with love and anger coiled into one
they take and take but never get their fill
I try and try, but fail against my will
I wait and wait for that hand to sweep me up
and take me down the road home
Over the last week I started a couple entries I wish I had finished. Not because I love looking back at depressed thoughts from the dead of night (..or do I??) but because records are important. And sometimes writing it out helps. Though, it's true, sometimes both of those things backfire. Sometimes, sometimes.
My social life is like a door nail, so I've been holding the guitar a few minutes at a time. I might sing, or at least try to make accurate vocal tones. Currently I have new dents in my left-hand fingertips, and a muscle in my right arm that reminds me I never really got the hang of the upstroke. Lately, I occasionally wonder if I should have learned to play the other way around.