I knew I would think of something to write.

I totally got my acceptance letter from the U of I School of Music on Saturday, but I'm not going to enroll until they offer me some cashola. I'm playing hard to get.

On Saturday evening, I and some 40-odd of my closest friends were sitting in the bleachers of Herscher High School waiting for the results of the show choir competition, listening to loud obnoxious pop music and watching our peers grind against each other, when suddenly the music STOPPED and a voice declared "YOUR Fighting Illini are winnine whatever to whatever." MY Fighting Illini. They're always referred to that way. YOUR Fighting Illini. On all the MI CDs I have, they have the announcer dude saying, "and here come YOUR Marching Illini!" and then they play and it's all cool. I'm torn between thinking it's wierd and thinking it's cute. I'll soon think it's cute, I imagine.

I'm so there. I'm so there already. I've been in show choir for four years, so wouldn't it follow that I would be sad at seeing it end? Hell no. I'm just glad it's over. I'm that much closer to college choir.

I am, I suppose, a little sad. I'll miss high school as a concept. And I'll miss the people whom I'll probably lose touch with. I watched The Royal Tenenbaums this afternoon with a couple of my close, still-in-high-school friends, and I cried. I know. Wierd movie to get weepy over. But it was just so appropriate. It so typifies the dry, precious humor of my compatriates. The grayness of the sounds. The cold wind on Wolf Road. I'll miss it.

But it will be good. Real good.

posted at 11:01 PM by Alison

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