Trouble Clef

Trouble Clef

I am sitting in Understanding Music.
Misunderstanding myself.
My professor keeps talking about a composer who wrote a symphony to win a woman's heart.
The symphony is about the composer going to the guillotine and getting his head chopped off.
The woman heard the song and immediately accepted the composer's hand in marriage after months of ignoring him.

If that's all it takes to get a good girl...I better find a large butcher knife and a piano.

Every time this elderly professor makes a joke, he looks at me because he knows I'm the only one who will laugh.
I think I'm too polite to roll my eyes at someone who knows so much more than I do.
And I am lame enough to find his PG-rated humor refreshing.

Being hungover is so uncomfortable, but I consistenly drink more than I should. When I walk into class smelling like bad decisions, I convince myself I'm better than "this," whatever this is.

And then my professor smiles his friendly smile, and it seems like he forgives me for sins he couldn't know.

I wonder if bored 20-somethings will ever sit in a room and wish they didn't have to learn about my creative genius. Perhaps my work will give them a chance to daydream about being anything but hungover. That's good enough for me.