Dear Diary | One | Anon (language warning)
Posted September 12th, 2017 by HannahChen2009
a zombie now (*Jill*) |
Hey y'all Ena keeps nagging at me to come back so here I am. There are mild sexual jokes and language (but used in a non-violent way, just the way kids talk these days) so I want it to be made clear that I have already warned whoever happens to click on this post, and will therefore not take any responsibility for any arguments going on in the comments section about 'language on a kid's website' because I'm just too old and tired to deal with that kind of nonsense.
Anyway, for those of you who don't know me, I'm Jill, and I've been a member for nearly five years. I'm recently seventeen so probably among the oldest people on this site. I don't come on very often on account of my busy school life, but as a comporomise to be on I'm starting a diary series that's just basically blurbs from my daily life when 'In the Mood' and 'Have the Time' happen to occur simultaneously. In any case, I hope you enjoy this mini-series blurbish thing.
You can imagine the kind of mood a person would be in after she has recieved anonymous hate, failed at a performance because she was using a drum set she was unfamiliar with and the hi-hat was too high, after which she was chewed out thoroughly by her instructor (although for different reasons). Yeah, not the most pleasant. So there I was, sitting, brooding, bent over my phone, too lazy to make human contact. My attempt to find my classmates in the audience to catch the rest of the performance (which, thankfully, was not given by yours truly) was in vain. It was there before I was halfway to the auditorium- an arcid, unbearable smell of roughly one thousand teenagers cramped in a small room with air conditioning that was definitely not designed to serve its purpose.
I had reached the top of the stairs and then given up immediately, turning tail and retreating to the cool, unpolluted band classroom. I was there for an immeasuarble amount of time (of course when I say immeasurable I assure you it was merely figurative as I was tired and didn't want to hear the next words out of anyone's mouth) until the first years poured in in an instant. Eight or seven of them, and it looked like they had came from the auditorium as a group, which they very well may have done. They filed into the room, laughing, talking, and after setting down their things, poured out of the room again, and there was no doubt where they were going- to the convenience store to get their dinner before practice.
Now, undoubtedly no one that didn't specifically come from a struggling band would more likely than not not understand the gratification it feels to see what must have been about forty people in the practice room at once, with every chair filled and not enough music stands to go around. It brought a smile to my face- no more, no less.
"This tube is so long," marveled a sax player who had recently transferred from alto to tenor, referring to the neck of the tenor, which was understandably a good deal longer than an alto's.
"Not as long as mine," a normally reserved trombone player piped up, which sent us into fits of hysterics as we realized the implied meaning as one.
The tiny silver of the evening was filled with similar jokes- although not all of them mildly sexual, had us laughing till our stomachs hurt and our face muscles were stiffened. Seven or eight of us left the practice room in a group, amongst those my best friend in band, Alice. She had a 'thing' for a first year sax player, and the reason I put 'thing' in parenthathes was that it wasn't really a crush or anything like that, but she thought the kid was cute, and in fairness, he was. I had a 'thing' myself for another sax first year whose name sounded similar to the first, and so naturally we joked about that on our way out, much to the confusion of rhe first year.
In time, we had to split up- most were headed for the bus stop, but two of us were headed towards the metro station. Lo and behold, it was Alice and the first year.
"Oooo-" the trombone started, much to the amusement of others in our party, while Alice leaned over a small balcony that separated the two routes. (He had no chill tonight, I'm serious.) Then, he quickly held a hand over his mouth as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"What the fuck? Who said that?" hands pointed towards the trombone player in glee while he guffawed into his hand and tried to keep a straight face. I sniggered.
"See you tomorrow!" I waved, ignoring her question, smiling happily up at her as we descended.
And you know, I was in a pretty good sort of mood.
See more stories by a zombie now (*Jill*)