the life and musings of a kinky slut


For the past two days, I have listened to the Hamilton score beginning to end, and each time I found myself in tears. As much I try to stifle them, even now as I write, they still come.

I suppose it is a testament to his brilliance that Lin-Manuel Miranda was able to craft a musical so charming, captivating, and powerful that I still want to go back again and again.

Listening to his songs, I feel in love with Alexander through his struggles and triumphs. I smiled for Eliza, being blessed with his love, and yearned with Angelica, who could never truly have him. I was crushed by Alexander’s weakness and pride, wept for his son Philip, and, in the end, cursed that blasted Aaron Burr.

I know the odds of me getting to see the show are slim, but I’m going to try, possibly for my birthday. (Gives me some months to save and plan.)

And, should I win a lottery spot, the only way I can see myself getting a ticket, I will bring lots of tissues and sing along with a smile on my face and tears kissing my cheeks.

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