Playing the guitar #%&^$#@ hurts!!!!
OMG…you have to be a tenacious soul to teach yourself to play the guitar…because what nobody tells you at the beginning is:
- a) it’s hard, and really frustrating, and clumsy and you’ll feel really stupid and
- b) it hurts like *^%#%&$#!! My left hand fingers are swollen and red, and complaining miserably, and yes, I am also complaining
But…that being said, I am also liking it, and am committed to the process. I am stubborn when I need to be, and I think that will serve me well until I have built up some hefty callouses. If I can make it through karate training, (which is considerably harder and scarier at times than even this guitar, especially when you are a good 6-12″ shorter than everybody else), I can play guitar.
I really would have thought that I had better manual dexterity – what with all the precision jewelry work and whatnot – but apparently ummmm not. Ah well….practice, practice, practice. What else are Canadian winters for anyways? (Well, there is that too. 
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But I figure I will fill the time that I would normally be out riding Lyrical, with practice. So at about 6 hrs or so a week, I hope I will actually be able to play something by spring. I am not used to not being good at something right away. I know, that sounds bleh, but usually I get the hang of things pretty quickly. I am not so sure that this will be the case this time. In fact, I am pretty sure that it will not. If anybody has any tips, I’d be glad to hear them!
I have been playing around with We’re going to be friends by the White Stripes. I love that song, and so far I am getting the first part down not so badly. Just gotta get those fingers used to moving! I’m also trying to practice a few chords, but finding those difficult as they HURT. And maybe everybody finds them hard, but I think my tiny hands do not make it any easier.
Exciting news in our little island town today – new neighbours. Hurray! And they are from Montreal – even better. I couldn’t wait to get the heck away from Montreal when we moved out here…but after you settle in, and you start to slow down to the rural life, and get into a groove…you realise that there is nobody here to talk to. I mean nobody. For miles. Which is truly great, it is, and yet truly horrible all at the same time.
I like to be alone. I’ve never been the kind that does well with small talk, and parties with people I don’t know make me uncomfortable. I actually need to be alone most of the time, or I get anxious. I get too tuned into what everybody else is feeling and wanting that I get tangled in where my feelings leave off and theirs begin, and vice versa. ha – limbic system in overdrive all the time. I’m getting better at tuning it out, better at distancing and not letting myself get swept away in other people’s drama, pain, or agendas, but far from being a master…so I thought that being out here a million miles from urban life would kind of cure that for me. Simplify things – bring me back to myself and allow me to be happy again. And so far, so good – except I guess I never really counted on how very lonely it is here. I guess I was hoping for at least some kind of ability to socialise every now and then…. which was very wrong, it turns out.
The local people call us CFA’s (come from away) – and honestly the culture is just so different, I sometimes feel like I am from a different universe altogether, and can understand why they have a label for people who are not from the island. I mean, the men can’t even seem to talk to me without turning a million shades of red and looking at their feet, and the women are not exactly overly welcoming – pretty guarded. Some people are friendly enough to chat with, say at the store or school. But that is about where it ends. Everybody has extended family, and friends that they have know since childhood – there is not much room for outsiders.
Anyways, this guy pulled up in a van today and hopped out and introduced himself. He’s about our age, and just moved in with his girlfriend who is a lawyer. Super nice and friendly, and very Montreal, and seemed smart and you could actually talk to him (and he made eye contact and didn’t blush or stammer)… I forgot what that was actually like. I am hoping that his girlfriend is nice, and please, please, please not boring….Anyways…I don’t want to get my hopes up too much…because the likelihood of finding the perfect friend in this corner of the world is like winning the Lotto 6/49.
What I would do for a good friend right now though. You know the kind that you can have tea with, and just laugh all afternoon because you barely even have to talk, you just get each other. The kind that you love, and you know that they love you too – they just do. The kind that you can trust. The kind that you would go anywhere to help them even in the wee hours of the morning if they needed you, and you know they would do it for you. The kind that you can not see for a couple of weeks, and then just pick up where you left off. I really, really miss having friends like that…and the prospects here do not seem too great…maybe an imaginary one would fit the bill?
Anyways…I apologise for the confessional and the bleh-ish blog- I’ll get back to the previously scheduled program of a more witty and imaginative K tomorrow. Maybe I will have dreamed up an imaginary friend by then to share with you.Should it be a he or she? What will they look like? What will they do for a living, other than be my friend? Hmmmm…..