Last year, a tragedy occurred in my life. I must have lost my mind because I got the horrible idea to forego Sing Song participation this year.
So when the Sing Song sign-up sheet came by in club this year, I let it go by, unsigned.
And now I’ve got the Sing Song Blues.
See, I’ve (more than) put my Sing Song time in over the past three years.
Freshman year, I wore my bear costume with pride. Sophomore and junior years, I spent ridiculous amounts of time poring over mountains of sheet music as a section leader. I gladly dressed as a TV remote and coffee cup in my club acts.
And so I decided, my senior year, I was done. I’d like time to actually complete my homework and also avoid the inevitable strep throat that follows loud singing in a room with 50 other sick and tired girls.
However, crazy as it sounds, I regret that decision.
I see all the Sing Songers walking around campus like zombies, having bragging battles about who is sleeping less and who is going to fail their classes first. And I envy that.
I miss hating my life and everyone in my act after spending so much time together in hot, stuffy practice rooms. There’s honestly nothing like a room full of tired, fussy girls that can’t get their moves right at 10:30 p.m.
The Sing Song Blues have really gotten to me, and the list of strange things I miss goes on and on.
The sore face muscles from overdoing my Sing Song face? Check. The bruises from getting hit in the face, arms and legs during choreography practice? Oh, yeah. The skin breakouts from too much red paint slopped onto my cheeks? Of course.
I’m so torn up about the whole thing that I’ll probably buy some cheap paint and break out my oversized red tulle bow from years past (because that’s the best part, right?) to try and patch up the Sing-Song-shaped-whole in my heart.
So to the tiny percent of campus that’s participating in Sing Song, I guess what I’m trying to say is, stick it out, and take it all in.
All those people you can’t stand right now – like that girl that stands next to you and sings three octaves off key, or the guy who can’t figure out the club move, like ever – will be your best friend on Saturday night after that last performance.
The bad grades, sleepless nights and possibly even sickness won’t matter when you’re all up on stage singing your lungs out together.
And to the rest of campus who thinks these Sing Song fanatics are crazy: They are. But they wouldn’t have it any other way.