epitome of incomprehensibility
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Extra choir practices for a concert on Saturday, so practice yesterday. Two fermatas in a row make the flow too slow, I decided, in a section of the Les Miserables medley I was singing (it's at "On this page I write my last confession," specifically on the words "on this" - those words don't really need to be stretched out, do they?) And then, after thinking critically about this, I looked at the two fermatas next to each other and thought, "Hey, if you turn the page upside down, it'll look like a pair of boobs." My mind is a twelve-year-old boy sometimes. Evidently I must be maturing. I remember that I wrote "I have the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old" a few months ago.
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