People here are just so mean.  ¶ 03:25

  Everything is reeling. My classes have ended, my personal life has exploded into a million different pieces, my last Wesleyan gig of the year is tomorrow night, I have a curriculum to write and a plane to catch, an enormous paper to finish and a final to write, an exam to take and people to miss, sleep to forego, laundry to fold and apologies to consider and recording sessions to attend and many other reasons to get sentimental about a year that was so full of activity yet feels so empty as far as personal relationships go. The weight of all of these tasks finally fell on me tonight as I read the Argus' Ampersand pages and could sense the editors' sadness at leaving Wesleyan in the dust hinted at in the humor.

Lying on my bed with my legs stretched as close as they could get to the ceiling, I listened to Cassandra Wilson's _A Little Warm Death_, and catstretched in joy for the part when the entire band breaks into clapping and vocal harmony at the end. I put it on repeat. I cried, right then and there, over knowing how I want my life to unfold, at least for the moment. I'm okay with it, now. Everything went so well this past weekend at the Jazz Orchestra performances, and I've been dying to write about it, but there is just so much to say and it's hard to be concise and do the events the emotional justice they deserve.

Quickly, though: I nailed the performances. I hit notes I couldn't hit in January with an attitude not seen in any prior rehearsal. I felt like I belonged onstage, that I was meant to do this forever, to make hundreds of people smile at once, to make something so beautiful. I received cheers and smiles and comments about having "the gift." My friends saw the passion and joy I felt for letting myself go onstage in ways I hadn't as just a pianist in the past. I received several sincere and encouraging remarks and compliments from legendary BJRO members who specifically sought me out to talk about my arrangement and vocals. At a performance downtown on Sunday, I walked by groups of people who would stop and ask if I was, indeed, Amy Crawford, that wonderful vocalist they had heard on Saturday. They remembered my full name. As I helped strike the set after the Saturday show, I realized that I had never felt so happy before in my life about something that I had created. I've won championships, racked up sports trophies, worked hard in school, received scholarships, and performed abroad. But I've never felt so certain about what I'm doing. Not bad for my debut.

That's it. I'm not afraid anymore.  ¶ 02:38