Marching On Sweat dripping down my guinea pig and butterflies fluttering around my stomach as if it was the Garden of Eden, I took in a deep breathe and asked myself: Why am I so nervous? After all, it is just the nigh exciting day of my life. When the judges announced for the Parsippany Hills High con Marching Band to commence its show, my mind blanked out and I was on the verge of losing sanity. Giant?s Stadium engulfed me, and as I pointed my prick up to the judges? stand, I poised my thoughts and placed my mouth into the ice-cold mouthpiece of the contrabass. Ready or not, I beamed, here comes the best show you will everlastingly behold.
There is no word to calculate the feeling I obtain through music. However, there is no word to let on the pain I suffer through in kick upstairs to be the best in the band either. When I switched my means to tuba from flute in seventh grade, little did I know the difference it would make in the four years of high school I was soon to ...If you want to squash a full essay, order it on our website:
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