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Day Two Hundred (Year Three)

So, last night as I was blogging, what I was picturing for today was this: 

Spending a good portion of the afternoon sitting in a patch of sun with an acoustic guitar in my hand and a notebook spread open in front of me, hashing out whether to switch specific chords in the current song for slightly altered ones or just leave them be.  After that, I was going to find some kernel of lyrical (quasi) brilliance that would at least inspire me to try writing some words.

Once I had burned that candle at both ends, I was going to stretch out my fingers with some scales and theory before falling into something bluesy (Clapton, perhaps).

Instead, I got The Lone Bellow imported into itunes, noodled a bit with the electric, and spent the rest of the day cleaning up after cats who decided today was the day to tear the house apart.

Essentially, it was a bust of a day, and now I find myself writing and being frustrated, which will lead into me going to bed frustrated, and waking up vowing to do something resembling musical productivity tomorrow as a way to salvage what little weekend I feel like I've had.

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