Let's do the time warp...

This is a little poem-thingy I wrote for an English assignment a couple months ago and I just thought I'd share.

Have you ever stumbled
Or made a small mistake?
Forgot to do your homework
Had a chance you didn't take?
You wish you could return
And turn left instead of right
Take back something you regret
Worn pants that weren't so tight.
But what's the point of living
If mistakes can be undone?
What's the point of winning
If the game can be unwon?
Because what's in your future
Is made up of your past
Change one little error
And identity goes fast
I rather think that I'd remain
In my present time
All my little screw-ups
Are what make my life mine.

I just super agree with myself. If you explore all the what-ifs of everything that might have been, you're never going to be satisfied with what you have. And if you could go back in time, and change all your little blunders, you might wipe out something that is crucial to who you are now. Perhaps losing all of your 3rd grade softball games taught you good sportsmanship and eventually led to you being a really positive, resilient person. Maybe getting lost in Walmart taught you how to communicate with people you didn't know and to be able to ask for help, which in turn effects every struggle you've faced where you had someone to help you and someone you could rely on. I'm just saying, if you're a good person with good values, all the trials you've been through were worth it.

Why I joined Jazz Band...

       Alright, so here's just a bit of info for you: I play French horn and I love it. But, unfortunately, the French horn is not a jazzy instrument, so I've had to figure out other ways to be in jazz band. First, I played trumpet, but after playing an instrument with such a warm, mellow sound, the nasal nastiness of the trumpet was basically unbearable. So then I played piano, but I'm not the best at jazz piano, there are definitely people at school who do a WAY better job than I. So this year I decided to learn...*drum roll*... Trombone! I'm still pretty patchy at it, but I'm catching on for sure. I decided on this 1) because there's only one other trombonist (?) and it's definitely a cool part that needs to be heard 2) because I've always secretly had the crazy hots for trombone, and if I didn't play French horn, I would definitely play trombone for everything and just be pretty outstanding at it. But I'm contented to be merely mediocre at trombone because I have found the true reason I'm in jazz band. 
       Rehearsals are at 7:00 in the morning, and for some people, that's pretty early. Everyone there is so groggy and lifeless that it really isn't all that fun. Enter ME! I've been at the school since 6 IN THE MORNING (ask me how that makes me feel. I dare you.) and I am just about as awake as I'll ever be. So, being generally outgoing and a bit cray-cray, I'm the loudest, happiest, most negatively-positive person there. I scream in mock frustration when I see a key signature I don't like, laugh at my many blunders, question just about everything my director does, and make disgustingly beautiful sounds with my mouthpiece. Do I drive my director crazy? Most likely. But I'm keeping the people around me happy, or on their toes at least, and most importantly, I'm keeping me happy. And I think that's the important thing. 
       Today at jazz band practice we started a song entitled "What's New?" and the way it changes themes super randomly in the middle of the song made me wonder what the composer was thinking as he wrote it. So I very respectfully raised my hand and waited for my very hesitant band director to call on me. I asked him, "So... What's this song about?" He gave me some long drawn out blurb he read on his copy that was talking about instrumentation, and how it had a dominant alto sax part and a melody that switched between parts and a whole bunch of little technical stuff. Why the nuts would I care about something like that? I want to know the story. I want to know about the heartbreak I hear, about longing for the façade of happiness, because that's what I hear when I listen. Jazz isn't about instrumentation. It's not about who gets the melody where. It's raw feelings. It's soul. Or at least that's what it means to me. I don't know much about the technicalities of everything, but I know good music when I hear it, and I make good music when I feel it. 

Tell me a story...

Well, I'll spare y'all the throat clearing and just get past the awkwardness of a first post.

My thoughts on life for today are as follows:

       I'm pretty sure everyone's life is book-worthy. I think we all have moments in our life where we're just amazed that Hollywood hasn't snatched it up, put Miley Cyrus in, and made a really cheesy, crappy movie. There's drama we thought didn't really exist, people so nice or so mean you can't believe they're real, and emotions you thought were WAY overplayed on the screen. In my own experience, I've had friends with relationship problems or moral dilemmas and such, and I never really believed that those feelings could be so raw and so real. I've always brushed it off, like, "wow, she's waaay overreacting," or "that's really not a big deal at all". But experiencing them yourself, you just want to scream "SHUT UP! MY FEELINGS ARE JUSTIFIED!" Anyhow, today I've been thinking about why more people don't write the story of their life. And the answer I think I've discovered is: you realize your story is worth telling as soon as its over. You realize your life has been leading up to a climax, only to acknowledge it as such during the falling action. And once its over, you don't know how to start at the beginning. There are so many stories to tell about just one life. So many high and low points. So much to say. You don't know how to tell the story without being totally biased about the ending, missing all the little details that are so crucial to the story, and being unable to express the tempest of emotions you felt at the time, because they're over now. Whenever I'm mad at someone, I very eloquently express my distaste for them, my feelings on the matter, and how I'm never going to speak to them again. But less than a week later, I'm back to my regular self and somewhat ashamed of previous rage. I discredit my feelings, blaming them on shock, or hormones, or anything other than saying I cared enough to be that mad. You can only hate someone if you used to really care about them.
So basically...
       That's why I decided to make this blog. Because I want to start writing my story before it gets really good. Who knows when I'll hit another climax, and how will I know what was really important? I won't until the whole thing's over and all I have to go on is my somewhat scrappy memory on how things used to be. So much has happened to me already and I don't want to miss anything else. :)