May the recorder die a bitter death.
Not the old-school voice tape recorder (in which I pretended I was interviewing Rick Springfield for days and hours on end while playing his records in between sound bites because, Oh, yes!!! "Success hasn't spoiled him yet!....." If you don't get that quote, you don't know shit about Dr. Noah Drake.....or 80's trivia or me.....)
but the old school nerve esploding!!!! plastic piece 'o shit recorder.
Moira picked up the piano like a fiend! She can even sing and play at the same time. Just after 10 times (okay, simple songs but damn, I can't remember my name, so, well, I'm impressed....) since we seem to cancel quite a bit. Because sometimes, I just don't want to drive across town for the 14th time that day.
The recorder? Not quite her bag.
Strangely enough, my father was the bomb! on the flute and saxophone so to find out this musically inclined kid was making Celia sound like a prodigy on her flutey thing, was a massive surprise to me. FYI ABHORRED this contraption.
Currently,we are ALL subjected to the incessant practicing to get her "Hot Cross Buns" just right.
Over and over and OVER again!
You know that heinous sound! No Kenny G's in the house!
Since Moira isn't mastering the flute wanna-be, she has found a way to make that bitch her own!
By playing it with her asthmatic, stuffed-up and runny nose.
Hey, I'm ALL about problem solving...
In other news, I have been prescribed at least 7 different meds for anxiety and depression with everything making me feel like I'm either going to stroke the fuck out or choke someone the fuck out. All still making me feel like a bad placebo is wasting my time and money. A couple of weeks ago, I took a spit-test to "supposedly" find the right pharmacology to make me feel less..... well, let's just say, crazier.
After three days of listening to the plastic nose horn and taking care of Mr. with "the gout," I called my doctor's office today in a panic for the results of my enzymes.
Tomorrow, I am going to leave another message with a rendition of "Silent Night" via the tubule piece with me whispering my name in the background.
Maybe, just maybe, they'll return my call sooner than later.