Straws to Concertos

Do you ever feel that sometimes you're living your life through a little plastic stirring-straws? You know the ones, they're red and anorexic and so frustrating to drink through. I suppose you're not really meant to drink from them, but its infuriating nonetheless.
It feels like I should be doing something more, something bigger. Like my life is too small, too tinny, sound coming from crappy speakers when it should be an orchestra. But maybe that's what life is for, to develop yourself from a stirring straw to an orchestra.

On the other hand, who says life has a purpose? I mean, why do we have to have a reason to be here? Can't the question be self-fufilling?
Why are we here? Because we are here. To be, or... well, to be.

And I heretofore conclude this weird rambling about clichè philosophical questions.