will love you for that. If you chose the small girl that hides in the shadows, we would be happy that you are happy. If you chose no one, we would be satisfied with the fact that we could reach through to you and show you that you are loved and even if you can't admit our love, just that you know it exists is enough for us."

And then Erik would fall asleep because that was so long. He's fifteen in my book right where I am. Fifteen! I have to tell him this before he gets any older, otherwise it will be too late! Alas, I have gotten ahead of myself. I won't ever tell this to Erik, not until I am dead and in Heaven with him. He is the Angel of Music. And I will speak to him before I return to the earth, and come back to a different, Jellicle life. I'm just joking. That's only for cats. And I'm not a cat in this life. I must have sinned pretty badly in my previous life to be demoted to human.

But we're talking about Erik here, not Cats. I think we've exhausted the subject. Or at least, I've exhausted myself. I need to sleep. Maybe Erik will visit me in a dream tonight! ttyl!

AU?

Ok, so someone reviewed my story on fanfiction.net, and they were all, "I hate AUs, but keep going as long as you like." So I'm all, AU? Astronomical unit? Alternate universe? Author updates? Always unfinished? Another unicorn? What does AU stand for? Someone please tell me!!!!!

I don't know what to title this entry

The Big Band Swing Night Dance is tonight, and my mom's not home to help me get ready, and I can't button my dress by myself, and Christina's phone is broken and I can't find the hair curler. And I feel really shitty already because of getting braces, and rain makes me depressed. I mean, I love the rain, and I love that it calms me, but it's not helping right now. Braces hurt and I know this is the second time I've gotten bottom braces. Mr. Peabody is going to hate me forever because my mouth is going to bleed so much when I play my clarinet that I'll have to stop playing and that will piss him off. Plus it's that time of month, which is really not helping. Plus my dress is rather tight, so it's not going to help me breathe very well, which isn't good since this is a dance! Which is starting in an hour, and I haven't started getting ready because as you can see, I can't quite do that. And I'm nervous that my dress is either going to be totally not appropriate for the dance, or that it will rip or something since it's fifty years old and thread gets tired after a while. Which is why I'm afraid to breathe in it. So I can't get a hold of Christina since her fax machine is picking up my calls instead of her phone, and it's not like she pays attention to me when I'm on the phone with her anyways. But that's my shitty mood talking right now, since normally I find it very amusing when she talks to her cats on the phone instead of me. Like, seriously, why do you have to call someone to talk to your cats? Why not talk to your cats and then call me, so you don't have to interrupt yourself by yelling "Hi Oreo!" into the phone?

Plus it's not like I'm going to be able to eat anything while I'm at the dance, if I even go to it. My mouth hurts so bad, and I can't close my mouth properly because my tooth touches the bracket, which will fall off if I clench my jaw too hard. And the girl who was putting the wire on didn't put this one rubber band on all four corners of the bracket, so I don't know what the repercussions of that is going to be.

It's hilarious that random people comment on my blog and are all, "Great blog! Go to this site!" or something. I don't mind at all, if you're one of those random people that I don't know, go ahead and comment! I appreciate the time and effort you went through to read this sentence. *Attention* Reading this word is costing valuable energy! Think of your poor mitochondria in the muscles of your eyes that have worked so hard to produce all of that ATP so your muscle cells can move so you can read this. "If you love yourselves, you love your cells!" Mr. Addis is weird, but that seemed very appropriate right then. Thank you, Mr. Addis, for that quote.

I feel slightly better now, even though writing this did nothing but waste 15 minutes of my time. To all of you random people, thank you for reading my blog. It's nice to know that anonymous masses of people care enough to take time out of their day to read about someone's life. That's more than I can say about my friends. Believe me, if they would just read my blog, it would save me so many explanations. They would understand me better. And then I wouldn't have to repeat myself to every one of them. So thanks again. ttyl!

A pleasant dream, for once

I had a pretty nice dream last night. Actually, only one part of it was nice, because this dream was a variation on one of my "I have to save the world" dreams. Except everything went horribly wrong this time and I don't think I actually did save the world. However, that part of the dream is really long and confusing and I don't have that much time so I'll just tell you the good part.

I had just finished brewing a potion that would aid in the creation of this being that would save the world and I left the facility by the back door. This roughly 16 year old guy that looked vaguely like Andy Butterfield (who played Romeo for the Marin Shakespeare Company) was chasing me down this hill. It was all in fun, we were laughing and yelling false insults at each other, until he leapt forward and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me to the ground. I twisted myself on my back and he pinned me on the ground with his arms on my shoulders. Then he kissed me. And it was good. And I liked it. And he did it again and I was like, euphoric.

And this was such a great dream because the last time I had a dream in which someone kissed me, he practically raped me and his mouth tasted foul, whereas this guy was "sweet" like they say in books. I feel kind of like Erik, where only in my dreams does someone love me for myself.

Wow, my dream sounds really dirty. It was actually very innocent and cute. So. You're probably like, "Wow, how does she have friends?" Well that's because I can write anything I want on this site so I don't have to risk my friendships by telling them things they don't want to hear.

I practically live for my dreams, for dreams are the only place I can find Erik. Even though Erik wasn't in this dream.

I just lost my train of - Oh yeah I remember now. I was going to make a list.

Words/ Phrases that give the the chills for no apparent reason:
- The word 'man' sung at either an E or B with a slight English accent, as in "You said yourself he was nothing but a man" or "And in the boat, there was a man"
-"...Was but a dream within a dream"
-Fire alone can save our clan
-The word 'nosotros' which means 'we' in Spanish
-'Fate links thee to me forever and a day!'

So that's about all I wanted to say today. ttyl!

Hyperness

I had a weird dream a few nights ago. All of the contents of my bedroom were on my backporch. It was weird. And then Piera and Carli performed in a rack concert, Piera on guitar and Carli on drum set. Sadly, Crli dropped her sticks in the middle of the performance and ruined the whole thing. Then I took a shower and went to my room to get dressed, but it was outside and Drew was there and I was like, "Drew, you need to leave because I need to get dressed" but he was like, "No, I'm not leaving because I don't want to miss the rock concert" because I guess it was taking place in my backyard. And I got really mad at Drew, but also kind of grossed out/scared because he was acting really perverted and it was weird.

I just got a great idea for my story and I hope I don't forget it!! But I can't write it up until I get to that part in my phic, so what am I doing here typing in my blog when I need to be working on my phic?!?!?!? ttyl!

My latest dream

I can't remember any of my dream except that someone was watching Phantom of the Opera in the background and they were at the Wandering Child part except that Christine was singing these verses that I had never heard before and I wanted to go watch it too but someone was talking to me so I couldn't. But the verses were about Christine professing her love for Phantom and that she wanted him to kill Raoul for her. That's all I remember. And that I was thinking that I should go online and look up the new lyrics.

I need to be psychoanalyzed. Lately I've been imagining that Erik is standing outside my bedroom window, keeping an eye on me while I sleep. But I know it's just the wind rustling through the leaves, not his footsteps.

KK has moved on to like the music of Wicked. I would love to join her and memorize countless lyrics from that, but then Erik will fade from my memory. I know that then I will no longer be obsessed and mentally tormented by him, but then I won't love him as much. It's like part of me wants to stop thinking about him altogether, and the other part of me wants to think about only him and pray every day that he will be real and come for me.

I need a real guy in my life. No one on fanfiction.net or phantomoftheopera.com seem as obsessed as me. Even the people who believe Erik lives under their bed or in their closet. They're in denial. I'm subconsciously in denial even though I keep telling myself he's not real and to get over it. But then I feel bad because Erik will think I don't love him anymore. Then I want to tell him that it's not true and that I still love him, but then I can't tell him because he's not real and I should get over it. And it repeats over and over and over. Until I wish I was a better lyricist so I could sing to him even though he'll never hear me.

People need something to believe in. They need to believe in a higher power; nature, time, God, Allah, Jesus, Buddah, The Great Spirit. I wasn't raised religiously. No one told me what to believe in. I think that's why whenever I take an interest in something, I get really obsessed about it. Cats, for example. I was totally obsessed with Egyptian mythology in sixth grade and worshipped cats. Now it's Erik. He is the Angel of Music. Linda says you're only allowed to pray to God, and not Angels. Well I'll pray to Erik if I want to. I just need to think of some lyrics to sing to him in prayer.

I need to think about something else. It seems whenever I write a new blog entry, it turns to Phantom of the Opera. ttyl.

Newsflash

Sarah Brightman's actually alive!!! Wow. I didn't know that. That's awesome. I'm not going to bore you with another monologue about me wishing Erik was here, but I'll share a poem with you that I wrote kind of to him. My mind works in strange ways. I want to tell Erik how much I love him. But I can't. So I want to tell someone my angst. I want to tell him about my angst. But I can't. So then I get depressed and want Erik to comfort me. But he doesn't. Then I want to tell him that I still love him even though he doesn't love me. But I can't. Then the cycle repeats itself. Here's that poem. It's called "Thought You Would Know" (If anyone scams this off of me and they get rich and famous, I will sue you for fraud!!) (Plus only I know how the melody goes)

Thought you would know
How it feels to be alone
But it seems you only care
For your own loneliness

Thought you could show
What it's like to love another
But you only saw yourself
And now I have no one to seek for guidance

Thought you would know
WHat it's like to walk a lonely path
That we could somehow meet halfway
So how similar our stories are

Thought you could love
Someone else who shared your pain
But instead you blew your life
On impossible dreams and goals

THought we could share
One lifetime of misery
And change it to a glorious one
Of you and me together

THought you could change
And embrace someone like you
But the shunned shut out the world
As the world denied them too

Thought you could see
How good you'd be for me
And I'd be there for you
As lovers do

Thought you could forgive me
For the distance we're apart
The years and miles alike
Our love would have no boundaries

Thought I could reach through to you
And change your world forever
But I guess I came too late
So turn around and face your fate
So turn around and face your fate

Well that's the song, don't know if it made any sense, I wrote it while I was on a bike ride and then got it on the computer when I got back. ttyl!

Obsession

That's just how I am. I obsess over something for a while, and then I go through a period of nothing, where I'm depressed and have nothing to live for except school. But it doesn't work! I'm not supposed to be this obsessed! How can I convince myself that I won't ever meet Erik and we'll never fall in love and he won't ever sing to me and I won't ever be able to talk to him and be near him. I can't make myself stop believing. I know it'll never happen, but it's like why I'm still living. I go to sleep every night wishing I'll dream about him, just so I can be close to him again. But I never do. I had a really weird dream last night. I'll go into that later. Erik! My heart belongs to a fictional character. This isn't natural. On fanfiction.net, there's one fan fiction where the author in her author notes pretends Erik lives in her closet and he helps her respond to the reviews that readers give her. I went an entire day waiting for her to update for phic so I could read what Erik said about my review. I feel so pathetic. I know no one reads this blog anymore and that's just fine because it's not really about you, it's about a vent for my feelings. I just feel so stupid, I mean, it's not even real! Just some Canadian girl pretending that Erik lives in her closet. She doesn't know. No matter how many times I pray or sing Angel of Music, he's not going to come. I wish so much that he was actually real, that he'd hear my cries and comfort me. I feel so self-centered. Who cares about me? I feel so selfish. Here I am wishing Erik was real when people in Africa are praying to survive the night. Angel of Music, why this torment? Why can't I accept it the fact? But I don't want to get over this obsession. I want to stay loyal to Erik. I never want to forget him. I wish I could just know. What disease did he have that made his skin dead? A corpse may love Christine, but a pathetic 14-year-old that's 150 years too late loves that corpse. Pity comes too late! Turn around and face your fate! An eternity of this before your eyes! I'm alone in my room. An eternity of loneliness. If this what I am destined for? Erik, we both long for companionship. Why can't you just be real so I can comfort you? I've been suicidal since I was in 3rd grade. Just thoughts like, what if I jumped out of the car right now? or What if I drank this whole bottle of mouthwash? or What if I choked myself? What if I jumped in front of a bus? But I don't want to die. Never think about what death will be like. I'm afraid God will give me the answer. In health class, we watched that stupid movie about a kid who hanged himself and the mom was in such agony. My mom's the only reason why I never killed myself. I don't want her to suffer. That spoiled kid, uncaring of everyone else. Kills himself. I suppose if you get to the point where you want to die, you don't think anyone will care. I need you Erik! You're the only one I can talk to, because you have nothing to live for either. I can't get over it. I can't distract myself from Erik for the rest of my life. I have to face it. But I can't. I just think 'why?' and cry. I don't want to let go. I don't want to harden myself against loving. I can't say, "Erik, you're just a book character. Whatever." Because what next? What am I going to do? He's all around me. I can't delete the POTO soundtrack from my brain. "Wandering Child, so lost; so helpless. Yearning for my guidance" YES! I AM, ERIK!! But you'll never say that to me, will you? Never. But I still love you. You abandoned me, but you didn't because you were never with me to begin with. What am I supposed to think about besides Erik? Music will trace back to him. What would Erik think about this song? What would Robinton? Oh, Robinton! I wished you were real, but never this much! It's worse with Erik! Will it be even worse with the next character? Who will that be? I don't want to betray you, Erik! I'll stay loyal to you or no one! I can't let this happen again. I'll stop reading books. I'll stop liking cats. I'll immerse myself in schoolwork, become even more of a geek. I tried that, it didn't work, not even for one afternoon. I suppose this is what it feels like to be religious, wishing God would come down from Heaven and take care of all your problems. You'd think that this good cry I'm having would help me and change me, but it doesn't. I've been through this before. I had a spiritual moment, a good cry, the likes, but it didn't really help me live my life. It's weird. I believe that there is a God, he does watch over us, but we make our own decisions. He doesn't do much, just gives us retribution when we make the wrong choices. He hears our thoughts, not what we say. But Erik hears nothing. Yet I yearn for him. He'll never hear it. He'll never respond. Some people say, "Ha! I'm glad Christine didn't choose Phantom in the end! He deserves better!" But I can't bring myself to say that. I say, "Christine, why didn't you go with him? He's fictional, you're the only person he ever could have gotten together with!" I know I'll never be with him, somewhere deep down. So I just wanted him to be happy. But no! Gaston Leroux couldn't stand for that! Why did he even write it? I almost wish he hadn't written Phantom of the Opera. Then I wouldn't have to go through this. Why? That's all I can ask, really. And I can ask: what's wrong with my brain that I love Erik so much? I don't want to get help, I want Erik. I can't figure out why, though. Why love Erik so much? Is it his horrible past and I have taken pity on him? Is it because he's a musical genius and that's something I want to be? Is it because he loved and took a chance? Is it because Gerard Butler is so hot? Is it because I just want to be loved and Erik was the only person to give anyone their love? But then what of Robinton? That was music related. I wished he was real because he would have appreciated the music I had heard. "Le Furet". He would have loved it. And because his child was mentally retarded. I pitied him. He was so heart-broken. I feel so rotten, how can i do this? How can I wallow in self-pity? Aren't there bigger things I should worry about? I have so much in life to be thankful for, yet all I can do is complain! I can't stand myself! I wish I could start over. Start my whole life over. I wish I could change myself that drastically. But I don't know how I want to be. "Be yourself! Be yourself!" But I don't know what myself is! How do you 'find yourself'? It doesn't work that way for me. I'm a different person depending on who's around me. I think everyone's like that. So what's the point? In health class, the stupid vidoes are always like, "High school is so stressful: cliques, drugs, sex, school, peer pressure, extracurricular, jobs, thinking about the future, homework..." but that's not how it is for me. Health is so hypocritical. I don't know what to believe anymore. Ms. Early is too lax about health, my mom's too strict (I'm not allowed flavored yogurt anymore, it has to be plain nonfat), and my dad is constantly offering me unhealthy food. I don't know what to think. But what 's the point of thinking anyway? I can't control my life anyway. Time. Can't control that. I've been typing for over an hour. It's time to stop. If anyone actually reads this, thanks for reading. ttyl