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.

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