It’s really bizarre to think that such a supposed-to-be momentous occasion is over already.

Then again, there’s still the grad party, so I’ll have more closure then, I hope. More closure for this part of my life. High school was jam-packed with years that molded me into who I am. And it’s done with. Hardly any pomp and circumstance (except when the band played it), and now those years are flung behind me.

Ahead of me lies an array of choices. So, so many things to do, to try, to try for. I can’t envision much of it, but the possibilities are endless and I’ll leave them up to my imagination. I’ve got plans to achieve everything I can and everything I crave.

Right now I’m listening to the Avetts’ “Kick Drum Heart” (heavy irony here) and thinking that you can hear it said hundreds of times, but it’s still meaningful when it hits you. The realization that so many things change, but just as many others stay the same.

In five years I might still love The Avett Brothers and sit at my computer blogging. In five years my little sister will have graduated from Gowanda. In five years I will have graduated for a second time, but from Eastman School of Music (I hope). But I’ll be so different. I will have learned and experienced so, so much more.

I’ve learned and experienced so much in just the past two years. And I’ve changed, for the better (again, I hope). So has this little blog. From Amneris Blue to &a yellow xylophone, to a red bandana tribute. And finally to Kick Drum Heart.

I hate to mirror graduating and just fling the past away, but despite the fact that I adore this little blog, I’ve outgrown it a little. I’m starting a new blog from which I will share the memories I make this summer and (free time pending) throughout college.

You can find my new blogging home at this new site, although it won’t be up and running officially until Grandma and I rendezvous and pick out my laptop (so, a week and a half from now, ish).

And since this is the last post on this blog of over two years, I’ll close with an Avett Brothers’ quote that, I guess, is pretty fitting.

“There’s nothing like finding gold
Within the rocks hard and cold
I’m so surprised to find more
Always surprised to find more

I won’t look back anymore
I left the people that do
It’s not the chase that I love
It’s me following you.”

Since my last post, I have started a full-time job, recognized the severity of second-degree sunburn, watched four straight hours of instructional video, gone on my first official movie date (ever), and essentially revisited kindergarten in a completely non-G-rated manner. (It’s more of a PG-13, fyi, you sickos.)

But, um, yeah. So it’s been a fun three days so far.

It’s literally insane: it’s only been three days. And I’ve already played the marimba for what may be the last time, held hands with a blonde, and made two ice capps. Also discovered that it may not be physically possible to hang out with a guy my age that’s any more like my father. (Legitimately, the only thing he’s missing is a guitar obsession.) It’s really bizarre as hell but also, I won’t lie, really exciting and very, very different. I’m used to having to work at trying to get people to think of me in that way, at all. So.

That’s my story, and we’ll see if and when it changes. But I’ve been researching, as is myobsession, and I’m a little concerned. More later, though, because my retarded dog won’t shut up and needs food.

Right now I suffer from severe insomnia for the second night in a row due to vicious blisters from my previously beloved sunshine. The burn runs from my ankles up the backs of my legs, then from my lower back to my neck. And let me tell you, it freaking effing Sucks. I’ve been aloe-ing with the blue crap Doc suggested and as of fifteen minutes ago have discovered that walking is best left to those without swollen red skin hideously inflaming the backs of their knees.

I almost wish I could fall asleep and just zonk out. Seriously. The rain outside my cracked window and the soothing acoustic that is Jack Johnson are a pleasant lullaby amidst the sounds that quilt my little room. But I’ve got goosebumps all along my back and legs that are bizarrely offset by swamping heat.

And my mom signed us all up for grunt work at the Theatre tomorrow, which I would normally enjoy, but in my present state will find exquisite torture on so many levels.

Yepo. This Sucks.

It’s just a little simple board. Three feet by six inches, I’d guess, with the words carved into it, laquered with black paint.

And it is so true.

This weekend I have busted my ass with members of Gowanda’s Historic Hollywood Theatre board and other volunteers. I mostly spent time working with Zach and Kiener (and occasionally Michelle, who usually was occupied with other things). We dealt with heavy loads of garbage, changed toilet paper in porta-potties, swept cigarette butts and shop-vacced puddles. We walked in the wet and took forty-minute power naps in the trailer. We counted to ten (beer tokens in Dixie cups) literally thousands of times. I helped my mom and Karen sell beer tokens to hundreds of people wasted or wanting to get wasted. Then, finally, Zach, Kiener, Nickolas and I assisted Randy, Jono and the stage guys with dismantling the heavy (mostly) aluminum stage.

I am beat. And I fucking love it.

You know, people search all their lives for something to live for, something they want to work for. Something they can shape their lives around.

I have mine. The arts and the effect they can have on people are astonishing. For this theatre, there is an annual event that brings together members of the community and bikers from all over the country. Money is raised and funds go to restoring a historical landmark that will draw more culture and revenue to a village that has pooled more strength and unity together over the past twelve months than most areas will see in a decade.

That’s why I’m here. To live, to sing, to have fun. To value my friends, family, and the fact that I am able to appreciate and execute hard, break-your-back work as well as any boy.

I know what I love and am completely willing to bust my ass for it.

It’s been a great weekend.

I am really hungry right now. I forewent lunch because I don’t have any money, and breakfast was coffee, pretty much. I wish it was the end of the day already. But in the same breath I don’t, because I’m nervous. I’m opening the Happening tonight at 7. Singing the SSB and “Don’t Stop Believin’.” What if I screw up? The star spangled banner is way more complicated than anyone ever gives it credit for.

Oh, and as for that boy thing. You know, the object of my melancholy yesterday?

There’s really nothing I can do about it. I should just come to terms with that from the very beginning of anything. Everything we do in life is a reaction to circumstances. So pretty much, anything I do will only cause him to react a certain way, and if… oh, whatever. I’m done thinking about it. The bell for twelfth period is going to ring in less than four minutes and I want to get the hell out of Denmark/here.

I’ll probably go down to the band room to practice, but who knows… Usually every time I say I’m going to do something I end up involved in an activity completely different. Hopefully whatever I do will be enjoyable, because right now, with no food and practically no friends here (it’s senior trip day) I’m bored out of my freaking mind. At least the marimba doesn’t communicate in ways I don’t enjoy.

A week later: “Yeah, he definitely looks at me all the time.”

Three days after that: “Oh man, yep. And he blushes too!”

Two weeks, one conversation, and three self-initiated texting sessions later: “What the fuck, I am probably the biggest idiot I know.”

Honestly, I am either just really, really dumb or get in over my head. Every. Freaking. Time.

Or else I just freak myself out. It simply can’t be that a kid likes me and wants to get to know me for honest reasons. That wouldn’t make any sense (especially this close to the end of the year).

I guess I’m just a huge miserable blob of f.m.l. right now. It happens every time I am inclined to believe that I suck at relationships being potentially interested in someone. No matter that I’m completely talented in general and fairly competent at flirting (with boys I’m not interested in). No matter that I’m not a hag, precisely.

Nope. I guess I’m too scary or something. But whatever. After this year I won’t have to worry about boys. I’m going to be completely and wholly focused on my career and kicking music ass. So screw the stupid insignificant impact dumb boys (or dumb me) have on my mood. I’m going to sleep, and then tomorrow I’m going to practice all day, then work, then sing, then work, then go home and sleep some more. And that’s how it’s going to go down, and how I’m going to move past this.

It doesn’t exactly correlate but in my sleepy-minded logic yestereve it totally made sense. So, beginning yesterday, I will be blogging at least once a day for the entire month of June. Even if they’re just little short blogs or poems, I will post something. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to come up with a sweet banner and theme I like, as well. It’s been like toenail polish lately: I can’t decide which one to do it in and am stuck with an in between that I’m not so fond of.

Anyway, that’s my plan. I usually end up trying to write, though, and ending up with double my normal output of words. Prose, haiku, what the hell ever, it usually just gets going when I try to be constant at it.

So it might end up, say, two or three posts a day. Not that it really matters.

I want to see that little widgety calendar full of links by July 1.

He spoke about Jesus. And he did it in our high school lunch room.

My favorite radical Christian (sorry Shane Claiborne)

This is the kind of radical love and expression that will change the world. If I can convey even a fraction of that through my writing, performances, or future teaching, I will consider myself satisfied with my life.

But for now, I am going to be happy existing. I am going to be happy being happy (for once this year). And if  that happiness begins to radiate, I’m not complaining. It’s seriously the first time this school year I have felt seriously and totally content and at peace.

What makes you think that you might
Find that once again
Not that you had It before, but
It’s never a low goal, so

What makes you think that you can
Sashay into his world
Pale hair, hips swinging, smile
And it’s usually the opposite reaction

What makes you think that you should
Attempt to snag a heart
It’s too late for this new start, and
It’s so foolish but your pulse races on

What makes you think that you are
Worthy of his life
It’s sad but his is so different, it’s not
Like you’ve known each other long

What makes you think that you will
Connect with him and his
There’s not so much time to
Act and still it tugs at you, it calls

What makes you think that you may
Ever see tomorrow
Ever get the chance, since none of
Us have time left

What makes you think that you are
Entitled to waste a moment
Dwelling on your flaws when
He could be admiring them

What makes you think that you are
Unworthy of his time
When girl, you’re strong and vibrant
And he’ll know it if you let him

What makes you think that you are
Any less amazing than those other
Girls who look his way
Why you, why you, why you

What makes you think that you can’t
Sing out and greet your lifetime
The seconds that you’re wasting
Could be spent more happily

What makes you think that you won’t
Succeed when it’s been done before
What makes you think that you’re wrong
For wishing at something more?