My Takamine is shot.
When I was sixteen I spent about four hundred bucks on a Takamine Jasmine classical guitar, a pretty substantial investment at the time. It wiped out about two weeks' worth of Kmart pay stubs (I worked at that place). I took lessons with Ernie, the only black man in our entire county (brave soul) and picked up tablature wherever I could find it. Ernie taught me the basic arpeggio variations via Carcassi exercises and occasionally we'd riff on starter-level flamenco progressions. Half an hour ago I picked the the old axe up (it rests against a loveseat in the living room) and passed over a few of the old pieces. The high-E machine buzzes, there's a rib loose inside, and I can't remember any of the Sor stuff, let alone that Paganini thing I spent five months trying to figure out.
I guess it's true what they say, that you only get worse in life. Maybe I'll put on some overalls and hit my head on things until it's tomorrow.