flex

I was driving to the mailbox today—what, you don’t drive to mailbox?  We’re rural, okay?  It’s like, a quarter mile at least to ours.  And you try getting your four year old to walk that far when he would SOOOO rather sit on your lap and ‘drive’—anyhow, I was driving to the mailbox today, when what do I spy, but some sort of…swelling on my arm.  Hmmm.  My inner, left, forearm to be exact. Sort of, bulging out.

Curious, I flexed and bent my wrist, wondering what new and strange condition I could be coming down with.  Ouch, it was kind of sore, now that I was paying attention to it.  Huh.  A bug bite?  Fluid retention?  Yoga injury?  But that’s when it hit me.

It’s a muscle!  A BARRE CHORD muscle!  I’m getting guitarist forearms!

I couldn’t be more pleased.  It’s even better than when the little cardboard-like callouses came in on my fingertips, little merit badges for practicing.  Because, yes, after much struggling I can kind of play some barre chords, just the majors on the sixth string and minors off the fifth string, but still, that’s a heck of a lot more than a week or two ago when all I got was plunk plunk plunk, no matter what.

I wonder if I’ll get those long spidery fingers?  Or that super-cool jazz look, that far away, doesn’t look at his hands as he plays, seen it all before Look.  I want that look.  Maybe occasional, syncopated head shake, but that’s it.  Yeah.  Any minute now.