I love music. Be it hard rock, pop, or even classical, I eat it up. Well, minus what my friends and I have dubbed ‘poser’ music. You know. Rap… R&B… that stuff. It’s the one thing my whole family, all corners, love and agree on. Other families have reunions, and games nights. We sing. In the car, in the house… anywhere and everywhere. And we’re pretty good, if I do say so myself. My aunt even auditioned for American Idol this past summer! I base most of my relationships on how musically compatible we are, for God’s sake. I know that if I hand a friend a flashdrive and say, “here, give me your music.” that I’ll enjoy a majority of it. And i know that singing is the only thing I have that is a constant in my life. I know I’m not amazing. Hell, I’m probably not even great, but it’s what I have. I’m sad? Throw in some Rascal Flatts. I’m feeling broken hearted? Some angry Kelly Clarkson. I’m happy? Anything from the 90’s. There’s a song, artist, and genre for every mood. It’s that stability that draws me like a moth to flame, or a blind person to sound. As corny as it sounds, music truly is my life. It connects me to what makes me, me. Sorry if this seems insanely random, and rambling, bt-dub. It’s midnight, and I’m SO drained, it’s quite sad, really. So I’m going to leave this here, before I go crazy! Bye!