Oh don't put me back there again. Ugh. 7 yrs old with poker
   chips on the back of my hands. I played along with her sadistic
   game 'til I got home then the wrists went back down. Years of
   lessons. THEN - 7th grade typing class: the poker chips
   returned. Same game: I played along while in class. At home?
   Wrists went back down. Nope. I know *how to* do it that way but
   my shoulders say _no_. No cure because it ain't broken smile
   emoticon 110 wpm consistently and 17 notes per second on the
   piano with the same posture, I proved them all wrong.   In
   short, you can keep your floating arm shit and do it if *you*
   want to. But I'll beat any of you in a Typeracer competition and
   my arpeggios FLY on the piano, while my hands physically SLIDE
   across the keys as my dead piano teacher rolls in her grave.
   Auntie Maye. 3 years with her. Wasn't my Aunt. Heavy music
   theory. They all pushed for me to go to Julliard at 11. I said
   "no" after a few months of extra torture lessons and realized
   I'd be doing MORE poker hand shit. Nope. Nope and Nope.