Its incredible how much I admire reading previous entries of mine. I read the previous entry I wrote and giggle at the grammar mistakes, and marvel at my depth, and wonder if anyone really ever truly understands what I’m saying. I wish I would write more journal entries, instead of leaving gaping time gaps. For one thing, I have amazing thoughts every day that I feel need to be written down. For another, I want to giggle, marvel, and wonder at myself more often.

I began writing my religious studies paper yesterday. I read aloud the first paragraph and laughed, because I realized that I was writing it in a similar style to that of my journal. I honestly don’t think this is a negative concequence of my journal. In fact I believe my writing skills have increased exponentialy. Mostly just the flow of my writing…the flow and the essence of what I’m expressing. Perhaps you disagree and think my writing is shit. Well, that’s for you to see in my writing. I see improvement.

Anyways, I didn’t start this journal to express my feeling on writing this journal. Mostly I started it to practice puting some of the incredible deep thoughts I own into words. I don’t think I’m fully doing this well yet, but if I keep on working at it, perhaps one day. I’m still talking about writing this journal…I’ll stop.

Its been an alright couple of weeks. My previous energy level peaked a couple weeks ago after the end of “Cabaret”. I immediately picked up my trumpet and began to practice the lead trumpet part for “Gypsy”. I was in heaven. I’ve been ignoring my inner musical nature for five years now, dreaming of it repeatedly. I always dream that I’m playing in my highschool band again and I’m with all my friends and we’re happy. I’ve never been happier. I’m playing music again. And then I realize in my dream that I can’t go back to highschool and I switch to a new dream. No, I can’t go back to highschool. I can however make music again. So I practiced for an hour or two every day until my lips hurt and the pain of my wisdom teeth forced me to shove ice cubes in my mouth. However, my mother finaly mentioned the performance schedule to me. I couldn’t do it, it was too much. I didn’t have the time. When I was in highschool, my dream was to play professionaly for the orchestras in musicals. Perhaps this dream will come true another time.

I’m loving school too much. I love being there, and being in class. I love writing tests, and reading my text books and arguin over whether or not Marx’s views on religion were absolutely negative. I loved seeing my first A’s ever on the two tests I wrote. I love being a nervous wreck over a test I have tomorrow that I’m not ready for. I dreamed once…I still do, that I would have my PhD one day. I wanted to get up in front of a hundred people and teach them. I wanted to have the word doctor in front of my name. Not just because is gave me status, but because I could finaly justify myself withing my family. As the baby of the family, I’m always thought of as the “Not so smart one”. I’m naiive, crazy, ridiculous, dumb. I want to walk in that door and proclaim that I’m more educated than any of them ever will be, and to treat me with respect! I dream…mostly for myself though, family conflict aside. I want that as a career. I want to be in the newspaper described as “the leading expert on….”. I think I’d be happy. I’ve always loved the idea of sitting in a little office scattered with hundreds of reference books, thrusting my knowledge and theory on an unsuspecting public. I want to mark papers. I want to live the university life forever. I have no funds though. I already have massive student loans that I wasted away. I was a horrible student who fucked up is entire university career by skipping the majority of classes. The sad thing is…now that I’m good enough, its too late. Nobody cares about what I may discover as a professor. My thoughts will go unheard forever.

Except for here. This place where my writing skills will forever improve, and perhaps I will learn to describe the emotion of making music…and this will be enough.