Finally, it's horn lesson day. I have a horn lesson scheduled every Monday, but I have to cancel it so often that when I actually have one, it seems like a surprise. Oh wow, look what I get to do today? Well, I could do this every Monday if I didn't have anything else in life but being a horn student.
I take lessons at a college about 50 minutes from home--factor in traffic and a stop for some iced tea at Burger King, and it's an hour drive, even with the heavy foot on the pedal. So, an hour there, an hour for the lesson, and an hour back home. Then there's the hour before leaving the house when I run through everything on my music stand, just to make sure it's all fresh in my head, and just so I can say, "Yes, I did practice that piece with the metronome."
Before I leave, I have to make sure that #2 has a ride home from school, and that #2 has a ride to tennis. #2 may also need a ride to steel drum practice, depending on the schedule. There is no food in the house, and very little toilet paper. The litter box hasn't been cleaned out in a few days. I have to design a book cover that will help sell a million books, and it is an impossible task, one that makes the vein in my neck hurt from the tension. And it makes my voice crack because if I have to take another stab at this design, which no one will like no matter what I do, then I'll just lay my weary head down on my desk and cry.
[There's a scene in Network News where Holly Hunter's character schedules in crying time. She sits at her desk with the phone unplugged until she's finished, then she plugs in the phone, and she's good for the rest of the day. Maybe that's what I need to do.]
In contrast, my horn teacher's other students are all kids. They wake up in their parents' house or in their dorm room which has been paid for by their parents. They eat food that someone else gives them, they put on their clothes, walk across campus, stumble into the arts building, and sit down for a lesson. They have practiced several hours every day without fail because they have very little else to do. They don't have two kids who need their mother to be a mother, and they don't have to fill the fridge with something for everyone. They don't have to rewash the towels because they left them in the washing machine for two days before remembering to put them in the dryer. They don't have to stare blankly at a Photoshop file with nothing but a white background on it because nothing else seems to work.
So, I'm going to resist the urge to cancel today's lesson. It would certainly be the easy way to get through this day. It would certainly take the load off and give me two more weeks to practice with the metronome and clean up those base cleff Cs. [Two weeks and not one because I can't make next week's lesson either.] Maybe the easy thing would have been to take these lessons when I was 20 and not when I'm 44. But when did I start doing the easy thing?
I take lessons at a college about 50 minutes from home--factor in traffic and a stop for some iced tea at Burger King, and it's an hour drive, even with the heavy foot on the pedal. So, an hour there, an hour for the lesson, and an hour back home. Then there's the hour before leaving the house when I run through everything on my music stand, just to make sure it's all fresh in my head, and just so I can say, "Yes, I did practice that piece with the metronome."
Before I leave, I have to make sure that #2 has a ride home from school, and that #2 has a ride to tennis. #2 may also need a ride to steel drum practice, depending on the schedule. There is no food in the house, and very little toilet paper. The litter box hasn't been cleaned out in a few days. I have to design a book cover that will help sell a million books, and it is an impossible task, one that makes the vein in my neck hurt from the tension. And it makes my voice crack because if I have to take another stab at this design, which no one will like no matter what I do, then I'll just lay my weary head down on my desk and cry.
[There's a scene in Network News where Holly Hunter's character schedules in crying time. She sits at her desk with the phone unplugged until she's finished, then she plugs in the phone, and she's good for the rest of the day. Maybe that's what I need to do.]
In contrast, my horn teacher's other students are all kids. They wake up in their parents' house or in their dorm room which has been paid for by their parents. They eat food that someone else gives them, they put on their clothes, walk across campus, stumble into the arts building, and sit down for a lesson. They have practiced several hours every day without fail because they have very little else to do. They don't have two kids who need their mother to be a mother, and they don't have to fill the fridge with something for everyone. They don't have to rewash the towels because they left them in the washing machine for two days before remembering to put them in the dryer. They don't have to stare blankly at a Photoshop file with nothing but a white background on it because nothing else seems to work.
So, I'm going to resist the urge to cancel today's lesson. It would certainly be the easy way to get through this day. It would certainly take the load off and give me two more weeks to practice with the metronome and clean up those base cleff Cs. [Two weeks and not one because I can't make next week's lesson either.] Maybe the easy thing would have been to take these lessons when I was 20 and not when I'm 44. But when did I start doing the easy thing?
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