The Wise Words of Whoopi

I would like to begin this post with a quote from a life-changing, under-mentioned film:

"If you wake up in the mornin' and you can't think of anything but singin' first...then you're supposed to be a singer, girl."

Thank you, Sister Act II, for enabling me to pinpoint my true passion without ever leaving the comfortable confines of my Posturepedic. All I have to do is wake up? Done. K, now back to sleep for a few hours.

This being said, I love to sing. Probably even more than I love to act. I used to perform quite often, (when I was still in school and my future wasn't in need of a good polish) but let's just say, it's been awhile. Unless you count my next door neighbors who are forced to hear my awkward vocal warm-ups through our shared wall. You're welcome, neighbor whose name I can't remember and whom I've only seen three times. People are going to pay for that privilege one day. Uhhuh. Yup. They suuuure are. (I said the same thing to my siblings when we were growing up and they would make up rules about where I could and couldn't sing: "No singing in the kitchen." "No singing in the car." "Mooooommmm tell Stacie she can't sing while I'm trying to do my homeworrrkkk." See if I get you guys tickets to Divas Live 2016.)

So, last week I finally have an appointment to go in and sing for someone. Someone who actually manages vocal artists and could potentially help me find more opportunities to perform (read: make people listen to me) in the future. Perfect timing. My voice is getting back in shape, I've been working on some new songs, I'm healthy...

The day before my audition, I wake up with a fever and swollen glands. I can't speak, let alone channel Sarah Vaughan or bust out some Taylor Swift. Appointment postponed.

Sometimes I strongly dislike my life.