I’ve just done some counting. My absolute least favourite thing.
And according to my calculations, I’ve had my piano (a digital piano) for seventeen years.
There was a moment a few weeks ago when it didn’t turn on. My stomach fell, and in that moment I had an entire conversation with myself.
It was like the life of the piano flashed before my eyes.
All the songs we’d written together.
All the tears I’d cried as she helped mend my broken hearts.
What if she was gone?
If she didn’t turn on.
I realised I’d still have my voice to create music, and that thought soothed me.
But my goodness I was pleased ‘my baby’ turned on eventually.
Boy, was I ever pleased.