You are the Drumstick. You look alright, but you don't feel alright. You agonize over small mistakes. Small wrong things you said to friends from years ago. To lovers of bygone phases in your life. You change incrementally, but it occurs to you that you're a radically different person from who you were just a few years ago. If you met that other person now you'd strangle them. More likely you'd make out, but you like to say that you'd strangle them. You feel like you used to have a better idea of what there was to be done. You worry that you often sound rude or insincere. You've said "on point" in the past eight years. You worry that no matter how well you make it you'll always feel vaguely queasy/lonely/poor. You worry that you'll have plenty of reason to.