It all started with my sister’s cornet and sibling rivalry. My parents rented the instrument (probably already having an inkling of the outcome). She attempted to learn to play it for school band class. It was not a success and the next year, when I was old enough to be in band class, my parents did not rent an instrument for me. I never got over it, so when I graduated from high school, I saved up and bought myself a cheap guitar. (And a sword. I was deeply influenced by The Lord of the Rings.)

I started taking guitar lessons. Then I ran out of money after learning the “Cocaine” song by John Martyn (not the other one). (The sword lessons came much later when I was studying martial arts (ninjutsu, to be specific). We practiced with a wooden katana, so I wasn’t able to use the sword I had bought. But I digress.)

Later, I took guitar lessons from a guy who was the cousin of my rotten then-boyfriend. Later still I bartered with a guitar teacher who needed his dissertation proofread. (He actually learned some aspects of grammar rather than just letting me do all the heavy lifting. (He thought it was hilarious when I told him to “check your apparatus.”) He’s still a Facebook friend. But I digress again.)

I took a break from guitar lessons when I took singing lessons. I’m a terrible singer, and the lessons didn’t help. I also took piano lessons because the teacher gave a discount if you took both. Turns out I’m a terrible piano player too. (The pedals befuddled me just as badly as the pedals on the car when I was learning to drive stick. But I digress some more.)

Later still, I entered what was called a “Pick-a-Thon,” a marathon guitar-picking contest that lasted for days. You didn’t have to play actual songs, which was a good thing in my case, just keep making sounds with the guitar, which was a mercy when you had to visit the facilities—just squat and strum. By the time I had made it through 24 hours, my boss (who was also my friend) gave me time off. I made it to the final two pickers, but I finally gave in (I was hallucinating by that time). My final time was 68 hours and 7 minutes. The music store where this was held gave me a fantastic deal on a really excellent guitar as a second-place prize.

I still couldn’t play it much, though. More lessons ensued, this time with a woman who was: a twin, a former army officer, a pilot, and left-handed. I liked her a lot, but it was kind of weird trying to learn when she played her guitar upside down.

I finally figured out the reason for my lack of progress on the guitar (and the banjo). When I had the money for lessons, I didn’t have the time, and when I had the time, I didn’t have the money. (I briefly had a harmonica, which was inexpensive and didn’t require lessons. I learned the intro to Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Way I Feel” but it made my mouth hurt. But I digress yet again.)

I’m also trying to learn how to whistle. At least I don’t have to buy an instrument or take lessons for that. (So far I can whistle the sound that Wile E. Coyote makes as he’s plunging from a cliff to the ground. Not that there’s much call for that sort of thing. But I continue to digress.)

Right now, I’m in a time-rich and money-poor state. Plus, I don’t have a guitar or a banjo. I’ve never had a piano and still have a terrible singing voice. What I do have is iTunes (or Apple Music as I guess they call it now), 8,000 songs, a study I’m alone in all day, and a house far enough from the neighbors that I can’t be heard when I sing along off-key and loudly. And that’s enough to satisfy me.