There were three rehearsals I was supposed to attend after school, two for drama and one for orchestra. The Maastricht bunch, or what’s left of it, has finally started meeting again. I couldn’t make it to that one and read through Mao’s play instead; the prof, upon seeing me, frowned and handed over the music. Its quite nice, lots of fiddling, which the orchestras never do very much of. If everyone in this house wasn’t so bloody irritable today, I’d go run through it. Medusa got on my case yesterday about my practicing, so I picked up an old bow, and stiffly played everything col legno. If she prefers little metallic bumps to sounds that, on occasion, aren't all that bad, I'm not going to argue. I've been doing way too much of that lately.

I didn't make the other rehearsal either, for Reyu's play. I have a terrible suspician, not unwarranted, that if I stay late at school much longer, the parental units are going to crucify me. Reyu might too, at this point.

Ashing was reading Lorca and talking about art history. Melodramatic exhibitionist or not, it made me smile.

Lots of homework, once again, but nothing I can't handle. Stay up a bit late, get up a bit early, forget everything I've ever been told about how teenagers need nine to ten hours of sleep each night, and all will be well.

This is my letter to the world. Again. Leave me be and let me die in peace. Who’s histrionic, hm?

Couple random quotes:

Biondello: "Oh, son of a man!"

Grumio (and the preferred version, such as it is, of Cats): "If you touch me, you'll understand what leprosy is..."

Adieu.