Call me Schizophrenic Sue

Its just occurred to me how lonely that guitar collecting dust on my wall is. It looks so sad. It screams out, "Vanessa, play me!" My heart longs to strum the strings with reason and direction but I lack dedication and skill. "Oh, I wish I could," I whisper, ashamed at my inability, "but I don't know how." I see the guitar get angry and furious as I continue to sit there, embarrassed. "I'll learn, I promise," I plead. No words can calm this instrument down. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU BUY ME?" Good question, I think. Well, I bought it for three reasons. 1)It looked cool. 2)I like rock music. 3)I like to write, so why not write SONGS! But this is not Sesame Street. You can't just buy an innocent instrument in need of a home without valid reason and expect a celebrity to make a cameo and give you some tips. Carlos Santana isn't coming to my house tonight. I know that. So I swear to my forlorn, lonely instrument, I will learn how to play it! I will learn how to play it well! I will start a punk band and rock it out! I promise.