Today, after cramming for the whole day (with surprisingly little actually done in the end, quantitatively at least...), I decided to get some practise, as I have a lesson with Carlos tomorrow. Maybe it's the fact that I've been practising very little in the recent months (hell, I've been practising little over the past YEAR), but I'm hitting the musical doldrums. My fingers are not producing the notes they are supposed to, and I realised just how little control I have over my playing. I've heard people say that spruce guitars are more difficult to play than cedar ones, and as I develop the more I realise this is true. I have a choice: to slowly take in the nuances of guitar, push my playing to a level where it can do her justice; or continue making a travesty of my instrument and the music. I have a friend who said that the more he plays the guitar, the more he realises quite how difficult it is. I think this reality is hitting me like cold water on a winter day.

I don't care when people say that I am a good guitarist. I know that I am not doing justice to the music I am playing. A few years ago, I was delusional enough to think I can be a professional guitarist, and that gig I had in the Swiss Garden only reinforced my folly. I don't want to be a guitarist, I want to be a musician. I do not ask for much, I do not want to travel around the world performing in great concert halls. I do not want to be exalted by critics and aficionados alike. I just to be able to use the guitar as a vehicle for my own expression.

As I sat alone in the empty auditorium, with my guitar in my lap, my fingers sore from my tense playing and poor stamina, I seethed in frustration at my lack of talent. Everything is going wrong, I cannot even play relatively easy stuff comfortably. I reflected on the years I have been playing, of the hundreds of hours I have poured into this. It would be so easy to just give it up. Why do I keep coming back? I have sacrificed what vestige of a social life I had for it. I hardly even play much for people, and when I do I get praise which I feel borders on the facile, for they praise me for the finger gymnastics I can do. I will never be a musician until the day I actually touch someone inside with my playing, which is something I don't think I have been able to do up to now. Yet, with my glaring lack of talent and ability, I can't even get the notes right, let alone get into the nuances of the music.

I don't know. I may complain and rant and despair now, but there are days when I just sit with my guitar, and we will produce music. There would be absolutely no one within earshot, but my entire being would be lost in the music flowing out. It's almost like a torrid love affair. If this analogy holds true, I hope that there's a happily ever after.

And I just discovered today that yesterday's run has caused a recurrence of my old ankle injury. Joy.