Diary of a Drummer Girl....

Hello, I usually don't keep diaries. I never have the time, the patience, to keep them. But recently, I need to talk to someone, and that someone, as awful as it sounds, can't talk back, they can't tell, so putting a shaky pen to paper is better than actually talking, even if a diary can't tell me what to do.
I've patterned your front cover with doodles, most music releated, guitars, drums, musical notes falling like rain on a cartoon girl, me. Also, in big bubble writing, are the words, 'Diary of a Drummer Girl.'
You don't know me too well, so I'll have to explain. I do play the drums, but that's not why I'm a drummer girl. I call myself that because, well it will sound completely insane, but when I see people, I hear intruments. The sweet soft notes of the violin for someone, big, loud chime bells for someone else. It's to do with who they are I suppose, what part of them they live through, their mind, their eyes, or like me their heart.
When I walk around, I hear a whole orchestra of instuments, of noises. But the one that is constant, changes beat when I change emotion, is a drum, my drum, my own personal backing track, my beat.
I'm a drummer girl, and this is my story.