Caught Red Handed

Well it finally happened. I got caught. It was only a matter of time. In fact I’m surprised it took this long. You see, I work at an institution where musical instruments are prevalent and ‘available’. In particular there is a lovely sounding baby grand piano sitting in a stuffy old building. I’ve been sneaking into the practice room that holds this fine specimen and honing in my ivory chops for the past 6 months.

It’s nice. It’s been a real nice treat to go out to lunch, come back and play a baby grand. But as of today, it’s over. I got caught red handed.

I feel ashamed but at the same time I feel pretty cool. Like I perfomed some kind of rebellion. Now if I were to lose my job over this, well that would just be the coolest story to emerge from my mediocre work-life. In fact, wouldn’t that just be about the best possible way to be terminated:

Man loses job for playing piano.

In all fairness the gentleman who spoke to me asked me if I was a student. I told him I was not and then asked him if it was okay if I was doing what I was doing. There was an interesting sensation in my stomach as that door opened--it wasn't lunch.

Butterflies, nerves, shame.

Anyway he said, “Its okay if you play, just not this piano and not if the other practice rooms are full with paying students.”

Now the question is whether or not I have the gumption to go back. If I do I will not play the glorious baby grand. Gee, I don’t really know what to do about it. I guess I just had to tell somebody about my sins.

Does it Really Matter?

I have nothing to say today and yet my mind is speaking to itself in volumes. There’s a line of frustration that is easy to step over and nearly impossible to step back upon. What the hell does that mean? It means that it seems as if the harder I try to make a go at making a success of this whole mess the harder it seems to achieve any greatness. This of course is probably as common an occurrence to me as it is the rest of the human population.

What I wonder, and what I nag at in my head the most is the eternal question: What is happiness? There only 2 distinct events that occur in my own life where I feel I can answer that very question. I’m not going to indulge into those 2 events because I’d like to keep them as pure as possible. And frankly does it really matter?

Does it really matter? Let’s get all Camus and try to put our fingers on that one. Does it really fucking matter? Yes, let’s throw the ‘F-word’ there to emphasize a point. The question itself says nothing and yet speaks in volumes to the masses. Honestly, I don’t think it does matter. It doesn’t. Not to me. I don’t have a God. I don’t believe in the Heaven thing. I don’t believe in Christ or Noah. So what’s the point? Does it really fucking matter? Honestly, can somebody please tell me that it matters and how or why it matters for you?

I’m eternally curious. Though I don’t believe in the eternity of mankind I am still eternally curious. Let me in to the mystic secret. Please, I gotta put my finger on something solid.

Get it. Got it. Out!

Latron,
Dee