Itzhak Perlman I Am Not

Total disaster of a violin lesson this morning, readers.

I must have made hella impression on my teacher last time, because today she forgot I was coming over.

And she only realized I was there for my bi-monthly lesson when she practically backed into my car on her way out the driveway. I could tell she was a little irked to find me standing on her stoop with my pencil bun hairdo and violin case in hand, but what could I do? We had a covenant.

She was like, "Well, we might as well do this thing since you're here now. Come on in." And I was like, "That's good, because I wasn't planning on leaving. (Telepathically.)

So then I followed her in the house, where the attack dogs were barking hysterically in a cage not two feet from the music room and began setting up my violin paraphernalia and whatnot. I guess it goes without saying that this time, we skipped the yoga stretches.

I had just finished painstakingly positioning my violin under my chin when she said,

"Is that how you've been holding it all week?"

And thus began a half hour humblepalooza during which I learned that every single frickity-frackin' thing I'd been practicing since my last lesson, I had been practicing ass backwards. And my teacher-who-had-someplace-else-to be was clearly getting irritated with me and my prehensile bow grip and form.

The really sad part is that I had been trying very hard, even going so far as to study Utube clips for hours (OK, minutes) on end to make sure I was on track. And I was getting kind of cocky, too, feeling like if the C1eve1and Orchestra ever needed someone in a pinch to play a single note for them, I could totally do it.

I'm not discouraged yet, readers, but the thing that's got me worried about my next lesson is the fact that I'm still not sure I understand exactly what it is that I'm supposed to do, or what I was doing wrong (besides holding my violin like a rocket launcher).

And, of course, the dogs.