I like my hands. I think they’re quite nice. I’ve always been a bit vain about them, and oddly they are the part of me that look most like my mother; I totally got her hands. They’re relatively small for an average sized woman, but my fingers are unusually long. I also grow very nice fingernails, when I leave them be to grow. It’s a weird thing to be vain about, but I can rise above and be vain about most anything, it turns out.
I do not, on the other hand, much like my guitar playing. It is in no way my strong suit, musically. I came to it late, am self taught and rather lazy about practicing, but care a great deal about sounding good when I do bother to play. Usually because I am trying to impress a boy.
But to do the latter well, I must relinquish the former. I picked up Livingston tonight and looked sadly at the state of my fingernails (perfect) and knew that in very short order indeed they would be made sacrifice to the strings. I even tried playing without trimming them, but was forced at last (since the child absconded with my clippers) to bite them all off in order to play with any degree of satisfaction.
On the bright side I’m not nearly as rusty as I expected to be…
Comments are closed