death throes

I've been frantically busy. In the past week, I've written a paper, given a presentation, performed piano and voice in two concerts, painted an entire set for a play, helped run lights, and last night I had half an hour of Seinfeld before I got to fall asleep in the nook, snuggled up on my side with two fleece blankets to keep warm and a pillow nestled against my back. I hadn't felt that relaxed for a couple of weeks, and it was wonderful.

art prof: "I'm getting old. I...I don't like getting old."
me: "That's ok Don, you can still come play Spin-the-Bottle with us anytime."

The semester is winding down; my astronomy presentation is over, as of last night; the library is open an extra hour at night until finals are finished. The set from the last play is stuffed into the shop, half dismantled; the stage has little green splotches of paint all over and needs to be repainted. The professors are getting more boisterous; the students are getting quieter -- scared out of their minds thinking about finals.

When I'm nervous, anxious, or distressed, I play piano. It's a temorary escape; it allows me to take the hurt from inside my mind and give it to the instrument, so I don't have to think about it for a while. Yesterday I sought solace from the piano in the Fine Arts Center, and this led to a new arrangement of "What Child is This," one of my favorite Christmas songs (that and "O Holy Night"). When my hands work out something that sounds nice, I have to keep playing it.

I have a babysitting job tonight, and I am SO glad.