Was this actually such a great idea?

Well, this blog might just have to go back to its original mission. That is, chronicling the trials and triumphs of little old me, a sometime singer who's trying to become a full-time singer.

Let's begin with this move. Sometime back in April, after I had finished my school auditions and was deciding where to go, I had what I thought would be my first and only crisis. I spent a few hours sitting on the edge of my bathtub, tissue box in hand, bemoaning the fact that my dream of going back to school would involve saying goodbye to my life savings and uprooting myself from a life I was not by any means unhappy with. But, it was my dream, and I screwed up my courage, dried my eyes, and decided that I had what it took to carry through.

That was my first mistake.

After a magical summer, a pleasant time back in New York with friends and family, I packed up and replanted myself here in Boston. After the first 36 hours, things can only improve. The living space my friend found for me is not as workable as I had hoped, that is, impossibly small and roommates who can't seem to understand that this might be a problem. We've talked and will try to "work this through," but I have my doubts and I already feel uncomfortable.

Just yesterday a new hitch came up at BU that makes me reconsider registering. Neither my first nor second choice teacher is available, I don't know any of the other teachers, and I am currently assigned to study with a man, which I absolutely don't want. I turned down a full scholarship at another school because I couldn't get the teacher I wanted, now I get to deal with this situation again and pay for it? Getting a degree in singing is absolutely worthless if you don't have the teacher who can do wonders for your voice. Sure, there must be someone there who can teach me a thing or too, but I'm wary, and I might have to spend half a semester sorting this out. If I can't resolve this well, I will quit, get myself a job, and call myself a singer and hope for the best.

So without a stable home, the school arrangement I was counting on, without income and a sudden dearth of friends in a city I still don't know well, I'm petrified and feeling profoundly sorry for myself. This is the first time away from home and the first day of college rolled into one. But shouldn't I be old enough to handle this by now? That thought makes me even more glum, especially when I think about any number of life choices that could have been more fulfilling, maybe. I could have married by now. I could have stuck with my perfectly fine old life, saved a bundle in expenses and been able to clothes shop without fear. I could have stayed on in Rome, perhaps one of my friends would have eventually taken me in, and I could have always lucratively begged on the streets. I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed with the French horn, would I live on a diet of Brahms and Wagner? I always did like working at the food coop, maybe I should quit all this and go manage a Stop & Shop, or maybe Costco. Okay, now we're going overboard.

Lying in bed this morning, I turned on my cell phone's calculator to see how much my lavish, education-enriched lifestyle would cost me, and I read a message from my brother, telling me that I'm brave. Brave?? I've spent three days interrupting my crying fits only when my face hurt too much or I had to try to look happy for my roomies. I've been sobbing to my parents and to a dear companion twice a day so far. I'm just as homesick and weak as I was as a child, only now I'm too old to excuse it. The president's voice on the radio offering comfort to hurricane refugees and the news of people crushed in the melee in Iraq make my skin crawl, leaving me with images of water-swollen corpses and babies crushed like grapes. I have little appetite, and my head often aches with the pain that comes from unspent tears.

Today, the shroud of rain and choking humidity finally lifted off of Boston's face. My problems are unresolved, but not, I don't think, unresolvable. I sat in the rocking chair on the apartment's porch (yes there's a porch! Albeit overlooking a junk heap, the same view from my room...) and spoke with my brother and then a friend from Rome. What are we without friends and family? My conversation with Matt (my brother) began as most have this week, with me choking back tears and wondering why I was putting myself through all this. How is it that he always manages to cheer me up? After just a few minutes of speaking my already rusty Italian with Andrea (patient soul!) I had a smile on my face. I had emailed him only hours before, and he called from all the way across the sea to make me feel better. Lacy outlines of words, pure vowels framed by fizzy consonants and a voice that reminds me, somehow, of whipped cream.

I'm not brave Matt, just nuts, and well cared for by the ones I hold dear.