biogenic amine

i ended my hiatus from singing...and i just nearly puked in the sink.

my eyes have been pretty itchy, but a daily dose of patanol has been keeping the rub-my-eyes-till-they-bleed-instinct at bay. i haven't noticed too much post-nasal drip, so i went off the loratadine about two months ago.

it seems a falling tree does make a sound if you're there, but just not listening to it.

yesterday, i did some light warming up, pulled out a new art song and started getting the notes in my ear. today, i attempted more demanding warm ups. a couple high c's later, i was rushing to the bathroom trying not to puke. it seems that the vibrations shook loose some post-nasal drip, and my gag reflex was not prepared to bump into an unexpected acquaintance.

so i'm back to singing and back to loratadine (and maybe some salt water gargles before practicing for a couple days, just to be safe?).

refraction

having put myself in closer physical proximity to the people and places of my past, i find myself making mental plans to visit as many as possible. many aren't necessarily people with whom i was incredibly close, but i want to see them nonetheless. it's fascinating to see how people grow and change. it's also a humbling experience to visit the self you used to be through these people you used to know...and to see who you were and who you are through the lens of who they were and who they are.

however, i have not made plans to visit two of the people with whom i was closest in college. i don't know if i want to visit these women. i don't know if they'd have me. and i don't know how to answer all those don't knows.

one is the roommate. i was never her closest friend, nor she mine, but we spent nearly all of college living together. i think we made good roommates. really good roommates, actually. she was so simultaneously silly spunky and yet somehow conservative. i still do her little leprechaun dance when i'm feeling free and silly. i've sent several emails over the years -- some as innocuous as asking her advice on grad schools for my sister who was going into the same program she had been in -- but with no response.

the other was the best friend. one of the most interesting and talented people i've ever met. and so honest. when i remember the substance in college life outside the theater or the classroom, i remember talking with her, trips to chicago with her, and more talking.

the best friend and the roommate actually *were* best friends, so i was kind of the odd girl out in the trio. that's always been my place -- in but out. i suppose that's the space i've created for myself, or perhaps the only space i knew how to occupy after a childhood of moving every year or two. all the cool people have already bonded with their best friends, so when i show up late, i take what i can get.

after several years of an occasional email sent but never responded to, and rejected friend requests, i am in casual contact with the best friend again. in fact, i think she might have sent me the friend request this time, and we've exchanged a couple cordial comments.

our senior year was tumultuous, as i think it always is. for kids who've never been "on their own," there is an anxiety simmering under the surface. the only routines and responsibilities we've know are about to change forever.

i went through my first breakup. i had no clue what i was going to do upon graduation. i got really freaking depressed and put myself in counseling. i flirted with alcoholism. i found physical affection where i could, and not always in the best places. and my so-called best friends said "i don't like the choices you're making" and "i don't know who you are anymore" and they washed their hands of me. i spent most of my time out of the apartment so i could avoid their freeze. i quit singing because choir necessitated placing myself in proximity of their freeze. five months to graduation, i had to find a new social circle.

i may have crossed some boundaries in trying to be a helpful friend. i confused and possibly hurt a mutual friend with whom i had a fling. but I WAS 20 YEARS OLD!! am i exempt from ever being allowed to fuck up? am i exempt from one little semester of being young and scared and stupid? if i were my friend (and i try to be), i'd say: yes, you are allowed to be imperfect. you are allowed to make mistakes. and i still love you.

is there something i'm missing? was there something i did that i have no clue i did? is there some justification for their actions other than a) they didn't really care about me or b) they were too self-absorbed to be a good friend to me? they made the time to be friends for each other...why weren't they a friend to me?

my one call for help, my one moment of need, and the people i thought were my true friends failed me. part of me is making excuses for them ("they were probably dealing with their own shit"). my sense of justice is inflamed suspecting that their memories may have erased the good and replaced it with some skewed image that doesn't resemble me...and likewise suppressed their failure to be there for me the one time it counted. perhaps i'm mostly just trying to avoid feeling how hurt i was, and still am, by it.

best friend, i thought you were possibly the awesomest person ever. you are so beautiful and so funny and so talented. i've missed your penchant for goats and your silver tongued words. tell me, when you write it, do we become friends again?