House of cards

Some days I get the odd feeling that this is all a joke. That we all stand on a house made of cards. Only most days, we don't know that we are. Until a wind strong and sudden enough slams itself against it and you fall, along with everything else that you've gathered around you on this house of cards.

I brought the boy for a consultative session with a new violin teacher last night. I needed another opinion. As it turns out, he had aplenty. We spent more than an hour and a half with him, out of which he spent less than 5 minutes listening to the boy play a couple of pieces from his ABRSM Grade 2 book. When we walked down the stairs, all 5 flights of them because the studio was in an old apartment block (with a lift that only operates 4 hours a day between 3:30pm and 7:30pm) in the French concession area, cards flew from beneath my feet.