... What You Got Till It's Gone

I f***ed up really, really, really, really bad tonight.

I'm typing this entry mere hours after admitting to The Voice that I ended up kicking it with one of the X-Men during our separation. And right now, I'm feeling lower than low ...

Before I go any further, I had an entry ready to be published Monday morning but decided to hold off since circumstances changed. The Voice and I have been going through a "separation" for the past few weeks (beginning of August) and in a nutshell, I've been pleading and pleading for us to get back together.

He disagrees. He had some serious personal issues to work out. I believe that you need to work together in a relationship regardless of the crazy s*** that comes your way. But he wanted to go it alone so I've relented after a few weeks and now that I'm in school again, my mind isn't dwelling on it as much.

Flashback: two weeks after he asked for the separation, I invited an X-Men over. I needed somebody, I needed to feel something, I needed love. Well, two out of three is what I got. There was no love. He didn't hold me like The Voice. He didn't smell like him, he didn't kiss like him, there was no connection between us. So was it guilt that made me realize I want him back or just an epiphany?

Flashforward: I don't know, and I don't care. Right now, as of this minute (12:34 AM), all I know is that I found the man who holds my heart. The truth is (read this slowly and carefully) that I've never, ever loved anyone more than I love The Voice. As we lay tonight holding each other, he admitted how much he misses me (albeit before my ill-timed confession) and I found myself absentmindedly scratching his back, something I know he likes. Who else knows what he likes when go out to eat? Who else knows about his strange little OCD obsession when we leave his apartment? Who else will put together his furniture or anything else he's not handy with? Who else can hold him the way I do? Who else knows his moods as if they were my own?

He is my love, my soul, my everything.

I will do anything to gain his trust back, if it's even possible. And if it is possible, I'll love him stronger than ever.

Trust and believe that.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”

So I’ve returned to campus as quite the mini-celeb and I love it! When I started at UMB a few years back, I was doing night classes off campus so I didn’t take the time to make friends. Now, I can hardly walk around campus without running into a professor or fellow student I know.

I like that feeling.

I have many of the same professors (X, Hand Killer, etc.) however, a few new ones have dared to cross my path (I’ll come up with alias after a few more sessions). The hardest course? That would be Music History class, a 300 level course, which features a VERY strict professor. The easiest (of course I may regret saying that) seems to be Chorus which has nearly 100 students enrolled and is filled with creepy, crawly (ugh!) … freshmen.

Professor Hand Killer is back to her usually tricks and we’ve decided to resurrect this piece from Chopin to prepare as backup for jury in case the nine page Beethoven sonata isn’t ready. Did I mention that it’s nine pages?

Jazz Band is a blast since Professor X and my former band mates have inside jokes that the new folks just don’t get so it’s nice to have an in. Plus, it never hurts to have a professor or two on my side as reference material for grad school or job interviews down the line. I believe I’m in the band (even though I didn’t audition) and I’m going to push for us to do a favorite of mine, “Moondance” by Van Morrison.

We’ll see if I get my way...

My Theory and Ear Training course populations have diminished greatly since last semester. While most of the rowdy crowd (the kind that always have to throw in a smart comment or two in class) has mysteriously vanished, some of the familiar faces that I liked are gone as well. Not that I was getting attached by any means!

So my goals this semester are to arrive on time (ha!), do my homework over the weekends (double ha!) and get more practice time in (triple ha!) – that’ll be the day when a black man becomes president – oh wait …

Seriously though, I only have two semesters left roughly (I say roughly because it’s not guaranteed until I get the okay in February) until I obtain my full 120 credits. It’s so exciting being a senior yet extremely frightening because once my academic career ends (you’d call it that too after four schools and eleven years in college), I’m really on my own. And I’m still not 100% sure what I want to do. I’m leaning towards teaching but most of my profs recommend getting performance experience first.

In the meantime, this will prove to be by far one of the most interesting semesters ever...

Oh ... this is just my favorite back-to-school commercial ever so I just thought I'd toss it in the mix!

Song For My Father

So I’ve decided to return to the world.

But I’ve returned a changed man. I’m no longer the person I was just a few months ago. A lot has occurred that has me thinking about some things in life. I needed that short break and now I’m at a point in my life where I’m ready to open up again.

The first big change has to do with my father. Pops is back home and doing well but he’s also a changed man (maybe it’s something in the air). Dirty laundry is usually never aired but after all he’s been through, what I share is out of love. Pops was a pretty heavy drinker prior to his hospitalization. My mom found him unconscious back in May and he was rushed to Massachusetts General Hospital and was laid up in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit on life support for a few weeks.

A ventilator inflated his lungs, wires and tubes swirled everywhere around his body. He was bloated, unresponsive – a temporary pacemaker the only thing keeping him from crossing over. Doctors poured over his case, trying to figure out what had happened. No one knew. “Was it a stroke?” “A heart attack?” “His kidneys aren’t functioning properly …” So much was thrown at us. And if all that wasn’t so bad, we were told he coded out in the ambulance.

I almost lost my father. I would’ve been next to step up and be the man of the house … as much as my Pops and I don’t see eye to eye on many things, I love him so much and never want to go through such a frightening ride again.

After a few months in rehab, he returned home. He sits around very somberly; he doesn’t smile much, and seems genuinely different. It could be the little pacemaker in his chest that keeps him alive. Maybe it’s the changes we made in the house (we moved my parents bedroom downstairs).

But I think he’s reflecting on how close to the end he came. We cleaned out all the alcohol in the house and he claims he doesn’t want any. Still, I know it can’t be easy to get past an addiction that strong. We’re going to be there for him and try to help him through this but he’s got to want life more than anything. He’s already taken that first step and come back to life …

… now he just has to live it.