I went further with the piano.
As a reward for doing my work work - the writing and the talk and editing bits, I let myself have five to ten minutes at a time to do some sort of physical task. It’s grounding.
With that in mind, I dove into door number three. Sadly, that wasn’t the end of my ADHD piano game. Now the damn thing doesn’t make a sound at all. I feel like Aesop’s dog seeing its own reflection.
I could have quit while I was ahead. I had a working piano. Now? Now I have a broken piano, another choice between a couple of options and limited time in my life.
Door number 1? That’s easy. Do nothing. Leave it there to hold clothes like so many treadmills and the like. It could merely exist as a furniture dinosaur. It may eventually outlast me, dwelling somewhere near a furnace or in an attic only to be discovered by the next owners of this space in a couple of decades.
Then the problem could be theirs.
Door number 2? Value Village. They’ll take anything and sell it. Someone with more t…
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