So,

Sitting here, in my basement, typing away at my dad's crappy old computer from the nineties, a thought popped into my head.  What if I started my own band?  My life is music, but what am I going to do with that if I don't do music.  I can't play guitar, and I don't play piano very well, but I am a pretty fair drummer... a singer on the other hand is one of the many things that I am not.  So, I start to get up, suddenly all that seems to matter is my brother's drum set from seventh grade.  A sudden natural beam of light floats upon me along with the singing of angels, and smoke machines blow up everywhere...  Back to reality... I take the sticks into my hands, and I softly caress the the cold metal rim of the drum closest to me.  And then I begin, loud noises blasting all over. I hit the drums hard, really hard, getting out all of my aggression, and then the stick slips, and I hit my hand, scream out in pain, and then in my wild rampage up to the ice box, I hit my other hand on a nail sticking out from a coffee table, and I start to bleed wildly.  Screams and curse words can be heard all throughout the house.  ...Is it a sign?  Am I just not cut out for the hardships of being a musician... not only that, but I don't know any other musicians that aren't already in a band... So, my dream is for now, put to rest... along with my left hand and all the blood I lost in that one inch cut... :)