I got a blister drumming. At WomanSong. On Saturday night, when it rained, the program was moved from the bonfire area to the main tent, but a resilient and hardy group of women took to percussion around a fire anyway. I tried to be polite and pay attention to the goings-on in the tent, but the drumbeats called to me. I snuck off to linger at the edge of the drum circle and was shortly handed some sort of clattering devise to jangle along with the drummers and was nudged into the circle. I was enjoying that when someone put a drum into my hands in trade for the other, so I put a little effort into beating the thing, and pretty soon the other drummers and percussionists were picking up my rhythm and adding ornamentation to it and we were circling, dancing around the fire. After I got back to my tent, I found a very sore spot where my index finger joins my hand and under the light of my headlamp, found it to be a blister. Right where the stick pivots as I beat the drum. Yes, I got a blister drumming!
Me does think you were banging an image of a tired and wing nut blogger from the bloggisphere of Illinois as you beat the devil out of the drum. I might have torn a blister in my mind had I had the opportunity to pretend it was said blogger.
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