music mania: in which I describe my condition

I am hypnotized. Smitten with exquisite lyrics, the jingle of a guitar, that catch of pure emotion in the singer’s throat. This part, right here, do you hear it? It’s magical. Damned if that isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

For the next few days the music will permeate every waking moment of my life.

A short trip down the road affords me another opportunity to play it loud – sing it loud.  Doing the dishes becomes a treat… standing at the sink, looking out the window at nothing and everything. Humming softly with the music. Always the music plays.

During work a loop plays over and over and I hum inside my head. Sometimes I screw up and I’m caught humming out loud. Overwhelmed with shame, I retreat to my desk to fashion the appropriate expression of boredom.

Books are abandoned. The lawn goes unmowed. Laundry piles up. The cat jumps on the counter, stares at the Bose, then at me with scorn.

Eventually I will begin to hate myself. I will battle insomnia and accept the grim realization that I have no control over the song that repeats in my head. I am nothing more than a ghost of Pavlov’s dog, salivating over any particular 5 notes on any given day.

But right now it’s glorious. I am a scarf-wearing film student. I drink vodka and dance the oberek until my cheeks get red. I write poetry in the park while the children’s swings squeak and the pigeons march about. I travel lightly, with just a notebook and a backpack. I am a gypsy.

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