hiegh-ho, heigh-ho

If I am going to make any money this semester, I had better practice.
"The Stack" (as I affectionately refer to the pile of music on the piano) is growing. A few inches high by now, I would imagine. But that's no way to measure an amount of music. One must bravely crack open the scores and scan for black notes, shifting time signatures, and complicated arpeggios. (Finger-busters, I call them) Obscure composers with unpronounceable Armenian or French surnames that write for their own instruments? Bad. Recognizable favorites such as Mozart, Brahms, Schubert, or even Copeland? Good. But I don't have any of them on my roster this semester. The cold hard cash is in the hard stuff this time, and there is only one cure for that.
Bench-time, baby.

Oh, and bring me a soft-lead pencil, wouldja? I need to write in some fingering.