Sunday, 12 May 2013

Guitar Lessons Can Be Murder

This is it. I'm sitting on the dining table chair, a blue guitar on my arm. My chord sheets are flying around me, and I bend down and pick it up. I try to place my fingers on the frets, and I strum.

What was that? Did you hear that? Hmm. Sounded like an Indian sitar.

Oh, wait. That was me. The string's gone twangy. For the hundredth time in a row.

I can't believe this! Why am I not Taylor Swift already?

I'm going to get some comfort food right now.

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