Wednesday. Cold but clear this morning. Up at six, off to breakfast and back by eight, thinking of running the scales and a couple of chords before setting off for my guitar lesson. Just, you know, a warm up. Wouldn't want to start out with a flop, now, would I? Because I'm stiff and cold on a December morning? Or am I projecting? Worried when I shouldn't. Remembering earlier lessons. It's been a good week, we'll just go and come back and everything will undoubtedly be swell.

Later. A good lesson, I whipped through some of the things I had difficulty with last week, whipped through the chords like a beginner, yes, but a better beginner. We want to be a better beginner, sitting here old as the hills, our electric guitar resting in its cradle beside us.

We graduated this morning, though. From the Batman and Mission Impossible themes to a blues riff, which I intend to get down cold before the week is out. It sounds more like actual music and, hearing it played in a reasonable fashion (the instructor whipped through it a couple of times to let me know how it sounds when played as opposed to practiced) it's gotten me excited. We will learn our first blues riff before the week is out. I don't think I'll need any of these hup! hup! hups! to get me started.

Hup! Hup! Hup!

Obvious, even to me. Obvious to the oblivious. Maybe this entire journal is nothing more than a hup! hup! hup! exercise in futility. Still, a nice day outside. They're replacing the rugs in the hallways at the moment, a good reason to get out and going, let them finish up while I'm gone.

Getting outside is not one of your problems.

We are babbling here. Not sure why.

Play your silly guitar.

Later still. Overcast without any sign of rain, a bus downtown to pick up a prescription and a box of Bandaids, a bus back to the apartment, no interest in walking in the cold. Or lunch for that matter. They've finished the hallway rugs on my floor and they look better, particularly the color. It's a nice enough hallway, but what it really needs is a line of nicely framed photographs running at eye height along the walls.

They've used an adhesive to affix the carpet to the underlying floor so there's a chemical smell. Doesn't cross through into the apartment so we'll shack up here for the rest of the day, maybe finish that diary-mystery I started, wrote about and then didn't finish. And play guitar.

Hup! Hup! Hup!

I've forgotten what the real work looks like, going into an office every day. Best not to forget that, best not to lose sight of how nice it is to do pretty much what you want: play with the toys, nap whenever you feel like it, take pictures anytime you want during a day.

Hup! Hup! Hup!