Daily Journal-- 2/14/11

Out of the dark, we came into the spotlight that flickered on stage. My heart was beating, and trumpets were bellowing in my head. I had never done anything like this, and for the time being there were a million places I'd rather be. I was nervous that I would open my mouth, but no words would come out. All they would hear would be a faint squeal. Not to mention my lack of stage presence, inducing apprehension, and Parkinson-esque hand movements. The stage was elevated about seven feet off of the ground where the crowd stood. This seemed a little dangerous to be entirely honest, which got me thinking that maybe people weren't joking when they said "break a leg." It was feasible at least. My clothes reeked from perspiration and anxiety medication. I was reminiscing on the first time I had written a song. I had always been pretty crafty with words, which definitely came from my mom's gene. Now the biggest challenge was finding confidence in my voice, and trusting my talent. Here goes nothing, I thought. As the beat started playing, it felt right. I walked up to the front of the stage to greet my friends in the front row. Apparently I took one too many steps, because I woke up in a hospital bed with a broken leg. Oh, the irony.