cavatica

Dear Fingertips,

Look.

I've invested a lot of time in this guitar. I am bound and determined to have relative proficiency with it by the time I graduate. It's really quite a nice guitar, and given my affinity for music--specifically, producing it--I would greatly appreciate it if you could get on board with me, since I really need your cooperation. I know it hurts right now. I do. Steel and fingers weren't meant to be together, I understand. But I want to be clear on this point: I do not give a fuck about your pain. Because we will practice until we get this song right. By next Friday's lesson, I will be able to play flamenco. Entienden? Comprenden? Your pain is meaningless to me. You may have complained your way into a break right now, but you're just going to have to get back to it again tomorrow, or maybe even later tonight. You will obey me; you will learn to love all those eighth and sixteenth notes. There is no discussion here. Just play the damn song.

Okay?

Good.

Love,
Cav