Shock.

This is me discovering last week (but drawn with my new haircut because I am so in love with this hair right now), whilst listening to a recording of my band, that my voice is not as great as I always figured (read: it sucks). Unlike the melodious and beautiful and amazingly awesome way my voice sounds within my cranium, once released into the world through my mouth, that same voice apparently becomes – immediately upon contact with oxygen – flatter than two week old soda, more lackluster than a soapy mop, and worst of all just excruciatingly, painfully average. Since then the shock has only ebbed enough to enable whining and pining, much to J’s great annoyance. She thinks I need to shut up and man up. She is right and I know it, but I’m in the middle of this really great pity-party and would much rather mope in here with likeminded depressed fellows (read: Fred) until time does its thang and numbs it all up.