In Which She Finds Out Just How Far Bragging Gets You

So naturally, after getting all high 'n mighty about my practice schedule, I have now gone two days without so much as a strum. The excuses are thin at best, falling into the category of "social obligations." Tuesday I had the BON VOYAGE, YOU final date with G.; last night I was drowning my so-so sorrows in crap white wine at the neighborhood bar with V & K. (And E., and a belligerent H., but that's another story.) In neither instance was I practicing arpeggios, nor was I sight-reading Love Me Tender.

I have now discovered the secret to becoming a guitar genius: eighty-six the social life.

Tonight, tonight, I'm back on track tonight!

In Which She Brags (Just a Little Bit)

Okay, so I'm not much of a blogger. Entire months pass by during which I neglect to post a single comment. I barely even know what "blog" means, and sometimes I inadvertently spell it "glob." But there's one thing I AM good at, and darned if it isn't practicing my guitar.

This is not to say that I play well, for as yet I do not. This is not to say that I will ever write a really good song, or play on stage, or find myself in the position of being remunerated for my guitar services. No, none of this is likely to occur.

All I'm saying is that I practice. I really do. I practice every single day. And this dedication has reaped me such rewards as the ability to play the entirety of Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce after a mere three lessons with Bob Parins. And to cause said instructor to say, tonight, during my fourth lesson, in his cute Wisconsin accent, "Gee, whad'jadoo, take the week off work and do nothing but practice guitar?"