On my way home today I went to the music store and bought 3 of those little peg like things that hold your guitar strings in place below the bridge. Then I came home, and went to help a friend out with something. I got back just some time ago, and now I’m sitting here with no socks and cold feet and typing up this post of things I did not do while the things that remind me of what I ought to be doing lie strewn quietly all around me. Like the three little pegs in my bag.
Here’s a list of things I’ve gotten after my office moved, on account of I believed the extra time would turn me into a dramatically productive person.
- One sketch pad
- One watercolour pad
- One small set of acrylic paints (my old paints are so congealed that I had to go get new ones)
- Some new inks
- A palette (such needless luxury)
- Several drawing pens (I keep losing these)
- Several brushes (I keep losing these)
- Two boxes to keep all of the above in
- One new guitar case (this I don’t regret – my old one was in pieces)
- Three string-peg-things (I really ought to google this and find out what they’re actually called)
- A new set of strings
- Rosin (I lost mine)
- A low quality violin mute
- One domain name (hosting’s for free)
In retrospect, it’s only two extra hours a day. How much did I think I would accomplish with two extra hours a day? Besides, I come back everyday to a house full of small children. And small children, as a rule, are not very conducive to productivity.
Plus, of course and very obviously, I am a lazy girl.
It’s kind of funny that I keep making new plans to do things while all the evidence I’ve collected thus far suggests that I should just stop trying already. A sad sort of funny. A pale yellow potentially bright sort of funny. A weak-willed and cheaply shiny sort of funny. You know what I mean. Do you know what I mean? Because I feel like I’m not getting this point across right.
If I wrote a tragicomedy about my tryst with the violin (or with anything else at all, really), would you read it? And would you appreciate the inevitable anticlimax at the end?
I’m going to wake up tomorrow and regret writing this while half asleep. Apologies for my incoherence. I am a rambler on the inside. What you see here’s usually highly edited snippets of vast and endless ramblings.