hang my head

A Decemberists's's's's's's (silly proper noun plural rules) song, three easy chords (D A G, for those of you following along at home), but a difficult (for me, at least, as a rank beginner) strumming pattern, and all the more difficult to finger the chords, strum, and sing at the same time.  Not really my really my suit in keyboard playing, either, happy to block out the chord's base with my left and do any heavy lifting with my right, and still rhythmically challenged, as it were, when adding a vocal line on top.  My inner metronome, clearly, leaves much to be desired (although there is a certain pleasure in typing this and realizing the fingers of my left hand are essentially numb, as the callouses have largely faded from non-playing until the last few days - the resuming of which probably coincides with the resumption of placing words here), not to mention either/or/and playing and singing.  But something's got me thinking, and it ain't just the ache in my left knee as it protests this whole "running" thing of late (did I mention I refuse to look like my father? absolutely and utterly, and I'm actually willing to sweat to prevent it. I am a stubborn bitch when necessary, and this, apparently, was my cue.)  It ain't just the work, or whatever transition it is I seem to be struggling with.  Err, well, it is probably that last, though if I could place the to and the fro of the equation, it would make this all rather less, well, you know, wordy.  Ah, those three blogger tags below - scooters, vacation, fall.  Scooters? Who was smoking what when they decided that was an ideal exemplum gratis?  "Oh! I see - my post is about scooters! And those cute little Vespas we rode in Majorca on vacation last fall!  So I should tag this post 'scooters, vacation, fall'!"  What about "e.g., Hooters, liposuction, hell"?  Not a bad shorthand tag for Los Angeles, actually.  I miss England, I miss NY, I'm annoyed as fuck that he-who-stole-my-affect is coming to give a talk here the week after next, and terrified about how much work I have to do over the next few weeks. And, ultimately, I'm just a bit fucking moody.  Although Berkeley friend who claims she still loves me coulda shoulda woulda might've called, but didn't. And as it's all about me, well, no points, hon', for that. Although all of my friends seem to think that "Tuesday" passed.  Although the friend with whom that was invented seems to think it was "wednesday", not tuesday, but as all my journals from that period never arrived any place (or, didn't do so from my perspective) there's no way of verifying that claim one way or the other.  Dunno.  I want to put on my Sex in the City voice and ask if my approaches to relationships and friendships are somehow mutually exclusive, but, well, that would be cheap.  A few more sips of wine, some Nadezhda....Hope Against Hope, she writes....unto the very grave.