I played my guitar tonight after at least 2 months. I played Stay or Leave and Black Star and some of my own stuff. And I’m alarmed to report that I cannot play my own songs without fucking up anymore.
Having reached this low point in my musical life, I did some digging around and picked some ancient finger exercises up off the floor of my brain. Chromatics. It’s been years since I did those, you know. The last time was probably at age 18, because Aviv forced me. I skipped it most of the time back then (which is how I came to be a severely mediocre player) but I can see how it could be of use now. Because one round of chromatics later, my hand is a complete and total mess. It hurts. And I don’t mean my fingertips: I mean my whole hand. It hurts in a mild and constant way that is beginning to bother me a little, but oh well.
I have failed a lot in 2016, Zonk. I’ve failed at maintaining my blog, at giving Bleak another chance, at recording 5 songs with C, at playing my guitar, at writing new songs, at not reading so many books, at learning to play my poor disused violin. I’ve failed at taking Life by the shoulders and shaking it awake and dragging it out of the blackhole that is Work. I’ve taken all the things I’ve been given and I’ve let them slip through the cracks. I’m a kickass UI Designer now, though, Zonk. Really, I am. And I wish I could find some comfort in that tonight. But I can’t.
Because tonight is for stepping back and taking a good hard look at things and shaking my head and sighing deeply. And also, oddly, for being no-nonsense and making new plans. Again.
This time, though, I give myself just one week at a time. 7 days of music. 30 days feels insurmountable. But surely 7 should be fine…
Oh well. We’ll see.
I should go now, Zonk. Because I’m sleepy as fuck and because my fingertips are beginning to burn against the keys.
Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the Old Age bite.