October 19th, 2010
You know it's a sad, sad day when your birds eat better than you do. Tonight they're eating the highest quality seed mix I can afford, fresh hard-boiled egg, and organic sprouts. Meanwhile, I have a bowl of Spaghetti-Os and one of those bottled Starbucks mochas, and I'm pretty sure the milk in the fridge went bad three days ago. Whatever, so long as my babies are eating healthy, right? It's not my fault I don't have the time to go grocery shopping during the week. I'm too busy
trying to write a proper letter to my dad, wherein I don't sound like a stupid child with classes and rehearsals and things!
And now with Halloween coming up, everybody and their mother is talking about parties and whatnot. Like I care? Why do I want to go to a party full of people I don't know, dressed up in ridiculous costumes and seeing who can get wasted the quickest? (Okay, I might have a little grudge against Halloween, after nobody recognized me as Clara from The Nutcracker when I was eight. Uncultured cretins.)
October 15th, 2010
If total strangers you meet in Chinatown and then again on the internet are to be believed, my stalker is actually not my stalker at all, but my father. And said strangers are... I'm not quite sure, but somehow we are vaguely related. Except I'm not sure I believe them, because that was still some stalker-ish behavior and not the best first impression to give someone you claim is your daughter.
I don't know. I mean, I made it eighteen years without a father and I think I turned out pretty all right. I came to terms with the idea that he would never be a part of my life; it sucked, but I was okay with it. And suddenly now I have a father and more siblings than anyone can keep track of, and honestly? I don't feel any different. I don't feel like I'm suddenly part of this huge family. I still feel like an only child with a single mother. That was my life and I loved it, it was perfect, and now everything's different and I have no fucking idea what to do. So I'm going to book a practice room at school tomorrow and work on Tchaikovsky's violin concerto until it's the only thing I can think about. Or until I get so frustrated that I'm tempted to fling my violin out the window, whichever comes first. Anything other than trying to make sense of completely insensible, illogical information.
[Delivered to Drood Tobacco, addressed to the proprietor, is a plain white envelope bearing an equally plain white card. The message inside is brief, neatly written in slanting cursive -- what can't be seen is how long the writer agonized over those few sentences. Every little detail was scrutinized and considered, and at least a half-dozen other cards were thrown out before one was finished to her liking. It reads:
"The bracelet is beautiful, thank you. But next time, you should consider saying hello. I'd appreciate it just as much, and it wouldn't cost you $500."
There is no form of complimentary close, only the name Madeleine signed neatly at the bottom.]
October 12th, 2010
So, I think I have a stalker.
I know, I know, it sounds completely crazy. But I got home from class the other day and found this basket of stuff waiting for me, without a note or anything. At first I thought it was my mom, you know? It's totally like her to send a care package or something to remind me of home. But there was a freaking Tiffany bracelet in there, and there's no way Mom can afford to randomly drop that kind of money on one (admittedly gorgeous) piece of jewelry. Just to be sure, I called her and she had no clue what I was talking about.
Therefore, I think it's a stalker. There were muffins in the basket, my favorite kind, and there was a poppy in it too. Poppies are my favorite flower, and also my birth-month flower, and who would know that? It's not like I go around telling people my preferences in jewelry, baked goods, and flowers. This is kind of creepy!
October 6th, 2010