Irony.

How ironic, how something you love so much, can hurt you so much... How the guitar I play can cut and stripe your fingers. Just because you love to play it.

I played through the night, wondering about rain, lightning and thunder... And I slept at 6 when my daddy went to work. Man, it's not a joke. Improvement? Slight.

How ironic, the fact that I do what I do because I enjoy doing it. Otherwise I would not bother a single bit to do it. Like how I play my guitar the whole night. Not to beat anyone, but because it's my passion. The irony lies in the fact that the more I play the more injured my fingers get.

How painful, the irony. How ironic, the pain.

Is life equally ironic and painful? Or is it just love that has engulfed my life?

Am I normal?

If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by
Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you
teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I
will better the instruction.

The Merchant of Venice, Act III Scene 1