Just spent an hour banging on Shiyan’s piano. It’s lovely. I realized that one of the reasons I like the instrument so much is that my singing voice seems to get weaker as I get older – I can barely hear myself now – but playing the piano lets me pretend to be a singer, with the harmony in the left hand and the melody, sometimes even the chorus, in the right. Everything I make up happens in the realm of imaginary musicals.

When I got into orchestra in eighth grade I was made quickly aware that every other instrument on the planet is easier to sightread. Violinists? Clarinetists? Generally reading ONE note at a time instead of, oh, I don’t know, six. It was part of me getting lazy and dropping it.

I also was going through a very Tori/Alanis phase of banging loudly on the keys and giving my father a headache. Haven’t been consistent since.

I don’t play very much these days but every time I do I am reminded of my intense attachment to the piano as an instrument. It’s such a cumbersome attachment to have as someone who wants to be nomadic – really, it’s a long-distance relationship, and you never know when you’re going to see him again – but at the same time, it lets you be pleasantly suprised every time I walk into a living room and see one. Like meeting a new actor, or a new friend. Hi, piano. Just wait till I get you alone.

Playing the piano is like directing a play, too – you feel like all the different keys need to keep going at once, but when you’re in harmony with it, they happen naturally. It’s one of the few things I can do that makes my brain and body feel completely engaged. I have so much energy in my hands – perhaps from two years of typing dictated emails at Ludicrous Speed – and it takes a lot to make me stop moving around erratically. The other one is directing. The other other one is unprintable.

No more cumbersome than being attached to theater, which is also, let’s face it, another long-distance relationship. Michael Rohd is about to start regularly commuting between Chicago and Portland, which is not the most absurd theater commute I’ve heard of. If anyone can do it, he can, but still!

I have loved you, Thespis, across seven continents…

I do wish I could convince myself to fall for another instrument. Something more portable. But it never feels right. I love the faceoff, sitting down with that big hunk of wood (good heavens) and knowing only one of you is going to stand up from the duel.

So I have melodies floating around in my mind. I like to play loud and fast. And I can’t execute anything with the grace with which I hear it, so I screw up all the time. But I do love trying.