The website tells me to write my story, but I refuse. My story is mine to create, and mine to remember.

An hour ago, I returned from my lesson. The contrabass is so familiar in my hands, yet also so foreign. I know so much, and I have so much to learn. “Mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix” is the piece I have been and will be conversing with. The Double Bass Concerto in A Minor, edited by Édouard Nanny and attributed to Dragonetti, who wins the prize for composer with the best name, is the piece I am in the arena with. I raise my bow and my thumb position, and it raises its high harmonics and a tempo. The a tempo doesn’t agree with me (yet.)

In an dream, I would be back to reading “Circe” by Madeline Miller now. This book is as lovingly written as her first, “The Song of Achilles”. “The Song of Achilles” follows Greek legend Achilles and his better half, a man named Patroclus. Their love is written so strongly, it is tangible. I am thankful to this book for bringing Patroclus from death, after being nearly killed by those fearful of love.

The stress of classes has taken me from enjoying her, so now I work, sorrowing over my parents, sitting alone at their computers as I sit at mine, wishing we were allowed to be together easily. I would have us in the forest now, looking at the trees marked by beaver’s teeth and the burrows best left alone. I can see the trees of the forest now, from my window. They are physically close, but the journey would be too far right now.

Here! Here is me! I must admit, I find our recent assignments most intrusive. Write every though you have? Introduce yourself? Who’s asking, eh? I am here to get four credits and and A. I believe this will only happen if I start writing these blog posts much faster, as I’m only at around 300 words now. I refuse to sacrifice my sleep and my life, and I refuse to sacrifice my grades and quality of work. It’s a good thing I don’t have a social life!

370 words. What else can I tell without feeling forced open? I know American Sign Language. I am learning Japanese. Slowly. When I read or watch “The Hobbit” or “The Lord of the Rings”, I feel at home. When I play “Für Elise” on the piano, I feel at home. When I am working hard on things I care about, I feel at home. When I cook, I feel at home. I would very much like to go home now.