A Harsh Realization, A Dream Shattered

One of my favorite pasttimes is throwing impromptu concerts in my car while I'm driving. I belt out my favorite songs from the Stones to Rascal Flatts to old Blue Eyes. Having people in the car doesn't stop me. But, I've never stopped and turned the radio off and listened to myself acapella. Tonight I did. I learned that I'm not a good singer at all. I'm pretty tone deaf and can't carry a note at all, but, boy, is my heart in it! I also can't sing anything sung by a woman, I'm a tenor. So my silent dreams of MTV awards and hearing myself on the radio have been shattered. No rhinestone bras or fake extensions are in my future. No heartfelt ballads that teenagers everywhere cry themselves to sleep to every night. No chick punk bands in leather (a lifelong dream). No, I'll be here in Iowa. I used to be able to sing. . . once. . .
I sang with my school choir (which you did have to try out for) at Carnegie Hall in NYC the summer after my senior year. We sang Handel's Messiah, no easy feat. But my voice was trained then, I sang every day for at least 2 h, and I didn't smoke. So that helped feed my dreams of being the next Nora Jones, unfruitfullly.
I'm not going to stop, though. No, my passion will not be denied. I'll keep sing out of tune until my face is purple and my voice is hoarse. No, I'll keep singing until I'm old and grey. I'll die singing in the shower, "Daniel's traveling tonight on a plane, I can see the red tail lights, headed for SpaaaaAAAAiiiin, Oh-oooh, I can see Daniel waving good-bye. . ."