GRRAUGH

okay, there are times when you decide to be a woman, not a child--to not resent something you can't change, to rise above the situation and make an effort to realize that the world is not always designed for your convenience and begging it to conform itself to your needs is beneath your dignity.

and then there are times when you pout, and you fucking cut off your nose to spite your own fucking face. the situation isn't going to be any more what i want it to be if i don't take the high road, here, but at least i'll have the satisfaction of not doing what i don't want to.

i'm just so mad. and it's about something stupid and petty, but it's also about something that's going to make next semester hell for me, and i don't deserve to be put through hell again. i've been in a working definition of hell since last november, and although it's been the most wonderful time of my life in some ways, it's also been, well, hellish, and if i didn't have a method of managing pain that most people would not understand the mechanics of, i'd have broken--i'd be breaking now--and nobody gets it, and i'm okay with that because some types of strength are a matter of loneliness, but if i could, i'd demand to be treated the way i ought to be treated by this fucking bureaucratic ridiculousness. this is the response to any situation: "we don't care, and we really don't want to get involved. please see the handbook re: why."

but that's deceptive, because when you read the handbook, the words "we're too chickenshit to handle you" are nowhere in the explanatory paragraphs.

so the solution is to just take the class, and not let it get to me. not let myself get worked up, not let myself care, not let myself engage. i already know how to do what it's going to ask of me, and i do it to my own satisfaction, and my standards are high. so this useless, stress-inducing class will be a time in which i can practice sleeping with my eyes open. which will be a useful skill to acquire.

i guess i don't believe in fighting for what one wants. i think that kind of thing sort of dulls creativity. you take what you have, and either turn it into what you want, or see what in it is what you actually want. i started singing because i considered myself too tall to act shakespeare--and singing has turned into more than i'd ever imagined; it's turned me into a better actress than i'd thought myself capable of being; it's allowed me to find things in myself, to interface with the world, to...know the reason i have to make myself heard.

and i haven't sung more than a few hours since school ended, because stupid hell-existence has at this point taken away my knowledge of my connection to sound. i know it's just reformulating, and the fear will go back to a manageable point, and my voice will turn itself into a sound again, but...ARGH. i blame in part a similar class that i had to take last year, for the anxiety and the agony that this summer thus far has to some degree put me through. i mean, i'm blogging at 4 in the morning. i'm not well, here. after the weeks of being afraid of the dark, it's mostly just habit by this point...

but i have reasons to not want to take this class. and there's no room for reason in any handbook i've ever read.

when are you going to learn, sra, that school isn't there to teach you what you need to know, but rather what it wants you to know? well, apparently never.