Artificial Harmonics

This week has been hell. I cannot reiterate this enough. The only way I could possibly sum up this week is by recounting Tuesday in directed study when a friend asked, "Rachel, why is your hair wet? It's not even raining today." That morning I had a project due, and I overslept. The shower lost priority to brushing my teeth (I hope this is understandable). Of course I admitted that, yes, I did not shower and I was indeed wearing my brother's sweatshirt. Not one of my finer moments. The next day I went shopping, in hopes that new clothes would make me want to get up in the morning. Only thing is, spending money makes me want to vomit.

For those of you who don't know, I slave away about 15 hours a week in a crappy job at Regal--all in an effort to save enough money and get myself to France. Thursday night was the premier of Harry Potter, and although I was excited at first, I realized they would make me work that night. I dressed up as Filch, with a fake shoulder cat to match (customers appreciated it). Unfortunately, I returned home around 2:30 that night and slept through all of my morning classes. Priorities, priorities.

The weekend didn't promise much relaxation either. On Friday I had a three hour rehearsal. Then another on Saturday, and then a three hour concert. Some of our music was a repeat from last concert. The only difference is that one of Mr. Ludwig's friends had died the week before this concert, so the entire show was dedicated to her. I guess it was fitting that he invited an A Capella group to sing Ding Dong the Witch is Dead (I hope she had a sense of humor). For dinner I ate squid with an old friend and caught up on the horrors of our high school orchestra. And then the concert started with the death of Mozart's father in Don Giovanni. After that a ten year old prodigy played violin, and I thought about how he was exactly like the Invisible Man. Really, his mother has him on a leash; I see him drinking and doing drugs by 17.

After that we had to fight through a battle with Serbian kings and Arabian knights. Malek Jandali, the most pompous performer I have ever encountered, insisted that we play 5 of his pieces. Emessa, Caravan, Nour, Soul b, Yafa. I can't keep track. The worst part was that every one of them ends on an E. After the performance I was cross-eyed and ready for a nap, so I went home and watched Perfume: The Story of a Murderer and rooted for the tortured protagonist on his murderous hunt to capture pheromones in a bottle. I also received a pretty merit scholarship from Tulane. Maybe...

Well, my brothers are home. Only issue is, I have to go to school and then work about 50 hours this week. When will I ever get to live? sigh