schizo

I have the voice of a small Irish man yelling in my head, and I am terrified.

No, I'm not schizophrenic. The small Irish man is the Maestro for Grant Park Chorus. He uses terms like "crotchets" (quarter notes) "minims" (eighth notes) and "semidemihemiquavers." (actually, I'm not sure if that's a correct term) The tip of his index finger on his right hand is missing, and I have never met a man more intimidating than he. I literally have anxiety attacks before going to rehearsals. It doesn't help that I have finals and juries on top of everything else. Poor Dan. I barked at him for doing nothing, only because I was so stressed out, and I will feel like this until Monday.

Deep breath. Take a bath. (Advice from my voice teacher.) I can't wait 'til Mikey, the new kitty, gets here. We purposefully put off his arrival until this craziness settles down.

PS. I've been thinking about turning this blog around a little bit and limiting my posts to music based topics. That's pretty much what I do already because I'm living, breathing, and pissing music. Though, not as much as I could be. Any thoughts? Someday, when I'm rich maybe I'll get my own domain and have beautiful pictures of my masterful performances at the Met. HA!!!