Aptly, “Affanni del pensier” (Handel) is a perfect description of my opinion of juries. I am excited and terrified, and sick with it. And I’d give anything for a moment of peace, at least.
I rehearse today at 4 with my professor in the Black Box of Doom (804). Again. And hopefully this time I will be able to add some artistry to the aria I received just over two weeks ago. To some, this might seem like no time at all in which to master the music. I, on the other hand, am not a super great memorizer (or writer, right now, apparently). I also have a shit ton of other stuff going on. That’s not an excuse, it’s just the truth. My planner is riddled with scribbles: “E-mail these people. Composition assignment draft; theory (theme and variations worksheet). Aural skills: practice. Rehearse- 4oo” and so on and so on.
I forgot to eat again today. This is the second time it’s happened. So, to make up for it, I bought myself an amazing sandwich at Java’s. But I’m still shaky, still feeling the aftereffects of being stupid and not nourishing myself. I didn’t want another stupid bagel again, though! And that’s pretty much the only good thing I can identify in that pathetic little food-providing institution they call the Pit.
Anyway. So I’m a little twitchy and full and nervy right now. I’ve got an hour and six minutes to solidify Affanni before Ciesinski hears it again. I might sing it through to myself here, then read it: again and again and again. Then sing through it softly one more time. I might speak the words in the order they go in. I don’t know.
I just want to do well. I’m working for it; I’m trying. I’m trying.