Sometimes there's a part of me, has to turn from here and go,
running like a child from these warm skies.
I'm not exactly sure. I haven't sorted everything out. I definitely haven't synthesized the fact that it's over. It's sort of an emotional overload and I feel totally empty of feeling, but I don't think that's how I really feel about it.
Chamber Choir, and singing, was basically how I spent my high school years. For some it's the end of a class, perhaps the end of spending time with people they won't see again, perhaps the end of something that they didn't like.
For me it's how I grew from a goofy freshman without boundaries or emotions into whatever I turned out to be, how I stayed sane, how I spent at least an hour after school every day for most of the year, plus an hour and a half in class. It's Murray, too, and the end of spending so much time with him, of going to his office and chatting when I had nowhere else to go (emotionally and when I was just wandering the school), of having the same teacher for six years, of being loved and of being understood and of being okay with having been figured out, which takes a long time to accept.
The retreat, I think, was lame.
The concert went very well--though I don't have any perspective because it was just an hour ago, I'd say musically it was the best sendoff concert from my years in the group.
It was also the first one where I didn't cry, outright; I just teared up.
Maybe tomorrow it'll hit me and I'll bawl uncontrollably. Or maybe not, and then I think I'll feel a lack of resolution or closure or something. I feel like I should cry.
I'm tired and out of things to say, because I haven't figured it out yet. This week is going to be quite the combination of trying to understand emotional overload and having a TON of fun. Goodnight, all.
I'm not exactly sure. I haven't sorted everything out. I definitely haven't synthesized the fact that it's over. It's sort of an emotional overload and I feel totally empty of feeling, but I don't think that's how I really feel about it.
Chamber Choir, and singing, was basically how I spent my high school years. For some it's the end of a class, perhaps the end of spending time with people they won't see again, perhaps the end of something that they didn't like.
For me it's how I grew from a goofy freshman without boundaries or emotions into whatever I turned out to be, how I stayed sane, how I spent at least an hour after school every day for most of the year, plus an hour and a half in class. It's Murray, too, and the end of spending so much time with him, of going to his office and chatting when I had nowhere else to go (emotionally and when I was just wandering the school), of having the same teacher for six years, of being loved and of being understood and of being okay with having been figured out, which takes a long time to accept.
The retreat, I think, was lame.
The concert went very well--though I don't have any perspective because it was just an hour ago, I'd say musically it was the best sendoff concert from my years in the group.
It was also the first one where I didn't cry, outright; I just teared up.
Maybe tomorrow it'll hit me and I'll bawl uncontrollably. Or maybe not, and then I think I'll feel a lack of resolution or closure or something. I feel like I should cry.
I'm tired and out of things to say, because I haven't figured it out yet. This week is going to be quite the combination of trying to understand emotional overload and having a TON of fun. Goodnight, all.