by Dara Weinberg

Sometimes, when I am about to give up, I search on Craigslist for pianos. I want a spinet, the kind that is as short as a five-year-old boy learning his scales for the first time, so that no one can sneak up on me while I'm playing. I will cut it open with Josh's hacksaw and build a shelf for my laptop in the roof of its mouth. When I have my modified laptop spinet, I will work on my novel every day with the fidelity of a concert pianist, and when I do not feel like typing, I will play scales. In this way, my procrastination will be productive, and I will have sonatas coming out of my left hand and sonnets out of my right after just a few months. In a year, I will have a soprano sitting (I will not say "perching" because I don't want to compare women to animals, but she is like a bird in more ways than one) on top of the spinet, singing my lieder and making me sandwiches, and we will be in love, and I will never look on Craigslist for the answers to my problems again because I will have no more problems to be answered.


Dara Weinberg blogs here.