Pulled from the practice log and revised. Full text, not excerpts.
See the process →The gouache never fully dries before the coffee maker clicks on downstairs. I've learned the four minutes I get before someone asks what I'm doing up — just enough for one bad sky, sometimes a good one.
C major up, C major down, the same eight notes I've played since I was six, except now I notice which finger hesitates, which one doesn't have to think. That's the whole difference, four years later — nothing hesitates anymore.
It says: painted, 12 min. It doesn't say the light was wrong, or that I almost didn't. Four years of one line a day and none of them mention how close "almost" comes to just not.
Lunch bell, and I'm still holding a chord that isn't finished. Someone asks if I'm coming. I say one second and mean it the way I always mean it — which is not at all, which is also completely.