I'm 31, almost 32. I have a few gray hairs. I have grown-up-girl hips. I'm almost (ALMOST) twice as old as the freshmen at the university. Fine. I realize they were born in 1991 (and I twitch a little bit here). And I realize they are all prodigies and can smack me around. Fine.
What I don't like is that one of my teachers routinely introduces me, as "Erin, the Old Lady." This makes me twitch just a little bit more. For playing purposes, I was matched with another old person in my class, but he's not quite as old as me. He's 27. I suppose since we both managed to live through the 80's, we should reminisce about the good ol' days of jelly shoes, hair bands, and neon pink leg-warmers.
This is not gymnastics. This isn't ice skating or being a math whiz (is it true that once they hit 20, they are done?). This is music. I've already been warned that it's harder for older people to train their muscles to do new things. Right. Since I'm so old, my arthritis will kick in any moment. I'm already past my prime, so why bother?
Just because I've gotten my ass kicked by ever composer I come by, doesn't mean I'm a lost cause. Just because I suck at roughly half my instrument, doesn't mean I'm giving up. And just because I'm drinking a whole pot of decaf coffee tonight, doesn't mean I won't be fiesty. Dammit. I think another hair just turned gray.
Moral of today's story: it is possible to melt part of the inside of a microwave in less than four minutes. DAMMIT, another hair turned gray!
An Erinku:
pink and green kite
waiting patiently
for spring
to fly
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