I Messed Up...

Whoops!

I messed up.

#500Words a day for a week BEFORE you use 'social media' was the goal.

I did this successfully for three or four days, and then today I was watching YouTube videos (stand up comedy and Nardwuar interviews) and just needed to share some of them, so I clicked the share on Twitter button, forgetting that it is not only social media but my preferred number one 'go to' social media platform that I have been writing in order to earn every day. I have been writing in order to earn going on Twitter. To read posts and share photos and random things I observe and am thinking about. It may not sound important or interesting, and it really isn't, but it's what I like to do. It's like my thing, so for me, it is a reward. 

Because I am going to give myself a break, and because there really isn't any punishment or negative consequence of merit if I actually do social media before writing, I am going to be cool and kind to myself and just carry on and not worry about it. Because I wasn't intentionally breaking the rules, I was just acting on impulse, as I do quite often (with both negative and positive results). So this will be okay. But I do wonder. What is the consequence of not doing what you said you would? What is the result of not keeping a promise you made to yourself? I guess nothing. I guess, you just miss out on what you would have accomplished or learned. So that's just on me. And it is sad. 

I mean, when I was a kid I had piano lessons every week. And I was supposed to practice certain things every day so that I could then be up to speed with what I was learning and be ready to learn the next part. But I didn't always practice. I would play all the time, and I got really quite good at playing what I liked, the fun stuff that I already knew, but I *wouldn't always (*rarely) work on what I was supposed to. So the next lesson would often be me and my very patient teacher, Vera Valachova, simply working on the piece and doing during class what I should have been doing on my own. I think I just really needed one on one attention from her while I was playing. Like I would have been a great rich kid who had their music tutor there every day while they practiced. I say 'rich kid' because piano lessons aren't cheap, even back in 1980, and to take them every day, well...

I haven't thought about that experience for a long time so it's cool I remembered it. I remember always feeling totally ashamed when I walked down the hall of my teacher's apartment building (which was super nice, and for single people only, there were no children allowed to live there, and her apartment was all white, including the carpet and the grand piano, which was in total contrast to our house), with my music under my arm, approaching her door to knock, knowing I would have to lie, and try to fake it (I often did this rather than admit my total incompetence), or sheepishly admit my despicable failure at fulfilling her simple request to practice my fuc*ing C# minor scales.

Okay my peeps, my luvs, my dears. I've had a few beers and I've tripped down memory lane here.

Take Care, and love one another. Peace out.