(no subject)
In the eternal conflict of why bad things happen to good people, Vicky and I ruined two important rolls of film today by developing them in fixer, my AP Spanish test tomorrow decided to be crazy hard, a bus caught on fire outside of CCW rehearsal, I'm out of Red Bull, and there are four more days in the week.
Actually, for me, the bus fire didn't end up being a such a bad thing. They blocked off traffic from Ward Circle to the church on Nebraska , so when I got to chorus, five minutes late myself, there were about five people there. So I signed in, and Jane and I left to see what the cause of the jam was, and just ditched for like fifteen minutes to wander shoe-less down Nebraska Avenue in the lovely rain. And they hadn't even started when we got back. They were passing out cookies. When we finally got started, maybe half an hour late, we mostly worked on the Ave Maria, which I could just sing for hours and hours and never get bored of because it is so intricately beautiful, and the Hatfield, which I cannot understand why people don't like, and Mrs. G had some wierd new respect for me (wtf?) and I sat crosslegged the whole time and never put my shoes back on. I think even Louisa's unfounded bad peanut-butter-throwing mood was lightened by the rehearsal.
When we passed by it on the way home, once that stretch where Nebraska and New Mexico meet was reopened, though, the bus was still there, all charred and skeletal and strange. There is something that is just so eerie out about the aftermath of a fire. My mother proceeded to tell me a story about how she once got called out on a reporting job where there was a carfire on the highway, and there was a charred dead person inside the car. I think I could deal with decomposing or dismembered bodies (how dissapointed I was today in physics when Mrs. Caudle told us that her dog brought home a dead deer, and not a human head), but as much of a pyro as I may seem to be, I can't deal with the remains of a fire.
Also, I found my Modigliani earrings today!