I have writers block on a story about writers block. Oh the --- I don't know what. I'm relatively sure I'm going to end up with 50,000 words of unsalvagable crap, whereas before I was faintly optimistic. I keep telling myself to use this as fuel for The Unrequited Dead, but, instead, I just want to play with Sam and Gene for a while. What can I say? I'm self-destructive. I always have been. In my first years of University, I used to sabotage my grades by not doing important assignments, and I never really completely understood why. I knew that I did it. I knew that that's what it was. I just didn't get the inner workings of my mind on the issue. I also did something very similar with Honours, but I pulled it out in the end (wooo!) I'm quite thankful I got out of that habit by the time my Education degree rolled around, actually.
I had band practice again tonight for the End of Year Concert which is coming up on the 25th of November (which, in one respect, feels like it's ages away, and in another is, oh my goodness, so close.) We got to practice the songs I'm singing - yeah! - which we haven't done the past couple of weeks. I've just been singing fill-in vocals for the singers who aren't there. But not tonight. I sang my performance songs - 'Song 2' by Blur and 'Sunshine of Your Love' by Cream. They're both a bit low for me, actually, but apparently I don't sound too bad. I tried to inject 'Song 2' with as much attitude I can muster, but knowing my voice, I probably sound more like a chipmunk on speed. Since the whole thing is just supposed to be a bit of fun, I don't really mind.