why?

If I can sort through recent memories of dragging my suitcase from airport to subway, through the stinky midtown-Manhattan streets (in the rain, which caught me by surprise - I now own a $20 umbrella sold to me by the good people of CVS pharmacy) - and focus on the short audition that was the reason for this trip:

The singing itself felt very solid. Not perfect - there are 3 notes in all of 'Caro nome' that worked, but need tweaking to be truly special.

The panel member whom I know, and with whom I spoke via phone recently, recognized my name when the monitor announced it, and asked for a minute's deliberation before allowing me in. This, I take as a good sign. But since they did not ask to hear my Handel, I can only assume that I am either in the running for the Alisa/Lucia cover, or not at all.

Now comes the nagging obsession over the tiny bit of information I have: my audition itself, what was said and not said; the fact that their auditions end tomorrow in Montreal; Googling the names of sopranos who have worked there in the past, Googling the men who heard me Saturday, checking the singers' forum (for what, I'm not sure), etc.

All silly, futile behavior, I admit. But, dammit! - I just flew 3,000 miles across the country, exhausted myself physically and financially, walked into that room with my game face on and opened my heart completely to strangers - and the world doesn't care!

It all has to count for something. Right?