Tired. I have to go to work still though. Not cool. And my brother is pissing me off. That is the end of that. Now off to make dinner. Peace.

So, I've probably written about him before, but there's this guy at my work named Jamil. Basketball player for South, black had you not guessed it. We play fight often, we don't hate each other (I think) but it's still loads of fun to battle. Anyway, tonight Jessica asked me something at work, to which I replied "mmhmmmm" in the high pitched "black" way. Jamil was listening and mimicked me, I laughed, told him to do it again, which he did. I then proceeded to tell him the story where Joy designated me half-black inside due to the amount of skill I possessed in giving a very spirited "haaaaaay". When I said it, he said, yeah, you are, but now we have to give you a black name. I am now refered to as Dawnisha. Sidenote: I did remember to ask and make sure that that was not the name of his thirteen year old cousin, who is also a mother. I thought it was a great story to tell, and I'm very pleased that I am now accepted for who I really am inside.

P.S. Later that night Jamil says to me-(this whole conversation is done with accent)

J: "Dawnisha, you're going to pull soda right?"
K: "Yeah, what do you want? Sprite? Dr. Pepper?"
J: "No, I'm going for something new and improved."
K: "Root beer?"
J: "No, an italian soda."
K: "I'm not making you an italian soda, stupid."
J: "Because you love me?"
K: "I don't think I heard anything about love."
J: "I thought since we were brotha and sista now..."
K: "...."
J: "Thanks Dawnisha. Strawberry."
K: "Fine, but only cause we black."
J: Insane laughter.

The opera went really, really well. We had a very high number in attendance, and I think that this was the best turnout for a Kitsap Opera production in seven years. But yeah. I just finished writing yet another sixteen bar chorale, to which my teacher seems to be addicted. I now just have to analyze it by Tuesday for it to be complete. Next up, memorizing  April in Paris, practicing voice lesson music, and a math assignment. Not to mention work from 5:30-9. Well, peace out yo.

Tired. Wine, nyquil, work. Must write sixteen bar chorale for theory, and I need to do an opera performance tomorrow. Bed.

One of my biggest pet peeves is the spelling of "OK". I seriously dislike reading a book, or a sentence of some kind and having the flow disrupted by the capital letters OK. It jars me out of whatever reality the author has placed me in and forces me to realize that I'm not in this book, I'm Katie, sitting here reading a book.

I prefer to use "okay", which is not a common spelling of the word, but to me it seems more correct. Now, while pondering this, I decided to venture to dictionary.com to see if I couldn't find the reason behind the annoying "OK," and here is what I found.

Word History: OK is a quintessentially American term that has spread from English to many other languages. Its origin was the subject of scholarly debate for many years until Allen Walker Read showed that OK is based on a joke of sorts. OK is first recorded in 1839 but was probably in circulation before that date. During the 1830s there was a humoristic fashion in Boston newspapers to reduce a phrase to initials and supply an explanation in parentheses. Sometimes the abbreviations were misspelled to add to the humor. OK was used in March 1839 as an abbreviation for all correct, the joke being that neither the O nor the K was correct. Originally spelled with periods, this term outlived most similar abbreviations owing to its use in President Martin Van Buren's 1840 campaign for reelection. Because he was born in Kinderhook, New York, Van Buren was nicknamed Old Kinderhook, and the abbreviation proved eminently suitable for political slogans. That same year, an editorial referring to the receipt of a pin with the slogan O.K. had this comment: “frightful letters... significant of the birth-place of Martin Van Buren, old Kinderhook, as also the rallying word of the Democracy of the late election, ‘all correct’.... Those who wear them should bear in mind that it will require their most strenuous exertions... to make all things O.K.”

In conclusion, it really doesn't matter what its origin may be because it still bugs the hell out of me. The End.

I'M DYING. I can't breathe without coughing up green goop (almost the color of my text), my eyes are running almost as fast as my nose, and I sound like a man. But other than that....

We had our first day of singing today in Jazzline. It's going to be amazing, I can tell. We all have awesome blend, and everyone nailed their parts on the first sections of four songs, and one entirely. I'm happy as a clam.

I'll keep you posted on my near-death life. Peace.

Oh crap. Literally, that's what my sinuses are filled with. It started just as morning crud that went away midday, but then last night at Chez Godfather's, my throat started hurting. Soon it was killing me. And when I woke up this morning, it was ten times worse. And the crud has not left the building. On the second day of school, too. And you know I just can't skip it.

Theory is going to be hard. I have to remember how to do everything I learned last year, and then learn more. Two days a week, two hours a day. Whoever thought it would be a brilliant idea to block theory into a two hour class is a dumbshit, one who will soon come face to face with a harpoon. Right. Ummmm..... bah.

Now really, I know that I have shelled out $970.50 (all of which I really didn't have to give) to go to school this quarter, but is there anyway I can take a raincheck? I took my brother to school and didn't get to go back to sleep. I need a bare minimum of eight hours a night (I'm one of those sleeping types) and I got six. I can't function on a normal schedule like everyone else. I like to go to bed at ten, and wake up at ten. Why, why do you need to go to college to make a living? Of course I could find some crappy $12,000 a year job and survive off of that, since I'm not used to having money or frivolous things anyway, but then what's the point? Okay, enough of this prattle. Got to get off of my butt and go. Until next time folks, peace out. 

I got home from work, and sat down on the bed. Something was missing. I checked the phone to see if anyone called. No one.

Really, I knew what was wrong. There was no "hey bitch, want to go to Shari's?"

Readjustment and change.

Life sucks sometimes.

HI I'M AT RACHEL'S AND I AM HELPING HER PACK SO THAT SHE CAN LEAVE ME ALONE HERE IN THIS HELLHOLE OKAH BAH.