A silly day and a silly month it has been! A retrospective of the whole of November would be a little beyond me though, so I think it more a matter of a few colourful illustrations from the recent days.
Today's History test didn't go well at all, at least in terms of numerical value. No, I am pretty certain, as opposed to the usual worrying. But when you're faced with a test that's ridiculously beyond what you thought it would be, the situation becomes incredibly funny and wild and a tad psychotic, so some of my worst tests have been met with a crazy laugh. I'm not at all the person to write anything witty in them, but today I was just in the mood for answering that the leader of the Bolsheviks in Russia was 'Comrade Lenin, until he popped his clogs and everyone's favourite Yosif Stalin became the man'. Not overly funny now, although that moment it seemed quite appropriate.
After school we tried our luck at getting theatre tickets for 12 December. Naturally none were left. A big, big disappointment, seeing I was determined to see the play Juliet before the year ended. And now, besides the twelfth, it won't be played until next year. I can't even tell why the obsession with this year, this December, but whenever I imagine seeing the play in January, it feels another world. This year ending soon, it going into oblivion and past and all the shades of 'was' is horribly freeing, while the beginning of a new one seems to require so much of me, with everything being ahead, needing attention and care. It's just like with days - the evenings are heaven and the mornings are grey oceans of sleepiness and possible dread.
Speaking of theatre, we also saw The Seagull yesterday. In the least, I was freed of fears that NO99, a theatre built around the brilliant idea of numbering their productions until they reached NO1, was an 'artsy' and 'modern' sort of thing. I'm phobic like that. Now I can't wait to see more. But the play was unusual, partly because I've never been as close to the actors, close enough to see the tiny droplets of sweat on their faces and notice the patches of blush, partly because the way I look at them is a little different now, partly because it was again one of those cases where in the end, I did not understand. True, I could think and deduce, but I didn't empathise with the heroine and her troubles, although I wanted and still want to very much. It's highly disturbing when leaving a play you perceive is thought-provoking and monumental, you cannot really relate or fully understand and be struck by it.
It was probably the thing on my mind as we did a round on the city centre, admiring the brilliant blue Christmas lights. It's been funny weather here lately, with no snow whatsoever, pretty green grass and terrible, terrible wind. If not the wind and the cold, I could remain sitting on a bench somewhere high in the Old Town, speaking of love and life and illusions and feeling that if there only was a profession involving all of those, there would be no difficulty with deciding upon a career. From a platform, I saw a falling meteorite today, I swear. It was like a falling star but bigger. I thought of Stardust immediately.
From yesterday's music lesson, I had two remnants. The fist was a strong desire be in the Grand Opera of Paris, in midst of all the lights, the gold and the whirl of drama, just like in The Phantom of the Opera. I still have this opera-mood. And when I was returning home today, a melody from the Intermezzo of Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana rang and rang in my mind. I have almost forgotten it by now.
Then I realised that I wanted a violin for Christmas.