Whinge alert.

Every day, almost without fail, I practice classical guitar.  For how long have I done this? Two years?  And I'm still a beginner's beginner.  Yes, there has been some improvement and the general consensus is it's a slow process and not to beat up on yourself because facility doesn't come easily but CRIPES!    I would like something more to show for my diligence than wrongly hit notes, the slowest of slow tempoes, buzzing, muting and soreness in my fretting fore finger, in my wrist and arm muscles  from twisting around the neck.  

No, I won't give up.  But I am extremely frustrated after attempting again, songs I've played and played and played with seemingly no improvement.  I have changed the way I practice.  I am diligent.  I slow down.  I try and play correctly which means slow.   I practice difficult spots repeatedly to try and improve.  I work for muscle memory so finding notes becomes easier.  I try.  I work.  I practice.  

And now I've whinged which doesn't do anything but get it off my chest - and gets me to put the guitar aside until tomorrow, which might be a better day.  (Had a good practice day two days ago, but yesterday and today, poor).  

 As an addeundum to my two previous posts:  Yes, I relish my newfound freedom.  I experience long periods of contentment, serenity and joy - and then I remember;  while I am free, Richard is not.  His prison might be well appointed, the food good, the warders friendly, but make no mistake, it is still a prison.  

 My balloon deflates.   

It seems my happiness is dependent upon his continued incarceration for if he was suddenly here again...  Someone said to me my face has changed since Richard moved to Heritage.  I no longer look haunted.  

Then I have to choose.  Do I wish him here again?  No.  Is it sensible or safe to bring him home?  No.  Then I need to let this guilt go.  It does no one any good.  I've made my choice.  So make the most of it.  

 For instance, stop whinging.