Wake up and smell the coffin.

Got up late today. I'm not telling you what time, so don't let's start with the twenty questions, shall we? What is it anyway, with you and all the time with the questions? It was pretty late though, that much I'll tell you.

But whatever, because yesterday were auditions, the last auditions before Fall semester, apart from a few stragglers - the occasional above-it-all bassoonist or a few deadline-blissfully-unaware double basses or whatever other riffraff the goddamn cat drags in. It was the largest scale audition day the Greatest Music School on the Whole of God's Green Earth has ever seen. . . and now it's over. It's no longer in my future or in my present which, thank god, e-nough already. So I'm not gonna be too hard on myself about getting up so late.

Spent quality time last night, Saint Patrick's Day Eve, with Rashid, whom you know, and Spengler and Redmond whom I'm sure you'll remember from earlier.

We met up at Sidebar and, four shots of Patron later, I was safely behind the wheel, on the move to some place in the highlands* where a friend of ours works, Hand in Hand I think it's called, which is a stupid name for a bar, or for anything else for that matter. The name should have been enough to tip us off that the bar itself was, in fact, also stupid. Too crowded, too loud, not really an atmosphere of people who're having fun, just people pretending to like places like this. Or maybe I'm just being autistic. So one quick shot of patron later and, like my boy Willie, we were on the road again, heading back to the Nunnery, where a fine time was had by all and there was much rejoicing.

*Kids, don't drink and drive.