Kathryn made me remember something today. About my grandparents. When my grandfather was in the hospital just before he died, he only remembered his life about 40 years earlier. His wife was his new bride, not the frail old lady that came in and visited him everyday, so that a stranger didn't have to feed him like a baby. He didn't know he had kids. To him, he thought he was his lost 30 yearold self.

But when my father would visit him, he would tell him stories about the past, not really realizing he was talking to his son, but eventually he would look up at him and say "Do the girls still sing? I would love to hear them sing again". My sister and I were fresh in his memory. Our voices brought him back to the present. So we would go into his tiny hospital room and sing for hours. I sang him "Summertime". It is the last song I ever sang to him.

I remember when I first discovered my love for that song. It was my Nanny and Poppy's 50th anniversary. My grand father had a big band. They asked my mother to sing at the celebration with the band. She had only done that once at her own wedding. You could see how excited she was to make music with her father. She practiced that song in our living room for months. So did I. I was 11, and I fell in love with "Summertime".

When we were getting ready for the party, decorating the club and such, my grandfather got me to go up on the stage and sing into the mic. "Sing anything" he said. I sang "Summertime" for the first time infront of anyone. My grandfather realized for the first time that I could really sing. The music was flowing from his soul to my mothers, then to mine.

Four months later he was dying of lung cancer. As much of our extended family came down to visit him... for the last time. I remember standing in the living room infront of the mantle, everyone asking me to sing a song. I sang "Summertime". When I sang that song, my voice was not that of a 12 year old, but it took on the age of all the generations of music that fed into me. It was the last song I ever sang to him.

After his death, my grandmother quickly went down hill. She always thought she would be the first to go. She visited us here much more. I don't think she like being in their house without him. She would always ask me to sing "Summertime". She would cry everytime. She said she was moved to tears because my voice and that song fit together so beautifully. She even said I sang it better than mom (something I have never told her). It was fitting then that like the others, this was the last thing I ever sang to her.

Each time this was not an intentional thing. It's just what has happened.

I don't sing Summertime anymore. I'll only sing it when it feels really right. I won't sing it to myself. I can't. That's not right. I won't sing it with my mother. I don't really even like hearing the song.

I'll sing it again, but not until it's right.

I need to get cracking. I need to catch up. If i don't, then three weeks from now I will be freaking out and no one will know where i've disapeared to. How can I love a subject so much but absolutly loath the classes that feed me my knowledge about it?

I wish I could go out and dance. I mean really dance. Have one of those nights were you just stay out on the dance floor and just move. Not think about what you are doing, how you are moving. I don't think i've ever done that. Well maybe when i'm all alone in my house, dancing to the "Amelie" soundtrack.

I'm going to save up for a new coat and winter boots for next winter. I want feel pretty when i'm hiding from the cold. Now i just look like i'm shuffling from one donut shop to the other.

I should dress more sparkly often. It nice even if your shine is external.

I've had a sore throat for 3 weeks now. It really hasn't gotten any better. i've been to the doctor once already but i think this infernal ache at the back of my throat will drive me back in for another visit.

Why do I have the body of a 40 year old? I mean come on. What 17 yeat old gets ulcers? My bones creek and crack like that of a 80 year old man. You shouldn't have to worry about cancer at 20. Yet every 6 months I have that biopsy to make sure everything's a-okay.

Worst of all it hurts to sing. I've actually been told I shouldn't sing. Well i'm sorry mister doctor, but fuck you! "At least I have my health" does not apply to me, so it quickly turns into "at least I can sing!"

Do I want to converse with convicted criminals, or do I want to teach 10 year olds how to long division? I'm really not sure. If i go with experience and education, it's the criminals. But what if I go with my gut? The idea of planting knowledge in a young child's head is exciting to me. How they are taught in those critical few years will influence how they grow and learn.

Would I love science if it weren't for grade four and playing with lightbulbs and batteries? What about math and our multiplication showdowns in grade 5. Is it sad that I love the conjugation of 'er' verbs in french: e, es, e, ons, ez, ent. My introduction to proper French grammar was the focus of grade 6 and my adorable French teacher monsieur Aucoin.

But then I go to these meetings. I meet these people who have done horrible things. But in some of them I see how ashamed they are. I see how they want help. I see them improve. They have done these monstrosities, but they aren't monsters. They have lives, and loves, and passions. What they did was wrong, and when they know it is wrong is when they are better off. They still have heartache and may never get better. How can I not listen to these people. Do you know what it feels like to see a young man for the first time in his life trust another? To be there for the exact moment it happens. You can actually see in his eyes the decision that he can do it, and that he's scared as hell. What if no one was there to see it?

What do I do? Help start a brand new life, or help rebuild one?

As soon as I pick up my books I fall asleep. I have an exam in 12 hours and I still haven't looked at my notes. All I want to do is sit infront of this screen looking for distractions. This is the most i've spent on this infernal machine in probably 3 months. This may the first time I actually do terrible on a test and it be my fault.

I used to have pride in my self confidence. Throughout highschool I always had the highest self-esteem. While my peers were down on themselves, some even hurting themselves, I always loved who I was. Where is that going?

It's not that any love has been lost, but i'm not just as confident. I suppose in high school we were so tightly knit together. I was close with many people, I knew that so many had loved me. I mean that's what teenagers are like right? You love your friends like they are your family. Though as the years go by, you still love them, but you drift from certain ones. It's a love for who you used to be. I have a handful I know that absolutely adore me. I'm their family. And that makes up for those relationships that have drifted away.

But without those showers of loves, those incessant hugging-fests, self confidence begins to wane. I still love who I am, but I find i'm regressing to those insecure highschool years I never experienced. No, not insecurity, just uncertainty.

But hey! I'm 20, this is how i'm supposed to feel right?

Am I really talented? I can't write a song. I can't paint. I can't write a story. I do well in school because I work so damn fucking hard at it, not because it comes to me naturally. I mean I know that to do what I do I have to be smart, but it's not like I have this talent for the scientific world. God damnit, I can hardly play the piano anymore because of my weak hands.

I can sing. But is it a talent if no one knows or cares? Does anyone even want to hear me sing other peoples words? Who do I sing for except for myself? Why do I think of perfect audition songs if i'm never going to use them? When was the last time someone told me I had a beautiful voice? I don't remember. I'm not looking for praise or appreciation, i just want to know that someone notices.

I can't study. I keep distracting myself. School has become a place where a sleepwalk from building to building, not even trying to figure out anymore how any of it will apply to my life.

Am I more afraid that people will read my thoughts, or that no one will?

I obsess over things. I'll do things over and over till I realize how pathetic I'm being, and then I stop for about 20 minutes or so before I start again.

I've just discovered that several friends of mine have blogs. This is actually how I came to start mine. I;m continuously checking if they have updated. Checking to see if I can find new insights about them. I'm jealous of how they can put them selves out there. I'm sure that they don't put everything out there, but it's more than I ever knew.

And then there are the sites of people I don't know. I'm addicted to perfectlylegal. Again I'm jealous of her ability to mold her words. To write a story that makes me wanna go out there and live a little more. It's strange, I find comfort reading her thoughts. Even though I cannot know what's going with the people around me, there may still be hope if I'm able to know a total stranger.

this is just an experiment. I doubt I will benifit from it. The idea that someone I don't know may stumble across by blogg and care enough to return to it causualy to see what's going on with me is kinda exciting.

I'm not deep enough for this. I've edited this message at least 4 times now.