Scraps

Last night I stayed up till midnight writing an essay I didn't actually turn in. I pitched it in the girls' bathroom, I never should have written it. It was a terrible essay, and likely very untrue. There were two ways to view the incident, and I wrote in the wrong perspective. Note to self: never do that again.

Though the essay as a whole was offensive, I wanted to save the good writing. Here are the snidbits.

1. I try not to keep my own secrets, if I can help it. A truth is a matchstick; when covered, it has the potential to ignite, which burning harms the holder. No doubt it would be better to share the burden of secrets than to confine them; but what of the failure to have secrets in the first place? Secrets are the by-product of misjudgment—whether socially, morally, or on a basis of trust (or lack thereof). But since our society is a judging one, and that judgment is imperfect, there is no judgment without misjudgment. It is foolish to presume that secrets can be obliterated; however, they can be minimized. This minimization is so critical when it comes to forming friendships, keeping relationships, and maintaining social standards.

2. Not after accepting the deception they've created for themselves.

3. Used rather than considered

4. Some are the type of people to make and keep friends easily, whereas my inertia for gaining friends is much higher

5. Prior to that point of realization, I was disinclined to consider...

6. ...onslaught shocked me into a daze

7. What blossomed later in life began as an attack on my endurance

Not that any of that makes sense--it does to me, and I guess that's what matters.


***Post-Edit***
Well, I WAS planning on posting Day 14 as well, but no thanks to a certain bass player, my mood is ruined.

Honestly... I don't care what the Octet thinks of me anymore. Every person in there knows I'm terrible, I'm the weak link, yadda yadda yadda. But to point it out? I thought that was rude. At least it wasn't in front of everyone. Just, as I walked to my car, "Awesome job tonight, Brittney."


You know that feeling where you KNOW someone is trying to make you feel bad? His double-edged sarcasm hurt. Not a lot, though, because I don't deny having played horribly tonight. But I do feel bad about not being good enough to be worthy of the group. I wish there was a way to drop out... I don't even LIKE jazz music! I don't belong there.

I must be doing something wrong. I believe Heavenly Father placed me in the Octet for a reason, and I don't think I'm accomplishing what I should. IF only... I don't know. I get so confused whenever I'm there, I hardly know what to feel, let alone think.

Someone take me out.

***Post-Post Edit 3/24***

Well... now I feel lame. I'm SO OVER-ANALYTICAL!!!

The Octet doesn't CARE if I fail at jazz. They don't CARE if I don't like jazz, or if I solo poorly, or if I don't know any answers or have anything argumentatively constructive to say... These are musicians, they'll accept anything unless it's their place to judge!

They want me to go on a gig with them. (What?!) The bass player probably wasn't being sarcastic. (Double What?!) They liked the song I picked out to transcribe. (triple... WHAT?!!!)

Huh. I've been saying this a lot lately, but...

my logic is flawed. I might need to reconsider finding a better

p e r s p e c t i v e.

Because apparently, everything I perceive is transformed into something...

e l s e.

*sigh*