Stinging singing

I often wish I could sing.

Just open my mouth and have something akin to a melody come out.

I can kind of carry a tune and my job entails that I sing nursery rhymes for kids, but it mean really sing.

In a grown up way.

This is how a blog started ages and ages ago, then I got to thinking about it, and a little voice in me asked which other gift or talent I'd give up to have it.

Would I stop loving reading stories to kids?

Stop writing?

Stop working on drama events?

Stop getting an insane amount of joy out of spending time with kids?

.. And other stuff.

Um none of the above, actually. 

There are people who wish they could do those things.

There are people who wish they could do other things.

And I bet those people can sing. 

Or if they can't sing, they can do other awesome stuff, like cook, or talk without over-talking, or tell jokes without forgetting the punch line.

Other things I struggle with.

So I will continue to confuse people who can't work out the tune I'm singing, hum occasionally, and sing twinkle twinkle with all the gusto I have, leaving the proper real singing to the people blessed with that particular talent... I'll still be jealous, but I'm okay with that.