Actually, I was successful with the recording of one of my songs this morning, "I'm A Chrysanthemum". I got it down the first time. Oh, I can't say I was happy with it, I never am: I could still hear myself flub up on a chord now and then, and my voice went flat more than once, but there's nothing much I can do to fix those things; I never said I was perfect. The best I can hope for when I'm recording myself is that I get the words right and strum the proper chords until the song is finished.
So after dinner (the noon meal) I decided to try and do another song, one I haven't had occasion to sing for a long time. It's about my little town, written in 1986 and '87. The only people who would be interested in it are people who grew up here, or who lived here during the time described in the song.
Because I added some verses in 1987, it became the longest song I've ever written, over five minutes long. I flubbed it the first three times I tried to record it. By that time, I was getting pretty sick of the song, but hey, I don't have a train to catch. I gave it another go.
I was 75% of the way through the song, and I thought, "This time I'm going to get it!"
And then the phone rang. Drat!
It was a recorded message that started out with "Please don't hang up the phone."
I hung up the phone and started over. Finally I got through it, although I think by this time I showed a lack of enthusiasm. Whew.
I'm done recording for this day; I've never been more sick of my own voice.