The Urinal

Honestly, the names have been changed to protect the not so innocence.  Additionally, my sanity at work depends on this.

It must appear that I go through people much like most people go through Kleenex. 

There is a chap I work with who never makes eye contact with people, especially women.  I used to make a habit of saying "good morning" and not get a response.  No holding doors for people, this fellow, no eye contact.  We used to be musical acquaintances, but the mishandling of some songs I wrote, by trying to put his own imprimatur upon them, by which I am implying his own turn on my compositions.  I may not be the most prolific or fabulous of songwriters, but, damn it, they are mine, my thoughts, my feelings.  Just because you fancy yourself a better writer doesn't mean you get to rewrite my stuff...I mean Confederacy of Dunces is a great book (in my opinion).  Doesn't mean I get to improve on it by rewriting parts of it to satisfy my own creative impulses. Of course he might, as he is so full of himself. 

In any event this chap I affectionately refer to as The Urinal.  This was due to an unfortunate turn of phrase, or happenstance, when one morning he was coming in and was preceded by a maintenance person carting a urinal.  I said, without seeing this chap, "Oh, good, just what I need...a urinal" and he brought up the rear.  Hence, we call him The Urinal.  Just happenstance; I don't really mean too much by it.  I mean a woman without a man is like a fish without a Urinal, or something like that.

I still write music, but have not been inspired of late to write words.  I need to play guitar a bit more, as well as the mandolin.  I really need to explore more of my sensibilities of late.  Patricia has been an impedance to this.  I am down to not seeing her this week, but I am really busy this week, working ten hours on Tuesday, hence the multiple posts.  Tonight will be a music night.  I promise.  I need to get ready to teach guitar on Friday.  I have two lessons to give, one with Gastric's granddaughter.  I want to be on top of my game for her.  Don't know which guitar I will use...probably the Martin as it has been underutilized of late.  The Ovation has been getting knocked around more.  Anyway, tonight I will play the Martin and let my fingers fly and let loose.  Maybe keep a recorder going in case I am swept away by flights of fancy.  This is a "ME" night.  I need it.  Bring the guitar into the living room.  And leave the case open in the bedroom for Gonif to take refuge.  Simcha is more fond of the mandolin case and lays in it during mandolin lessons.  Yankel is too big to consider taking refuge in a case. 

Once again, I digress.  Cats in cases.  Not good.  Focus.  Music is my solace and refuge.  I need more.  I constantly listen at work and pay attention to the music.  Not so much lyrics as my hearing makes it difficult for me to understand some of the lyrics I hear (hence, the girl with colitis walks by).  I try to understand more of the music, classical, pop, bluegrass, jazz, all of it.  Hear it really being played.  But tonight the guitar comes into the living room, TV on mute, ballgame on (Tigers have won five in a row), and just play.  Let the music flow into my fingers.  I couldn't play for almost nine months due to torn cartilage in my left hand.  Just started playing again in March.  I have much time to make up for.  Surgery gave me back my hand.  And I must exercise it more.

And now we return to our regularly scheduled Urinal.