So, it’s that time of year again. I went home early, lightened up some candles, opened a bottle of wine (thanks dad, even if you don’t know it yet), sat on my ledge my guitar in my arms and doing the thing that I’d like to call practicing.
Then the clock turned midnight: my birthday. Again. Stupid thing. And then the bell at my home mountain (well hill actually) starts to ring. My first thought: “if I stop playing the guitar before the bell stops to ring something bad will happen the next year” (actually I think, my thoughts were more in the line of “I will die that year”). Being superstitious is a bad habit indeed.
Perfect time for the bell control mechanism to fail. As the bell rang on I had enough time to tune the guitar, try some new tabs, drink some more wine.
Half an hour later someone finally had the grace to turn the bleeding thing off. I still stand. This might be a reminder that I should start playing for real.
we die and rot slowly in our graves
Forgot the band’s name, maybe that one’s mine
