We had a hilarious performance this morning. Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did. Here's a nice bulleted list of some of the travesties:
•Talia's not here (she's on choir retreat), so we're short-handed
•Xander didn't finalize the performance with his contact, so we didn't even know we were doing it until yesterday
•As such, our name in the bulletin was "Xander's Family"
•We got stuck in traffic and missed the prelude
•When we got there, it turned out we were doing the postlude too, and we hadn't prepared anything
•We had to do children's offertory on the spur of the moment, and Mom picked Jesus Loves all the Little Children, and it has totally problematic lyrics that everyone was probably thinking to themselves as we played
•Xander's violin got really out of tune, so our entire offertory (the regular one) was all funky
•In our special music, Xander started with the wrong song, so I had to sing the lyrics of Beach Spring to the tune of Come Thou Fount (it actually fits though???)
•Then we all panicked and switched back to our original arrangement (mashup of Gift of Love and Beach Spring/There's a Wideness)
•It was in the wrong key, and I wasn't expecting it, so my voice cracked :(
•Also, since it was in the wrong key, the harmony went all weird
•Anselm's cello popped a string, and he had to spend the entire time trying to fix it
•I switched around the verses and sang them in the wrong order (which no one except me noticed, but still)
•Xander messed up the bridge and the outro, and we didn't know when to pause and when to end
•Because of this, the last verse didn't sound like the last verse
•Not very many people listened to our postlude :( (it's not that kind of church)
•We had to eat haystacks
All in all, it was Quite a Time. I think we did decently, though, and so many people complimented me on my "beautiful voice," so I mean, that's good for me (not for the others, though). Xander's friend Michael is such a sweetheart, and he managed to get a special lunch for us (which unfortunately was haystacks, but beggars can't be choosers), and we got to talk to him. He's like a family friend at this point, and we all like him. So it all ended happily, I suppose.

You know what's not happy, though? Me. I'm not happy. Okay, well, that's nothing new, but I will never tire of complaining about it, because I'm a loathsome and hideous chaos monster who feeds on narcissistic rants about the minutiae of her privileged life. To that end, let me again put forth my catalogue of grievances (just call me Abbé Seiyes; I could start a revolution with my indignation).
I'm never happy, we know this, but it always gets exponentially worse on weekends. Or actually, does it? Maybe not. But weekends are hellish enough, so there's that. For one thing, I know Sunday's coming, and on Sunday, I have to teach, and teaching sucks the soul from my very body, so that's something which I look forward to with the deepest dread all week. But no one likes it when I complain, so I can't, and besides, I can't burden my poor family with my petty dislike of children. But I'm telling you bro, it's the worst. Who hates teaching more than I do? Probably Hercules's teacher, when he got smacked on the head with a lyre. And maybe those people who have to teach like seven grades all at once in one-room schoolhouses (which I didn't know still existed until recently). But I feel like I'm definitely up there.
Also! Dad, being the passive-agressive snake-in-the-grass that he is, has started to wander about town, telling everyone within earshot about his marital problems. Now, they're all descending on Mom to yell at her, and it's very trying. Why must he be this way? I really don't understand. Well, okay, I do, but only in an abstract sort of way. Like, if someone were writing a Dark and Gritty neo-realist novel, this would make perfect sense, and would be something that the thoroughly unpleasant paramour of the title character would do. But in real life, it's much less acceptable. And honestly, it's so terribly trite. At least the townspeople haven't conspired to make Mom a scarlet A to wear around (or maybe an S, for "separation"). Or at least, not yet.
You know what hurts children more than separation? Abuse. Just putting that out there.
My family is honestly such a dysfunctional one. Like, every single one of us could be the subject of a Next to Normal-styled rock musical about the degeneration of happiness in the modern era, and the pain of living with mental illness. It could be a cycle, ya know, like The Ring or something. Each musical would be like three hours long, and they would all come together in the end for some kind of surrealist finale decrying the establishment and all that it stands for. It would be glorious. (I want Samantha Barks to play me)
And like, I understand how lucky I am, and how incredibly bratty I sound all the time, and believe me, that wears on me too, but it's hard to stop complaining (in here, not in real life). And also, it's hard to stop drinking. I'm going to become an alcoholic before my 21st birthday. What ever am I to do?

This is totally changing the subject (sort of; it's still complain-y), but I'm super ugly right now. Or, well, all the time, but right now I feel the crushing weight of my own unattractiveness more than I usually do. I mean, I have nice silky hair, and that's something, and also my boobs are pretty darn boobalicious (and okay, I have an amazing ass, let's be real here), but I have so many other unfortunate features that if someone were writing a Deep and Meaningful retelling of Pygmalion and Galatea where Galatea was the Frankenstein's monster of her dystopian society (because obviously it would be a dystopia), I would be an excellent choice to play her. I wouldn't even have to put on makeup or anything; I could just wander out onstage and everyone would scream in horror and try to cover their children's eyes. Actually, I'm very interested in this premise now. I hope someone writes this one day so that I don't have to, because I would probably not do it justice, and it deserves to have justice done to it. It could be called Galatea of the Fears (as an allusion to Dali's Galatea of the Spheres and also because Galatea would be so ugly that it would be fearful) and it would be very minimalist and cool. It would probably win many awards.
Can people stop staring at me for like five seconds? Like, that would be dandy. Or if they have to, can't they be, ya know, cool about it? Like, they could be staring at me because I remind them of their long-lost child, and they want to leave a fortune to me and pay off all my debt. Or something. That would be perf. But nah tho, all I got is plenty o' nothing (and it's not plenty for me).
Okay, I think the cafe is closing, so I have to leave. I'm afraid this is terribly abrupt, and trust me, I feel deeply Heathcliffian, but really, it fits my image of a Brooding Postmodern Antihero, so it's okay. I should go smoke a special type of cigarette now or something. Anyway, bye now!