Wednesday, sept 18, 7:00 pm

So, I told Mr. Davies all last week that I couldn't sing. Now that I'm better, he says I get to try the aretha solo in choir tomorrow.


Oooh, I'm insanely excited just thinking about it. And I sort of feel like barfing, too.

I mean, all those older cool choir kids who hang out in the choir office talking about Eric Whitacre and playing on their Fenders--

They'll all see and hear me too.

I tend to dislike attention. In fact, I try to discourage it as much as possible, by staying quiet and keeping my eyes trained in the general direction of everyone's shoes.

Well, in this case, I don't care. I love this enough-- this black spiritual singing thing, to not care if I make a complete and utter fool of myself. I mean, to be backed by a choir and hand-clapping and an occasional "Help me Lawd--"

this is my dream.

I wasn't able to think of much else throughout ski practice. My coach noticed and bawled me out because my stride wasn't gliding enough or something. I ignored him but then stepped up the pace when I saw that Ella was ahead of me.

I'll be danged if she beats me this time. Seriously.

She still hasn't said anything about my new pants.

Unfortunately, I have to wash them tomorrow, so it'll be back to highwaters and sock stains. I'm sure she'll say plenty then.

We're making miniature temples out of paper mache for young womens' tonight-- I kind of wish we were making miniature temples out of cookies with frosting, because I'm STARVING. Hopefully Mom will bring me something--

oh, here she is. Ohhh-- and she has taco bell. Yay. Bless her.