The restlessness of my mind often forbids me sleep on many occasions. For instance, on April 19th, I had just moved into my new apartment. After spilling a half gallon of laundry detergent on my white shirt, jeans, and new boots purchased at the D.I., I finally had all of my belongings sprawled over my teeny bedroom floor. It is no surprise to see that I have far too many commodities, and only half of my clothes fit in my closet, for they bulge out of the doors like a lion waiting on its prey. The night of the move-in, I lay in my anything-but-comfortable, twin-size bed, with my mind racing. I had boxes piled high in the bedroom, nothing on the walls, and my shoes were waiting to be put in their shoe-rack, not to mention, I hadn’t even registered for all of my classes. It’s moments like these where I wish I could push all of my thoughts to the “ignore” compartment and get some much needed rest. But no. Leave it to Maddi to get up and start unpacking those boxes and even start practicing for her choir audition the next day. Finally, my mind was subdued as my body collapsed on my bed, but it wasn’t long until 9 a.m. came around and I needed to get up and at ’em. I got my audition piece ready, hopped in my car, and drove 5 miles away from my apartment so that I could warm up my vocalizers in privacy. The last thing I wanted was my new roommates to hear my opera voice resounding through the paper thin walls as our first encounter.
Time to audition:
that’s what divas do best.
I sang Vedrai Carino with ease and gumption, portrayed my sight reading capabilities, and showed the range of my voice to my choir judge. She nodded, smiled, referred me to try out for a role in the Opera Workshop class, and told me that she would see me at call-backs in two days. My relief was overly apparent for the time being; it was time to relax.
Two days came quickly.
I arrived at callbacks and was put into the Soprano I group, where we had to sing a four-bar excerpt one-by-one. Of course my voice wasn’t in its prime because of my lack of sleep, but I felt solid about my 5.5 second solo. We weren’t told if we had made the choir afterward, so I assumed I would find out when I showed up for Women’s Choir class the next Monday at 3:15.
As I took my seat that Monday afternoon, Eda Ashby proclaims,
Congratulations on making it into Women’s Choir this semester. I’m assuming you all checked the list outside my office, saw that you made it, and are excited for what is ahead of us!
THERE WAS A LIST?! Cold sweat beads formed on my temples and I could feel my cheeks turning their notorious, nearly purple hue. I looked around awkwardly to see if anyone was in the same predicament as I, but I guess it isn’t the norm to have your emotions as apparent on your face as mine always are. I was officially embarrassed. What if I didn’t make it? What if my tired, raspy voice was the cause of my failure? A role sheet wasn’t passed that day so I still had no idea if I was even permitted and it was the longest hour of my life. 4:15 finally came around, and I booked it to her office. I could see the white list fluttering under the A/C as if to say, “Giirrrl, you think you’re a diva but you’re not.” I jabbed my index finger onto it to shut it up and slid it down the rows, quickly scanning each name. Why do I have to have a W last name?! Impatience is one of my greatest attributes, but I held it together as I reared the W’s. Fourth to last on that list read Walker, Madison and I let out a sigh of relief loud enough to frighten a small child. I brushed off my shoulders, (yes I actually did the Jay-Z gesture) and exited the building. I had nothing to worry about and I felt slightly stupid for making such a big deal of it in my head and on my face…but then I saw the outfits we have to wear.
Eek. I have nothing more to say.