Shortly before I decided to stop giving guitar lessons, around 2014, I had another difficult bout with my past.
At that time I was teaching a young woman, a psychologist. A practice I would have enjoyed pursuing if it had been necessary to choose an occupation other than that of musician. She already knew a couple of things about me - you know how talkative I am. I told her about my difficulty. She made me a deal. She had an appointment with her psychiatrist in the afternoon; for professional reasons this appointment was badly timed. The psychiatrist was a friend of hers, she could call him and I could take her place ...
So I told my story to her psychiatrist... His verdict, after announcing his fees and his method of work, was the following: So, in short, you are a Ryanair pilot who thinks he should be a pilot at Air France !
We are to meet again in a fortnight.
As I get into my car for the appointment and turn the key, nothing happens. Dead battery. I must have left a door open, certainly. Freudian slip, obviously. I would think otherwise: our objects are wiser than we.
Sarrazac, July 3, 2018.
|My Gibson Lespaul and the Twin Reverb Fender (1981)|