I have no earthly idea as to how I survived this weekend. Despite a slight fever I still had and a pain in the ass dry cough, I picked my sorry, plague-ridden ass up on Friday and got on the bus to region weekend.

I probably shouldn't have been there. The aftermath is that I've still got the cough worse than ever (probably from trying to surpress it so much), a horrible pain in two parts of my back, a clogged up sinus cavity, and even clogged up fucking ears that really, really hurt. This is the seventh day I've been sick. I'm beginning to wish that the lungs had an ability to just vomit out all foreign substances so I wouldn't have to cough them up over a week's period. I'm sore all over from long, standing rehearsals. I've inhaled more menthol from bags of cough drops in the past two days than a four-pack-a-day smoker has inhaled from burning green leaves in a month. I've got an ugly little cold sore on the edge of my lip, which I really hope doesn't spread to my mouth.

That was the best region weekend I've ever been to. Up there in my tuxedo, internal body temperature of 108, beads of sweat making the ink in my music run, I realized I'd never sang better in my life. The Battle of Jericho was a fortissississimo of soul. I am quite sure Moses Hogan's ghost was in my lungs the whole time, killing off little microbes. After the roar of applause, the director (a genuine hardass) even made the Aaron Copland song sound incredible. I sang the last high note I will sing for quite awhile in that song: full voiced, and without my voice cracking. I hacked my brain out once we lost the stage's passionate atmosphere. But it was glorious.

*cough cough* I don't think I can go out with Larkin today. Damnit! How I hate to ruin plans!