Enough Guitar

"What's this button do?" "Are you sure it goes in that way?" "There are some things man was not meant to know." Then I woke up on the side of the wrong bed. I had no idea whose bed it was or where.

Weird, this house does seem strange. I got off the bed then walked straight to the bathroom. While in the shower I started having these intrusive yet insightful shower thoughts. “Why does a round pizza come in a square box?” “When you wait for the waiter, are you not the waiter?”

These thoughts were the beginning of my mid-life crisis, the one I had tried to postpone for so long but was catalyzed by said sudden philosophical queries. “What’s next?” I muttered to myself. “I cut my own bangs? Buy a guitar despite not even knowing exactly what a chord is?”

Reader, I did both in the same day. The bangs actually didn't turn out so bad, but after trying—& failing—to learn to play Icona Pop's "I Love It" over the span of a single frustrating afternoon, I abandoned that guitar to the corner of my bedroom. From there it taunted me daily.

The guitar saw a quitter who was bitter that he couldn’t play well to get her. Every time I flick the light switch off I am not haunted by ghosts but rather a peculiar figure in the corner that keeps begging me to come and play. “No thanks,” I replied, “No thanks.”

I’ve played enough guitar for three lifetimes. Now that I’ve finally bought my soul back, I’ll never touch a string instrument again. Strictly woodwinds for me from now on!