Ironic that after planning and saving and sacrificing for such a long time I no longer play particularly well.
I'm like a tired horse who wants to go home. I'm always rushing the beat.
These mediocre performances can be somewhat salvaged via digital editing. Yet once upon a time I could have played them with minimal effort, and now I face the decision whether to replace myself with people who still can.
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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips.
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This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.