Well, can you tell I’m taking guitar lessons? I don’t know if that makes me a masochist, sadist, or both. Fingers hurt like hell (that line in “Summer of ’69” takes on a whole new personal meaning now) but I’m learning. That would be the masochistic part of the equation.
Sadistically, I go to my hubby and the conversation sounds something like this.
“I can almost play ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane!'”
Pluck…strum…strum…strum…wait. Damn. Hold on… Pluck…strum…damn. Wait…. Pluck…strum…pluck… No, hold on. Wait a second…
So then he’s forced to listen to me practicing.
My teacher assures me I’m making progress at a satisfactory rate, and I know he’s right, but I’m also one of those kinds of people who wants patience RIGHT NOW. *LOL*
I’ve always wanted to learn how to play. Took piano and violin when I was a kid, never got more than okay with the piano (can’t sight read worth a damn, but I can play the hell out of something once I had it memorized), only so-so with the violin so it didn’t sound like I was murdering the cat.
Much.
But I’m actually digging the guitar. And I can, in all honesty, see the progress. Bonus – I have a story idea I’m working on where one of the characters does play, so my CPA says that means this can count as research.
Woot!
(I love my job!)
Strum…strum…strum…wait. Pluck…strum…damn.
laughs…
Think I read a while back, you’re in Florida too… I’ll toss you bandages, and your hubby some great earplugs.
I remember my sister learning a LONG time ago. She actually got great at it.
So, keep the faith, and lots of aloe around.
:o)