Today I met my accompanist for the second time. Halfway through playing the Elegy when I heard the noise I was producing , it reminded me of a screechy dying cat and I couldn't help laughing.
Immediately after I stopped playing, I said
"I hope I get dengue the following week. Then I won't have to take my exam."
"People die of dengue, you know." she said.
Then maybe I'll get someone who can play the Elegy better perform it at my funeral.
Speaking of funerals, my cello teacher who is 69 years old is uncontactable by phone for many many days since her attack of conjunctivitis. I keep getting her voice mail so I checked obituaries, but didn't see her face, thankfully.
Who takes 6 hours to finish an ethics application form?! I frustrate myself with my perfectionism. I'm starting to see it as a problem - together with my death wish (not really, that one's for real) and my penchant for labelling people with unsavoury labels like 'cow' (but cow/beef is savoury, no?). I begin to see how this is my reaction to the incredible NICEness of people in the social work class. It disturbs be because I believe no one is genuinely nice and I don't know how to talk to people who are nice because they are at polar opposites to my gleeful evilness. I think, in a gross mis-application of family therapy theory, my being evil is an attempt to differentiate myself from the people around me.
I am not sure if that is a result of my increasing sense of alien-hood, or the cause of my sense of alien-hood. The perennial chicken and egg question, it all comes back to.
Maybe because social work is not just a professional identity but a way of being, something you radiate internally, and it appears that knowledge is not enough to compensate for the lack of that...internal glow.
What rubbish I write.
But. It's starting to feel like I'm in my nightmare-inducing secondary school all over again, except that now there are more English-speaking people (but not really), and there are more people I can talk to. But I can't shake this increasing sense of difference. Everytime I hear the 'Next time when you all become social workers' refrain, my eyes glaze over. And people are flitting around now in the Amazing Race for Thesis/ISM supervisors, and the existential angsty part of me says that school and everything attached is so inconsequential.
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