I was trying to lose myself in my piano playing, but it was too difficult. My piano is right in front of the living room's large windows, and outside the mid-August chaparral weather was perfect for three in the afternoon, giving the front yard an idyllic look.
Therefore I finally caved in and slammed the lid to the piano shut. Normally I treated even dinky uprights like this one with respect, but I was too frustrated to care, and I practically ran out of the house to commune with the suburban imitation of nature which we call front yards.
Whatever my intentions might have been in running out like that I don't know, cause as soon as I got to the big tree I stopped under it, crossed my arms, and did absolutely nothing, merely pretending to be the arrogant master of this plot of neglected earth, standing calmly and serenely surveying the damage.
I hated how the yard looked now. I suppose I could have fixed up the yard myself, but my father was too much of a miser to give me money when I needed to buy simple vegetables for dinner, and I wasn't about to give that kind of a person a free gardening job on my own time.
This is how I am, I thought. I come out into the fresh air to enjoy life and I end up indulging in self-pity.
I looked up at the tree, and mentally I said to it that I hoped he would come soon, whoever he was. That I hoped I could share this suburban imitation beauty again.
I went back inside into the house's cool darkness, sat down at the piano, and looked for one of the easier pieces to play, cause in my current mind state it would upset me even more if I made a bunch of mistakes.
Finally, I decided on Wedding Day at Troldhaugen, and waited for something to change my life as I played it.