No, I am not dead. I am alive, but I am busy. This is going to be an aimless, asterisk-filled entry about my day. You know you totally care.
***
We had our high school pops concert tonight. We did okay. The chorus was beyond terrible, but you'll be glad to know that I did indeed hit the high G at the end of the Lion King medley. It's a positively inhuman note, so I'm rather pleased that I managed to get up to it without having to wear really tight leather pants. I don't wanna be a Bee Gee.

The band did fine. I managed to move several audience members to tears with my spectacular timpani part during "Seventy-Six Trombones." All told, though, I'm still kind of irritated with Band Dude. I think he's got this complex where he thinks that a girl can't play the trap set; never mind if she's been playing competently for two years. Either that, or I just suck more thatn I thought I did. I'd like to think it's the former, but you never know. If it is the first option, well, Meg White, you've fucked it up for all of us.
***
I gave Chantel a present today. She sang a solo at the concert, "Somewhere" from West Side Story, and was so nervous she looked up my number in the phone book and called me on the verge of tears last night. Today I made her a little white voodoo doll out of an old t-shirt and some black thread. He's got painted-on X's for eyes, a painted-on stitched mouth, and a painted black heart. I tied a ribbon around his waist and pinned plastic yellow flowers to his heart. I gave her the doll for good luck. She seemed to like it.

Some people give flowers; I give handmade voodoo dolls. Aren't I clever and novel and dripping with sarcasm?
***
I had a good five minutes of conversation with Number Four and my friend Nick today. At one point, a chubby little seventh-grader that everybody hates walked past, and Number Four greeted him by name. The seventh-grader seemed in total awe that the real live star of AHS' basketball team even knew he existed. After the boy left, I commented that he was a nice kid. Nick agreed, and Three-Point Shooter (who had joined the conversation for the moment) mentioned that he felt sorry for him.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He really is a nice kid."

Number Four was quick. "You only say that because you love him," he crooned. (Can you croon without singing? That's about the right word for his tone.)

"Oh, yes, you've found me out," I replied. "[John Doe] makes my heart all a-flutter."
***
I'm done now. Good night.