The Times, They Are A-Changin'

Come gather 'round, people wherever you roam
And admit that the waters around you have grown,
And accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone;
If your time to you is worth saving
Then you'd better start swimming or you'll sink like a stone
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics who prophesise with your pen
And keep your eyes wide, the chance won't come again,
But don't speak too soon for the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who that it's namin'.
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come Senators, Congressmen, please heed the call:
Don't stand in the doorway, don't block up the hall
For he who gets hurt will be he who has stalled,
The battle outside ragin'
Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don't criticise what you can't understand:
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command,
Your old road is rapily agin'.
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand
For the times, they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast:
The slow one now will later be fast
As the present now will later be past,
The order is rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now will later be last
For the times, they are a-changin'.

Today was one with more reflection over the past than usual.

Following an average day (swimming then school), I headed off to the State Library to see what they had on the My Lai massacre (HEX). With that accomplished (for the record, they didn't have much of what I was looking for - but then they never do... Fisher Library all the way!!) I was in the city with nothing to do. And since it was a wednesday, I decided it would be an idea to drop into SCC (Sydney Children's Choir) for a visit.

With the annual Christmas choral extravaganza taking place in a week, rehearsal was fully in swing. During the first half I helped the supervisors sort the red choral robes (so unspeakably bad, but yet so good - it's kind of like Stockholm Syndrome: you find yourself inexplicably attached to them) into height order so as to facilitate the allocation thereof.

As the allocation took place, I had an opportunity to chat with choristers whom I hadn't seen since the choir's 21st anniversary concert back in late june. Sitting in on the rehearsal for part of the second half showed me how much had changed in the 18 or so months since I aged out of the SCC - there were new kids everywhere, all the male soprani I remember were now off in the marvellous magical land of Alto 2 (guess which section I was section leader of back in the day...), and about to leave because they no longer really qualified as trebles... It was somewhat depressing. It made me feel old, and I thoroughly dislike feeling old.

I then happened to spot an old friend waiting outside the rehearsal room (Vox, the Sydney Philarmonia's youth choir has rehearsals wednesday evenings after SCC), and so I exited for a chat (but not after Lyn (our fearsome and awe inspiring conductor) noticed me and had everyone say hello... I love getting the alumna treatment).

Angus and I started in the SCC back in 1999 when we were in kindergarten, and both about two feet tall and blond. Now of course, he's still blond and significantly taller, and I'm still stunted and short... And my marvellous Jew-fro is gone... But seriously. He knew me back when I did things like turn up to a rehearsal and announce loudly, and in a tone of indignant socialism "Did you know that they're putting a GST on breast pumps?!" (In my defence, I was five or six. This of course didn't stop Lyn bringing that little anecdote up at the 21st anniversary concert... Luckily she didn't name me. It was only after that I found out she was talking about me. I must say I had completely repressed that gem of a memory). Good times... Good times.

It was great remembering the old days of Opera House christmas concerts with the horrid red robes and the nauseatingly kitschy electric candles we all had to make us all look angelic and such... the days when supervisors stood waiting in the wings to drag the bodies of the choristers who passed out from heatstroke off the stage... back in the day where there were only seven choirs in the SCC structure... as compared with the current 20 or so.

It made me realise just how much I miss being part of choir. Bloody expletiving HSC.

And then this evening, whilst on facebook, I was facebook chatting with one of my friends from my latest hospital stint, and the following was said:
Kelsey: ADELA I thought of that song the other day
You know the times are changing song
And almost cried because I realised how much I missed you

She was referring to Bob Dylan's "The Times, They Are A-Changin'" which I spent a lot of time singing whilst we were stuck in hospital (I had a ukelele with me, and I had a repertoire of about six songs... stuff got repeated.), and even ended up calligraphising on a 2 metre piece of paper which now hangs above the door in the classroom (hospital sucks, and it helps to have a reminder that everything is transient, including medical incarceration).

And to be honest, the song affects me the same way. Every time it comes up on my ipod, I remember all the girls I spent 8 weeks living with and how much I miss them.
It also reminded me of just how quickly things change. Change is scary and unfamiliar. To be honest, I wish everything would just stay the same.

I wish I were still a cute little blond six-year-old with socialist tendencies, I wish my blood still did what it was meant to, and most of all, I wish my dad were still alive. The times, they are a-changin', but I really wish they weren't.

Disease

I don't like getting sick. I don't do it often either, generally only about once a year.

Which surprises me, as I've already been sick once this year.

I blame this unplanned illness on my recent hospital admission.

Having inhabited a germ-free environment for so long, my immune system had basically gone to shit. The moment I returned to the petri dish of infection known as my house, I got sick.

Damn and blast.

The Winter Solstice

Today (Monday) is the winter solstice.

Various events have transpired:

I’ve been moved back into the adolescent ward (gods be praised).

Hannah was discharged. Kelsey and I will miss her. We’ll compensate by going to Nowra in the holidays to stalk her.

I found out that I’m going to the US for a week in august on frequent flier points when mum goes to San Jose CA for a conference. Hells to the motherloving yeah.

And we decided we’d try to stay up all night. This will be the moment-to-moment account of what happens.

8.15 – Holly has a copy of Shrek 3. We shall watch it. It’s probably going to be underwhelming, but such is existence.

9.15 – I’ve been typesetting guitar chords in preparation for the BJE campfire sing-along. This year is going to pwn in the extreme.

9.20 – Holly has put the disc in the playstation console. It’s a pirated DVD and thus didn’t work. What a quandary. No matter – we’ll watch Sherlock Holmes. I personally am not a fan of Robert Downey Jr. – he creeps me out.

Oh well.

11.20 – Sherlock Holmes is finished. It was markedly good. I’m actually developing an affinity for RDJ. The plan of staying up all night has been abandoned due to lack of interest coupled with existing fatigue.

And so now I am sitting in the communal room typing, as the rest of the girls bitch about the fact that they’re not allowed to close the curtains around their beds (new mandate, enforced beginning today).

Oh well. Tata all.

Hardening the expletive up.

One of the girls with whom I am currently sharing a ward pisses me off to no end. In the interest of protecting identities (like hell, one can never know who's on the internet, lurking), I shall henceforth refer to her as Q.

No, she is not a theoretical biblical document (just a joke for all my HEX buddies). But I digress.

If there's one thing that shits me to no end, it's whining. That irritating, high pitched, nasally childish voice people resort to when they're not getting their way.

Q whines all the time. I'm talking incessantly. But that's only the beginning of my figurative beef with her. Q is horrible to the other girls, constantly making snide comments and then saying 'Oh, no offence.'

Saying 'no offence' is probably worse than just being a bitch, because it shows that she doesn't own the fact that she's a bitch. I'm able to make this point because I actually do own my bitchiness. I just save it up for special occasions... But again I digress.

Q also seems to be labouring under the incredibly misguided impression that everyone cares. No-one cares about her stupid issues. Hmmm. Looks like today is a special occasion. Oh well.

Furthermore, Q believes that she should have everything her way. She flouts the rules set up by the powers that are, and then whines when she gets in trouble. She makes ridiculous requests at inappropriate times (I would give examples, but then it would be painfully obvious to anyone on the ward at the moment who I'm ranting about; and as much as I own my bitching, if I'm going to be living with them for some unforseeable amount of time, It helps if we get along...), and then practically has panic attacks when her requests are denied.

And then whenever she doesn't get what she wants, she starts crying.

And her French is pathetic. I know I've just made it obvious who I'm talking about, but I don't care. If there's something that pisses me off, it's bad french pronunciation.

And, Finally, she complains incessantly. I may have already said this, but I'll say it again. NOBODY CARES! SERIOUSLY! WE DON'T GIVE AN EXPLETIVE ABOUT WHY YOU DON'T LIKE IT IN HOSPITAL OR WHAT PERCEIVED WRONG YOU THINK YOU'RE SUBJECT TO. WE'RE ALL STUCK IN THERE TOO. WE'RE IN THE SAME MOTHER-EXPLETIVEING BOAT. NO-ONE LIKES PERSECUTION COMPLEXES.

Q, Harden the fuck up.

And I know I've been complaining for this entire post, but frankly, I don't care. It was justified.

On a nice little sidebar, thanks for the mention, Kelsey :)