Dear Diary –

I can’t take it anymore. Look, when the school year started and Mister Schuester said that he would be forming a new glee club and wanted some of us in the band to help out, well I jumped at the chance. I totally did. I mean, I love playing bass.

At first everything was fine. We would get told when and where to show up and we would all play while the little group sang. Don’t get me wrong, they sucked at first, but it was still a blast.

But then it started. Mr. Shue came by and handed me a bracelet. I didn’t want to wear it, chunky black rubber isn’t my scene, but he told me it was required. Something about regulations for the band, as far as the school went. So I put it on.

Mr. Shue laughed and told me it went on my ankle. I put it around my ankle and couldn’t work out what was going on. I found out soon enough. Right in the middle of Math, too. Worse yet, a quiz.

So there I was, trying to remember how to find X and suddenly I was on the floor, trying to not swallow my tongue. The pain came from my ankle, and I looked at it. The rubber cuff blinked “Auditorium” steadily and pain came in waves. I tried to get the thing off but that cuff wouldn’t budge. Stuck fast. Locked, even.

So I went to the auditorium. I found it odd that my teacher, when I told her, crying, just said I should run and bring my bass, but what else could I do but listen, right? So I did and got there and the rest of the band stood around, instruments in hand, tear tracks on cheeks.

Seconds later those glee kids came in and started singing. We stood around, not knowing what was going on, but that scary giant kid glared at me so I started to play, just to be safe. They sang a number and left – never even saying thank you. Us band kids went back to class.

Well, and so, that’s how things went. We’d be in class and then suddenly WHAMMO! with the pain and tears until we all grabbed instruments and ran to a room where those glee kids were about to sing. The worst was the time they caught Sarah Miller in the bathroom. She came running down the hall, crying extra hard, soiled.

The third week we started to find little wet-naps waiting for us. They had a note, the first time: So you can wipe the tears away and look happy. Look. Happy.” We started to make sure to smile some after that. Always.

Each of us is given a book of songs to memorize every week. The problem is, Mr. Shue isn’t always sure which songs his glee kids will want to sing. Last week I had to memorize the sheet music to every song in the Top 5 from 1983-1985 – just in case.

We aren’t allowed to leave the school anymore, unless all the glee kids are gone before us. We also have to make sure we’re there, to a person, before they show up. One time, Bobby showed up late, he was sick, like with a really bad flu. Mr. Shue came to his house that night and just stood there. He didn’t say anything to Bobby’s parents even. Just stood there and stared at Bobby.

Bobby showed up extra early the next day.

And then yesterday, well, yesterday it was suggested, via letter, that perhaps we all felt too confined living with our families, being teenagers and all. That we might, perhaps, only as a suggestion mind you, enjoy bunking together in a new facility in the school’s basement.

None of us want to. I think we might not have a choice. They’ve been getting worse about us showing up early, regardless of what we’re doing. And we aren’t allowed to speak, or even really acknowledge the other students.

We just play, where ever and whenever the glee kids feel like it. I’m not sure that I blame them. They seem oblivious, they don’t even notice us anymore. We’re furniture.

Human furniture in Mister Schuester’s grand evil design.

I just don’t know what to do about it. Mary suggested armed revolution, and Tim thinks he’s going to just shove a flute up—OWOWOW, crap, have to get to the Library! Stupid glee club!

To be continued?

(PSST! Wanna read an interview I did with John Lock (The Glee Drummer)? It’s RIGHT HERE)