Another Disaster
What a mess. It had been two weeks. I’d practiced but not steadily. Hands like spiral-cut hams. Fingers like hard-boiled eggs. Not playing, flapping. I forgot one of my lesson books. I wanted to cancel so bad. I wanted a good excuse, a terrible illness, a broken limb, plague. I have bad excuses. I keep having that strong-pour evening cocktail. Just one but still. I’ve stopped getting downstairs to say goodbye to my son as he goes off to school, so I don’t have the 20 minutes of morning quiet. I went to do a blood draw in the morning, right before the lesson. I didn’t have my coffee as a result, since I’d been fasting. So I was extra groggy. These all went through my head and I mumbled them. But the truth is I just didn’t practice very well. I half-practiced and I felt like a dipshit. I had this tiny little fantasy it would all come together. But it didn’t. There’s only one way to fix it. I hate piano. I chose this.