And afterwards, we feel kind of euphoric, because it's been awhile since any of us have done this kind of thing, so we start swapping instruments, he plays my guitar, and one of the other girls grabs a bass to noodle around with, and I'm goofing around on the drums but something clicks as we bash our way through Radiohead songs and sundry chord progressions, and my tendency to air-drum in the car has given me a sense of what does what, and I find I can keep a beat left-handed, the way he had it set up.
I'm no pro at this, my hands being infinitely more adept than my feet. Maybe it's the adrenaline, or that I'm comfortable enough and it's chill enough that I can goof around without being stupid and I'm no longer deferring due to shy-girl feelings but I find myself switching time signatures and tempos and adding flourishes and fills that I never even knew I could do. I still couldn't say I knew how to really play, because I've watched others really be good at that kind of thing, I'm no Aesop or Stewart Copeland or Janet Weiss or Matt Cameron but I could hold it down for a garage band with no problem and a bit more practice to get the sense of dynamics and nuance and what works with what.
The bouts of dark nights of the soul will probably always exist, but there's something that feels so incredibly good about pounding the crap out of an inanimate object for some greater sonic purpose, letting out all the inarticulate emotion as he plays my guitar until the e string breaks and we're making up songs that make no sense and dissolving into helpless laughter. I wish I hadn't gotten rid of those drums, but it's not like I could play them with the landlady downstairs anyway. There's a part of me that feels like something clicked last night. I want to learn how to do this and do it well.