13 Epilogue

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)

No comments:

Post a Comment

1 Chef du Pont

I can’t remember how everything started. Probably with a Beatles song playing on the radio. I was born in 53, as we said then, long b...