The Restoration Of My Sanity

So peeps!
Regional orchestra ended, and all the things I told people I'd get to are now flying up in my face. Some of them have already been tackled (like emptying my overflowing garbage can and bleaching my mustache...did you not know this blog was for the strong stomached?)

Just a little (BIG) synopsis of the whole ordeal:

My life actually wasn't too crazy, I was very "relaxed" about practicing for regionals. My excuse was more that my soul and conscience were being irked every waking second of my life TO practice, TO worry, TO pack, TO get ahead with homework, etc. None of which I did. Whatevs, being lazy, panicking, and barely scraping it are the steps that occur in basically ever process in my life.

We began our expedition to the host high school in a school bus with all our crap and instruments. This was when I started getting worried. There was really nothing at stake for the seating audition, and after that, all I had to do was play and mind my business, but I still was nervous and shaky and homesick. I tried to calm my troubled heart with Billy Joel, but I just got chills and cried. So I wasn't in any better shape than I was before.

We got to the school, and they lined us up into holding rooms for seating auditions. Where one sits in the orchestra determines (a) What part you play within your section (b) What everyone in the orchestra thinks of you, because the farther back you are, the worse you are at life and (c) If you go to states. I went into my holding room, where I saw all the other cellists warm up casually with 4590843259483 X the talent I had. I was praying and praying to feel better and to do the best I could. I finally just stopped worrying and went into my audition. I went in, and Nana Laura must have channelled Yo Yo Ma into my veins because I did better than the best I had ever practiced, and came out with double fists in the air and shouted "I AM THE MASTER COMMANDER". No, not really. We aren't allowed to talk near the audition rooms in case the judges recognize our voices. But my heart was screaming for joy.

I was seated 10 out of 12 chairs, which was good for a girl who only made it to regions because all the other cellists in her district had the plague or dropped of the face of the earth for some reason. My stand partner was nice. And the conductor was INCREDIBLE. His name was Mr. Jernigan, and he was a spunky black guy who called us "muffins" and "cuzins". He frequently referred to his wife as his "lovely bride" and praised us when the songs we played were "juicy". This guy is like Ghandi plus Bill Cosby plus Eddie Murphy. If it wasn't for him, I would have asked to go home after the first 12 hour rehearsal.

After the little mini rehearsal we had Wednesday night, the host director read off the lists of names on Bus 1. She told us to go pack our things up and be quick and orderly so the chaperones can do their job and get us out and to our hotel rooms safely. We had just practiced from 6-9, and had last eaten at 3, so we were hungry and tired. Once the Bus 1 list got off the stage the lady repeatedly yelled at us to hurry and get to our chaperones, who yelled at us more for not standing single file, for not being in the list order that we heard ONCE, and for talking/laughing/feeling joy. Then, on our way out, the host lady bashed us from the stage saying our 3 minute pack-up-and-head-out made us "epic failures" and she "hopes Bus 2 and Bus 3 aren't as bad". Needless to say, this lady clearly needed to get a smack in the face with a cello.

My roomates were great, our room was small, and our shower rod was shaped like a "U" to prevent us from keeping the water IN the shower and encourage us to make our bathroom a swamp. Also, the lighting wasn't flattering. But we said everything was fine when our chaperones came by for room check, and accepted our rations of orange factory nursery crackers with exhausted gladness. And slept.

Breakfast was at 6:45, and we had 15 minutes to eat and get out before Bus 2 kids got there. The 12 hour rehearsal that day killed me, and we left at 9:30 to our hotels that night.

FRIDAY. DAY OF CONCERT. The morning was beautiful, and I listened to Simon and Garfunkel on the way to the school. I wore yoga pants. The sun was shining and in 12 hours I would be getting this experience over with. We practiced (with a lunch break) till 4, then we had the banquet. There's kind of a ceremony for all the kids who made it to State orchestra. But before that, the chaperones awarded some kids from their hotel room jurisdiction that were especially polite or nice or whatever. All the girls talked horribly about the chaperones when no one was looking, but we were all compliant when we needed to be. A few rooms got rewarded for being polite, and then for being good neighbors, and my roommates (who are the sweetest, more demure and proper people I know) were like, "Oh, good for them.." And I was wishing I'D gotten a reward, the announcers said "And last but not least will rooms 409 and 314 come up." Those were our rooms! "These rooms get the overall best guests award for being polite, punctual and compliant. And if you will notice, there is a commonality among them. These students are ALL from Williamsport. I was beaming in my yoga pants. Our orchestra teacher was beaming as well. We were all pretty happy about it. AND THEN the real rewards of State orchestra kids came up and blah blah blah. Then the concert happened and went well, and I slept. So. There you go. A very thorough and college-ready synopsis of the latest landmark in my life.