(Doo, doo, doo! Ok. The Bees Gees?? Who thought of that? Hm.)
It's been a while, hasn't it?
I kept promising to come back and document all the adventures I've had at college thus far.
I had planned to write about Torrientation, and about locking myself out of my room on my first night.
I thought about introducing you to my dear bike, Shrimpy Prawn, and comparing my very first twelve-mile ride with Dante's journey into Hell. (It's getting better, I promise you. I think I'm climbing Mount Purgatory right now....)
I was going to show you pictures of my room, my bicycle, the trees on campus, and so forth, and tell you all about the strange things served in the Caf.
But I never did.
You know why?
Two Words: Music Performance.
Actually, more like seven words: I'm changing my major to Music Performance.
Am I crazy? Aren't there posts saved somewhere on this blog about how I decided to take a long hiatus from violin? Am I not the girl who hates performing and never practiced for more than an hour a day for the past twelve years? (And even that hour was like pulling teeth.)
Yes. Yes. Yes, and Yes.
I suppose it's natural to ask what changed. And I suppose I would have to reply that I don't entirely know. But I'm most definitely in the process of finding out, and when I do, you'll get to read all about it.
For the meanwhile, please keep me (and all other college kinfolk/chumlets) in your prayers, if you would be so kind. I think we're all reaching the time in the semester where we are undergoing the death, or darkness, that precedes the dawn. Three hours of practice never feels like enough. Rehearsing, writing, revising, reading, re-reading, etc. Nothing feels like "enough", whatever that "enough" is, and I am being confronted with my finiteness. Oh, I am so very human. I am not even immortal like the Greek gods described by Homer. I am mortal. I am an "eater of bread", and I need sustenance and sleep. More importantly, I need to learn how care for my soul as I struggle to become a whole soul.
It is frustrating, and I feel like I am a very dead seed that will never sprout. But maybe the only thing to do right now is to acknowledge all the frustration, discouragement, and fear that I feel. I'm scared about Don Rags, and I'm even more scared about juries. I am weary, and the thought of four or five more years of this makes me feel even wearier.
But I musn't grow gloomy. As the weather grows frigid and the trees lose all their leaves, all of creation hopes for the coming of Spring. I, too, shall hope for Spring. (I certainly hope for the warmth of Spring when I'm saying hullo to the bitterly cold air during my morning rides.) Yet I also must work on enjoying winter, and maybe even enjoying the process of "dying". I don't know whether death in itself is a good thing, but I am realizing how much I need grace, and how very little I am willing to accept grace.
All shall be most well. Four weeks until finals. We shall all take it one day at a time, right?
(How very cliché...Oh. Arg. Frustration again.)
I really do want to introduce you all to Shrimpy Prawn sometime....Maybe over the Thanksgiving Holiday.
I miss you all!