Not to exciting today. History, note, movie. Communications, project. French, presentations.
I had guitar last. I went into the room and saw the bleachers were all gone, because we're having a Remembrance Day assembly tomorrow and they were moved into the auditorium for the vocal class.
Since I brought my own guitar from home, like five our so other people, we get our own room for our guitars. I go in to grab my guitar, and then see it's not in the corner. "Hmm… where did I put it yesterday?" I can't see my case anyway.
Then I see it. There's a black guitar sitting against a chair. "Hmm…" I think and pick it up. Yep, that's my guitar alright.
"Where the hell is my case?"
I see it. Scrunched up behind the door.
"Oookay."
I go out and sit down on the floor. I wait until the teacher comes in. I tell him my guitar was out of it's case.
"Oh, yeah, Sean was playing it I think, sorry."
Oh, well, if it's Sean, that's okay.
I just said "alright, thanks" and went and played.
But my guitar had the strangest feeling about it today.
I know you'll think I'm a complete nut, but it felt like it had been violated.
I mean, I could see fingerprints on it and it felt grungy.
Then I realized.
"Hey, where the hell's my strap?"
"Great. Someone stole it."
Don't blame me for jumping to conclusions. That's not below most people at my school.
Luckily, I found it in the practice room.
It's not like I use it anyway, but it's the PRINCIPLE.
Did I allow anyone to use it?
NO.
No one ever uses my guitar.
It was an awful feeling.
I cleaned it up once I got home though. So now it's better.
But I feel like it's a little child who's been abused. It looks alright now, but there's still wounds on the inside.
Or something.
I don't know.
I'm going to have to buy a lock for my case this weekend.
On a happier note, I watched In The Attic today. Loved Pete's video. :D *rocks out to drum beats*
Hum, what else? Well, I tried playing a bit of guitar today. I wrote down a few Who songs I'll have to try.
On a sadder note, yesterday I went to try contacts. I failed miserably. My eyes are still somewhat sore. Awful. I hate failing. We asked the guy if he could try to put them in and it was even worse. Asking for help in itself is failing, but when even he can't get the darn things in, it makes me feel as if I'll never be able to.
My glasses I'm going to get are like John's.
I was hoping to dye my hair even more Jane Asher-y red, then maybe go blonde.
But I think I'd look strange with blonde hair and John glasses.
Which is why I'd NEED contacts if I was going blonde.
I might go back to brown after that. Then maybe pitch black, for next Halloween, then I can be John Entwistle again.
I'm wondering if I ever go to a Who concert, should I wear my John Entwistle costume? People would definitely know who I was. But I'd feel so strange. And it's not the most comfortable outfit, y'know.
Well, I'm off the read The Da Vinci Code. Very intriguing. :)