Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?

It’s always reassuring to learn that my written English characterizes me as “rich white girl,” as my spoken dialect would instantly expose my true locality.  I tend to pronounce the “ou” sound like “oo”, “or” like “er”, and the “ing” sound is something I find to be completely superfluous.  No matter, I now work daily on my pronounciation, in an attempt to rid myself of this unfortunate accent.  I shan’t likely be successful; it’s very difficult to correct oneself if no one else notices when someone says something along the lines of, “I fergot ahboot tha’ test taday, I shoulda’ve bin studyeen’.”

I was working on my English project for “Pygmalion” and it reminded me of my dreadful speech malady.  Not only do I have a most unsavory accent, I also find it nearly impossible to make a proper “R” sound.  For many years, I believe my speech was almost unintelligible.  I’m sure Henry Higgins would be mortified at the accent here, but according to his character in “My Fair Lady,” Americans don’t speak English anyway.

I have to go to my miserable job tomorrow, and it makes me sad.  Actually, it makes me want to swallow fine-ground glass and punch a wall, alternately.

I use the “Holy” Bible to weigh down my space heater so it doesn’t rattle as much.  I think it’s some kind of sacrilege.  Or would it be blasphemy?  Perhaps both.  Blasphemy is terribly amusing.  I want to get a pair of those obnoxious sweatpants girls wear that say something like “Hottie” or “Princess” across the ass, but mine would just say, “God.”

“But as she’s getting ready to go, a knock comes on her door…bang! bang! maxwell’s silver hammer came down upon her head…”

I used to play Maxwell’s Silver Hammer very well, but I didn’t practice it and it deteriorated.  I used to do a passable “Moonligh” Sonata, also.  I don’t mind losing those, so much, I can look at the sheet music and relearn them whenever I want.  But the other day I was playing Jim’s Beethoven-esque composition that he always called, “The Masterpiece” and I stumbled.

It’s kind of odd knowing that I am now the only person who knows his music.  He was a genius and a far better composer than I could ever hope to be.  I know I have to write his songs down, because if I forget them, they’re gone.  But I lack the skill and the knowledge of music theory that would make such a task easier.  So I keep practicing them, hoping that someday I’ll be able to write them out.  But the limitations of my human recollection begins to fail me and I fear I will never accomplish my goal.

Pie Iesu Domine,
dona eis requiem. Amen