My guitar sits in the corner of my room, staring at me longingly every time I walk by. I can hear his low E string, which has slipped to something closer to a D flat due to disuse, rumbling just a little bit, vibrating to me a crying message of wonder as to why my fingers have stopped sliding across its nickel-wound strings and rosewood neck.

I do not answer, because I lack the first inclination of an answer.

He knows he calms me, hums cathartic sounds to me in the wee hours, sounds of Bon Jovi and Simon and Garfunkel. He knows how I pine in the afternoon hours for chances to do such things as play guitar, or read a book not related to law school. And he knows that I could squeeze him in at times; at least it must seem to him that I could at least take the time to tune him up and punch out a quick Jim Croce tune or two.

But it does not happen, and I feel close to a level of embarrassment of it.

I wake up every morning, often tired, and go to work, where my one respite during the day manifests in a 15-minute game of foosball in an attic where the temperatures creep into the 90s. After work, off to my night class I go, an actually serious class this time around, requiring my preparation and concentration. After class, I try to get to the gym for an hour or two of “relaxation,” and then the evening hours often wind themselves up in making dinner, ironing, preparing for class, and trying to spend time with my girlfriend. The rest of my life just sort of slips by until the weekend, which seems to fill itself up with errands and grocery shopping and some semblance of summer activities.

Hose Monster has slipped into this category, next to my guitar and lots of other things that I used to do in odd hours to relax myself. I cannot tell you the last time I watched an episode of The X-Files, or played darts for a little while.

I do want this to change. I don’t like the fact that HM has slipped into disrepair. I don’t feel the need to apologize to anyone out there for not posting for some time. I do sometimes wish to apologize to myself, because I enjoy doing this, and I hate the fact that I have deprived myself of it.

This summer life has spiraled, not out of control, but away to something I have never experienced before. But I’m working on it. I’m working on it.