Strum...strum...strum...wait. Pluck...strum...damn.

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!)