Chapter 3, In Which She Merely Talks About Practicing, But Does Not Practice

Last night, over drinks and guacamole at the inimitable Rosa Mexicano, my dear friend and I discussed the blog, my practicing, and my numb fingertips. I was all set up to come home and brush up on that C chord that I haven't played since college. (Believe it or not, none of the songs I'm trying to learn at the moment includes a C. Very strange.)

Instead, I came home and futzed around on my computer for a while, looking for love in the online personals those kids are always talking about. Now there's a time-suck if I've ever seen one.

And just like that, it was 10pm.

"Ten o'clock?" says the good little angel. "Not so late. You still could have practiced."

"But there's a baby next door!" counters the bad little angel. "Does tiny Carmine really deserve to be wrested from slumber just so you can learn another damn power chord? And what about that friendless photographer upstairs? Every day is an exercise in not drawing his attention! The last thing you need is him coming down here to give you pointers!"

And that, my friends, is how Good gets pinned to the mat by Evil.