January began with a lot of ignorant sisterhood. I still thought I was being honest with myself. I thought the resentment I felt was my own character exhibiting its many flaws. I didn't know. I had no idea. I applied to Lawrence at the last second. I wrote acrostic poems. I was still in love.
February. Fiddler started. For once, I didn't have to fight to prove my own worth. After almost two years, it felt good to have strings under my fingers again. "What you meant to say was singing is your entire life, besides me." I thought I had escaped mortification. My voice was quiet. Second period made me think that maybe I could be a whole person by myself. I liked a boy. I worried that I wouldn't sleep in New York. I dreamed of Wisconsin. I was still in love. I was a phoenix in its dying days.
March. I don't really know how to talk about March still. I remember New York in excruciating detail, but the weeks after that are lost to me. I left that city a completely different person than I arrived. In short order, the city showed its effect on me. I relaxed into bold honesty. My beautiful friends dared me to believe in my own independence. Every second I could, I wrote in my book everything that happened around me. I loved the weather. The performance in Carnegie Hall was absolutely everything I ever dreamed it would be. I am in the process of understanding what exactly happened inside me the night before we performed. But I know this: I was so completely shattered as a person that I was forced to rebuild myself from the ground up. I knew then that it was over. I learned that I can do exactly what I want with my words without raising my voice. When I came home, I was not in love anymore. My voice changed.
April. I threw myself into Fiddler and everything else fell by the wayside. The Corner saved my life. And the wedding dance. I could have ripped myself up from the inside out. Third party validation on several fronts made me believe that I had done what was best for me, no matter how difficult it is to start over in a pile of ashes. I retreated into my notebook. One night, I wrote one of my best pieces in the space of twenty minutes. I got accepted into Lawrence. I started swimming again. I started being honest in situations where it wasn't welcome. I realized that I am an introvert, not a blossoming extrovert. I spent time with people who knew how to care about me. My resentment grew more harsh. I stopped dismissing myself. Someone ran a red light and destroyed my dad's car. For a few days, I knew no one. I left Anatevka for the first time. It was too late for sisterhood. I realized that I would be an English/Gender Studies double major. I gave a senior speech on closing night.
May was when I realized how lucky I am to have a life so stable and full of love and knowledge. I got stuck at a pot party. I liked another boy, and we made prom plans. I had a hysterical breakdown every day for a week. My church asked my to write for the summer show. I tried to process the middle parts of New York and couldn't. I was a loud and proud bass, and I fell in love with German.
June was good. At prom, we talked about Klipspringer and he held my hand. I wrote about the lights of Los Angeles and started work for the summer show. I planned for Fiddler, again. My last Costa choir concert was perfect. I felt content in The Corner when I should have been panicked. I wrote a monologue at the last minute and it was about Sunday morning in New York and I presented it and almost broke down. I surprised everyone with my voice in the senior recital. I didn't care about yearbooks at all. I decided to be optimistic about the future. (To Me, Choir Is...) GRAD night was the worst. But I had great friends.
July. My one-act was controversial and popular and important. I found Tracy and was liberated. I answered the audience's questions with enthusiasm and poise. I forgot that I was supposed to be feeling lonely. I cut off my hair for the wrong reasons. I wore a bikini for the first time. My admission was questioned, and I planned to run away to Vermont. I couldn't do Les Mis, but I didn't really want to.
August. I ran Asher tribe in Vacation Bible Explorers, and it was the best accident of the summer. My eleven kids were (are) fantastic. I talked to Lawrence and booked my flight for Wisconsin. I counted the days. I realized how beautiful my friends are. Fiddler was incredible. I let Maggie go without saying anything, which was a mistake I won't make again. I realized the extent of my damage. I put my cello away for maybe the last time. I started reading again. I realized how essential to my mental health writing is. I got my tattoo.
September. My first few days in Wisconsin were wonderful. Our hotel staff was dumb, but Appleton was charming and beautiful, and I really liked spending time with my dad. My choir audition went really well. The choir retreat was wonderful because I decided to not be afraid to meet new people. My first performance in studio was not awful. My classes were fantastic. I made friends(!) I had a breakdown about clarinet. And I had to make some really difficult decisions about that. I realized I can't stand Geology.
October. I realized that sometimes, women are so beautiful that I can't breathe. I realized that I have a lot of things to work on. I realized who I really miss from home. I realized that people at Lawrence care about you and are really intelligent and wonderful. I auditioned for Appletones and not Conchordance, which was a mistake. I saw Michelle Obama! I realized that I'm not a light weight. Halloween was stupid.
November. I voted. Wisconsin went blue and put a lesbian in office. I decided to trust the people around me. I remembered again how much I love musicals. I was able to control my rage when I wrote about New York. I read at a few poetry readings. I liked a girl. I hit a wall in terms of being away from home, and then pushed through it. I realized what good friends I have at school. I decided to stop being so timid. Tenth week was merciless, but I passed my first term. I flew home by myself. I didn't reach fifty thousand words. I felt restless in my house.
December. I turned nineteen. I kept working through New York. I realized how much I miss school. I realized how much I've changed in three months. I gained weight and didn't care. I realized how difficult it is to have friends so far away. I fixed things with my band director, and my mom taught me that sometimes, bad things happen to good people because the world has to learn new things. I liked a girl. I sang a lot with wonderful people. I didn't go to the ocean.
Resolutions:
1. Don't wait until tenth week.
2. Avoid being hurtful.
3. Pay back every opportunity.
4. Have the courage to always be honest.
5. Let go of old shame.
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