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moved into the frying pan

November 24, 2003 at 4:24 p.m.

Oy vey.

I hopped out of my bed in my new room today and hurried off to class as fast as I could. It only took me half an hour with traffic, so that's nice.

I go to my nice Institute class, and then to my swimming class in an outdoor pool in 50ish degree temperatures where out sadistic teacher got the bright idear to have a mini-swim meet.

Urf. Reva no likey competition. I love getting good at something for a purpose, not just to be good enough to beat someone else. Well, that and I'm not sure how to do the breaststroke, which is what I had to do.

I love consistency. Every race, I was at least 2 laps behind everyone else. But I don't want to swim fast, I took the class to try and unwind. Relax, enjoy something non-musical.

And good gravy do I need some of that.

I'm all moved. Mom and Dad helped and now I live in the prettiest room. Just right for Reva. Except the rest of the house is decorated in pastel winnie-the-pooh and country home accents.... the antithesis of moi. Also, so is my roommate.. Martha-Stewart-control-freak, but I must stess that is is much better than what I've been living with.

*^%&^%^%$#%^$#%$#@$#@$#@%$#%$#^%$#%^$#%^$#^%$^%$##$&

And oh!! get this!!!!!!

One of my old roommates -we'll call her Legs - was a friend of mine and I invited her to move into the house. As time went on, she became good friends with another roommate - we'll call her Couch Potato - and started leaving me out of the loop. Ignoring my birthday, cooking big meals for each other and not me, not inviting me to parties that they threw, staying home from church together, etc. I mean, I'm crazy lonely as it is, and now I wasn't really welcome in my own house because they didn't like me anymore. Ouch.

So, Legs has a boyfriend that sleeps over all the time, but she doesn't want to label him a boyfriend so he is strung along all the time, while she also has an romantic understanding with her best guy friend of 10 years who is serving in Iraq. She likes options, I guess.

Now here's some drama - Legs just found out that Couch Potato has been e.mailing the Iraq boy (who she has never met) and has been feeding him nastiness about Legs so that now Iraq boy has been talked into telling Legs he doesn't want to be with her anymore and he wants to be with this Couch Potato when he gets back to the states.

Couch Potato has been doing this to Legs for MONTHS. And the thing is, Iraq boy only dates super-thin model girls as a rule - and he's never seen a picture of Couch Potato... and she's not exactly his type, but he doesn't know this. Baby got back... and front. All she does is work in an office and watch TV all night and she looks like it, poor girl. So now in my old house there's this crazy cat fight because Couch Potato stole Legs' guy and this means that not only were these girls being nasty behind my back, they are also ripping up each other.

How sad is that??? Wowee... I feel so bad that some people need resort to such ugly stuff. And I am feeling good that I am OUT.

&*^%&*&$&^#^%$#@$#!@^%#@%^$#^$*$*%#*^%$*&%^*&$&^

How can my professional life be going so nicely and my personal life be so miserable?? I and having such a good time performing with all the cool connections and teaching the greatest students ever...

And yet I'm so freaking lonely. And if one more person tells me to buck up I swear I'll just kick them.

I need a home. And maybe some friends. Or a friend. Someone that doesn't exist soley on my phone. I really feel like I'm coming close to a breaking point. I'm tired of acquaintances and people who worship me because of my music or some crazy stunt that I've done.

It's odd, people either ignore me here, or put me on some crazy pedestal and are afraid to talk to me.

But, I'll just keep plugging away.I always do. I just need a light at the end of the tunnel, a thought that someday I won't be so alone. In 2 days I have family and Denver and skiing and the like.

SUPERCRACK is thankful for that.

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wife. mother. musician. bloggerist for 7 years. holding on for dear life.

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