“And I just played ‘til my fingers bled”

That’s what all the greats say. “One day I picked up the guitar, and I loved it so much I just played until my fingers bled.” We all want to be one of the greats. Recently I’ve discovered why I’m not. Let’s put it this way, my fingers aren’t bleeding but they are incredibly sore…so sore that they can’t push my steel strings down and if I kept playing it would sound awful. I love my guitar. It’s a Big Baby Taylor that I got from a boyfriend who got it from an uncle who got it for $20 at a yard sale. (the boyfriend was musically-inept; so he gave it to me. There aren’t many things that I kept after we broke up, but boyfriend or not that guitar has become my friend). She’s been with me through a lot. And we’ve sung our hearts out (she has a much better voice than I do).

I want to play til my fingers bleed, until i can’t feel them anymore, until i become so good Hendrix will recommend me, but let’s face it. My range is poor and my attention is short. I know i’ll play guitar until my dying day, but I’m also pretty confident it won’t ever be on a stage with Taylor Swift or Bruce Springsteen (or both), or even on a stage in a lonely bar with only a barmaid listening. and i’m ok with that (mostly). when i was a kid, i dreamed of becoming a professional singer. I wanted to stand on a stage in front of thousands of people and sing the songs that came from my heart, but the truth is i don’t think people would listen. They’d hear a song about starfruit and miss it for what its message is.

For now i’ll keep writing music, and playing in my room. I’ll keep playing until my fingers hurt so bad they should be bleeding…but aren’t. :) I’ll keep writing my stories (if i can ever find my thumbdrive) and I’ll keep dreaming, because that is what this blog is for: to keep record of all the dreams i hope will come true, as well as the ones that will stay just that: hopes of dreams.