Piano class is over. I was hoping to do a great job on the Mozart. I didn't. It sounded fine until the Allegretto at the end. Then, for some reason, my fingers turned into French fries. Or pick-up sticks. Anything but fingers. I was disappointed. I'd had such a good practice at noon. I worked especially hard on getting the rhythm and the dynamics of the Allegretto just-so. Oh well.
For some reason, it seems I play better under particular circumstances.
If I'm playing alone, where I absolutely know that no one is listening, then I play well. Or I think I do. I know I enjoy it more, and I do think I play better when I'm completely alone.
I play best when I'm in front of a large audience. Not that that's ever happened. My largest audience has been 200 people, but most audiences have been the handful that show up for college student recitals.
I play worst when in a piano lesson.
I play second worst when in a piano group lesson.
I play pretty darn well when in an impromptu situation--at a party, or at a bar where there isn't any music but there's a piano there.
I don't play particularly well when in a university practice room and I know there are people in the rooms on either side, or walking in the hall, that can hear me.
So today was in front of a small audience, one that included a piano teacher. Not my best situation.
But when I play poorly in one situation, I figure it's not worth it to try to play well in any other situation. And I'm overwhelmed with the desire to quit lessons, to quit music, to stop entertaining this dumb dream that should have been buried years ago.
I know I'd play better if I were able to practice more. But there's only so much time in the day when you're a grown-up with a grown-up job and a grown-up commute and grown-up responsibilities. Blah.
Can you tell I'm depressed tonight? Booyah.