I have, in my hot little hands, the rough mix of a six-song demo. I can't stop listening to it. The recording is sloppy and shoddy, and so are our performances, to certain degrees. It's hardly perfect, is what I'm getting at. And yet, it's kind of like looking at a lump of coal and realizing that inside it is a beautiful shining diamond, something special and perfect and pure.

Earlier, Bee said to me "You had no idea you were that good, did you?"

It must be plain on my face. I listen to the voice coming out of the speakers and I wonder how on earth that could possibly be me. And now I know, unequivocally, that this is where I belong. For the first time ever I feel like I have a sense of purpose. Not only am I following my dream, it turns out that I'm well-suited for it.

Bee has already slobbered enough over my vocal tracks to fill a mid-sized swimming pool, and I'll let him carry the torch. I don't want to be one of those singers in love with my own voice. But it sure is nice to hear it from the other side of my mouth, and know that it sounds better from the outside than it does from the inside. It sure is nice to know.