She was lost and alone in a cold dark place barely able to see a thing but what she could make out she refused to believe. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. An alien planet, how she arrived at this foreign locale was more than a mystery to her, it was the enigma that could save her life. She was on her knees sobbing quietly convinced that at any moment the strange beings around her would spring to life, so as she wept she remained still, this went on for what seemed like days but in reality was approximately one minute and forty five seconds. Then a new feeling began to overtake the fear, the single greatest human trait, curiosity. She moved towards one of the seemingly lifeless aliens only to discover that it was in fact made of wax, instantly she began to laugh, far from an alien world she was in some sort of movie set or museum. With this new information her curiosity began to transform in to courage and she began to do what humans were meant to do, explore. She inspected the bizarre fake plants and strange fake weapons chuckling at how silly she had been, ‘people don’t randomly find themselves on other worlds’ she thought to herself. But she knew something was still amiss. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, despite how obvious it may seem, and she knew it should be obvious, so she decided to ignore it. Eventually she found her way out of the strange set, and onto one depicting a zombie attack. “If I had found myself here first I think I would have really lost my head.” She said aloud as she continued her exploration. Then she noticed something, at first she wasn’t sure what it was, but then it happened again, flickering lights. She didn’t know what it was but she was scared, instantly hiding behind a wax figure of a strange abomination, it appeared to be a depiction of a creature crafted by a mad man sewing together multiple body parts from around ten or so people, it was well crafted, almost too realistic. The lights came closer and the shadows of the zombies danced making bigger scarier monster images appear as the source of light continued on its path directly for her. Footsteps echoed, getting ever louder and louder against the wooden floor. “I know you’re in here” a cold dark voice called, “Listen I won’t hurt you but you kids have to stop sneaking in here it’s not safe at night. She was confused and once again the fear began to fade and the curiosity began to control as she stepped into the light to greet the one pursing her, only to find it was a security guard. She found her way home with his help within a matter of two hours.
I was talking to one of my friends recently about the problems with being a pianist. She plays the piano like I do, and we are often asked to accompany people at our church when they sing or play another instrument. We came to the conclusion that it really is a thankless job, even though we enjoy doing it.
This conversation prompted me to think of seven of the annoying things people commonly say to pianists.
1. “I wish I could play as well as you do.”
Well, you can. You just need to start practicing. Begin taking lessons, and then practice for an hour or more a day for at least ten years. Then you’ll be as “good” as me.
2. “I’m just not blessed with that talent.”
Neither am I. See my response to comment number 1.
3. “Can you accompany me tomorrow? The music has four sharps…
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As a self proclaimed writer I love that moment when after not knowing what to say the right words slip into my head and the universe opens up once more. Expressing myself is hard work and I’m a lazy guy, when I write I can take hours on a single sentence and it’s fine, but out in that pesky thing people like to tell me is the “real world” whatever that means, you can’t just stop mid sentence to figure out if you mean you empathize or you sympathize. So what’s an echo to do? First plan was to be a hermit and survive solo, since I have not yet gained access to a sweet cave in walking distance of foraging grounds, that seems unavailable (for now) so on to plan b, being awkward. It’s been effective thus far yet is clearly subpar, much akin to throwing an ugly rug over a giant gaping chasm, even if no one notices it only becomes more of a safety hazard. I love being odd and having so many diverse interest, but a balance in my insanity must exist, all things in moderation.
Meanwhile the world goes on
Where ever the world takes you
Your imagination flows takes you anywhere that you want to go
The world runs in many ways one day you’re sleeping the next day you’re flying
Every single week it comes, why do I detest this day, it’s just like any other, is it mere superstition? Probably just another one of the many things wrong with me of little note. I hate thursdays, what days do you hate? Not that anyone reads this. Garfield hated monday and I hate thursday.