I smashed my finger in between two wire baskets. That makes it harder to play guitar. It didn’t slow down practice, it just made it more painful. The skin has turned purple underneath the nail and I feel the pressure on it when I hold the strings down. It matches the thumb beside it, the one that still shows signs of the needle that went through it.
I will have to adjust.
I’m irritated that I don’t hit every chord perfectly. I’m irritated that I can’t play any song I want to. I said that to my teacher. He thought that was funny since I’d only been playing for one week. That is funny, I keep reminding myself. It’s funny that I expect and demand so much so fast. I have very little patience. I expect everything to happen immediately. I expect the world to catch up with the way I see things. But the world is what it is, on its own time, in its own way.
I will have to adjust.
I’m lying here in my grandmother’s bed. It is a special place. I remember her lying on it, many years ago, soft and warm and next to me. The bed was so big then, now it seems so small. I am here in a room not unlike hers. It, too, was a special place. I remember the blue of the walls, the carpets, the furniture, the blanket. This one is not so blue or so big. Just the same, it is not unlike hers. I like it just as much, if not the same. Like then, I am lonely and not lonely. I am tired and awake. I am full of peace and also unrest. I have questions and no answers. My voice, which always seemed too loud, now seems too quiet.
I will have to adjust.
For now I will go back to reading Jane Eyre. It’s a book I’ve read before and remember, but don’t. That is to say, I remember what I’ve read after I read it. Before I read it I don’t remember and think I must not have read it. It’s very frustrating to wonder what happens next only to be disappointed with remembering instead.
I will have to adjust.
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