call me ishmael.
i have been trying to write the same song for the past month.
the first stanza came instantly; the chorus, hammered out in a day. now, though…nothing. i don’t know how to press on with it. everything i try to play sounds wrong. i can’t pin an ending on this thing. it’s gotten to the point that i am absolutely fucking sick to death of listening to it. whenever we have band practice, my teeth are on edge from the very first chord. this song makes me want to smash my guitar against the wall.
i am being histrionic, of course.
hilary doesn’t want to move on until we finish it. we are very nearly done, she says. i sigh and sullenly strum ‘free bird’ while she tinkers with it.
i usually suggest we go watch law and order svu in lieu of practice.
she usually declines.
i usually go help myself to a sprite from her fridge.
i try out a few things, ask her what she thinks of them. she shrugs in a noncommittal way. she plays a bar or two, asks me what i think. i sniff, pause, then play my mine again—just in case she didn’t hear them the first time.
i am ready to finish this song. i am ready for it to be done. i should probably work on it tonight.
i don’t want to, though.
1 year ago • 1 note
