There is nothing better than pounding out a sacred tune on the piano. Maybe a little Brahms, but honestly, if ever I doubt there is a higher power I have only to sit down at the piano and I’m reminded it exists. I don’t know what or who or where but I know something is there. It is more than a feeling, more than an instinct. When playing on the piano it is exploded through your fingers into the keys below. Forearm pain, wrist pain, numb fingers, none of that matters until the song is done. That is simply all there is too it. Some days I can not wait until I have a house of my own where I can have a piano at my disposal once again. I miss it with a passion that scares me.

It is somewhat an odd thing. I surprised a friend a few weeks back by sitting down and playing some notes in a music store. “I had no idea you could do that!” she said. It shocked me before I realized there was no reason for her to know. I didn’t play piano outwardly in college as I did through my youth. I no longer soloed at church or accompanied choirs. It was something that had become truly personal for there was no longer a public outlet. A few years from now there will be people with no idea I’m a musician. I find that thought scares me. It might be necessary for my survival to continue to perform. Piano is an emotional outlet that I never realized I had until it wasn’t there any more. Angry, play loud and hard, sappy play soft and slow, mischievous play something with a kick. Bored, learn a new song. I don’t always hit the right notes (especially lately) but I’m not playing for anyone else. Just me. A side job in a store playing background music would be absolutely heaven. I’m just not sure my arms and hands could do it. By the time I graduated high school my fingers were numb by the time I finished a song and I woke up every night near tears from the pain. That’s gone away only by not playing for nearly four years. Where is the happy medium? I’ll give up Brahms so long as I can still play. I wonder if my body will negotiate.

Oh but here I am rambling and you don’t really care. I know this but I do it any way. Welcome to me. Ah I digress. Though, how one digresses when she has no direction I do not know.

What a week it has been. It seems to have flown by but it doesn’t seem as if all that has happened could have occurred in just this past week. I would tell the tales but they are not mine to tell. I would berate my mother but that would old and idiotic. I mean honestly, how do you berate a saint? Though, something I found very amusing. I might have laughed had it not been so inappropriate. Wait, maybe I did laugh…oh well. Anyway, I’ll tell you the story. For all you gals out there you will probably appreciate more than the men. The mother and I were talking and she was hesitant to tell me somewhat discouraging news--a) I need to not be a loser and b) she was disappointed in me. Fair enough. I’ve heard it before. This time, though, there is a twist. I agreed with her! She kept arguing with me that I was fighting her. “You don’t believe me” she would say over and over and I would reply with “Yes, yes I do.” She was so flustered. She couldn’t comprehend that I wasn’t having a fit but in fact saying “yes mom, you’re right.” It was as if she was arguing with a ghost of me while I tried to show her that I was different. All these years I spent fighting her, I finally agree she knows more than I do and she argues that I don’t believe what I’m telling her. I mean, honestly. I think it must be a mother-daughter thing. We simply can not get along. It would be like the Cubs winning the world series. The day it happens you know the end is near.

Anywho, this is basically just a winding down ramble if you made it this far I am most impressed. I think I’m going to go work on my story now. Hopefully this one doesn’t short out on me like all the others. I’ll keep you posted.

Donde esta el burro!