(diaryland) February 13, 2004 - 12:03 p.m.

I don't know why I pay thirty-six bucks a week to get tortured mentally, emotionally and physically for an hour. I pay this money to get all teary and upset every week.

But this is my piano lesson.

It's funny. In my lesson, my teacher screams, "No!" "Nope!" "I hate it!" "PLAY SLOWER! YOU'VE BEEN DOING IT ALL WRONG!" And I try so terribly hard at every single tiny note until I get sweaty.

I think, "Please let the torture stop."

My teacher grabs my hands and forces them into weird positions while shouting, "RELAX! RELAX!" frantically into my ear.

But then, after my lesson, my piano teacher all chirps up and I'm all cheerful and we're like, "Hey. See you next week! Have a great weekend!"

And then, somehow, I have improved immesurably.

It could be worse, though. She could put broken glass in the pockets of my jacket while I'm not looking.

I love my lessons, though. I just can't figure out why.