The Mind of a Struggling Writer

I grew up loving rock music. When I was sixteen my dad bought my me first guitar, and I dreamt of rock stardom. Years later, that dream did not come to fruition, but I discovered a love for music that has never died. Sadly, the same cannot be said for some of the men that started that love in the first place. First there was Layne. Then Scott. And a few years later Chris and Chester. These were men that shaped my idea of what music could be. I mourn them like members of my own family. I was lucky to see Chris Cornell several times (once was two days before I married my wife; we had our first dance to his version of "Thank You") and to see Chester with STP. It still blows me away that these voices are forever silenced now. One thing that has struck me, is how the passing of a musician hits most of us more than, say the loss of an actor. For instance, can we say a particular performance of deCaprio, or Julia Roberts really effect or lives or make an impression on us emotion...

It had been a rough day already. It had all began when my cellphone had died so my alarm didn’t go off.   I rushed to work half an hour late, to be greeted by an unpleased look from my boss. I explained the situation, but I was still informed I would be wrote up for being late. He gave me another reason as to why I could not wait to get out of that hellhole. Resigning myself to my present fate, I took my seat at my cubicle. Another day of sitting on my but staring at a computer screen for eight hours. I logged into the computer, and plugged in my headphones into my phone, which I then began to charge. In a few moments I could at least have my music to make the day go faster. Then began the monotonous wait as computer part orders appeared on my screen. My job at the present moment was to order parts for a major retail computer company. The customer’s computer came in, the computer technical would order a part, the order came to me, I checked it, and then copy-and-pasted it...