Heaven help me. For the first time in ages, I’ve gone an entire morning and part of an afternoon without music repeating in my head.
You probably know the condition I’m talking about. It happens to nearly all of us (some more often than others), including people who haven’t been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. You know, people who can look at a sliding screen door left halfway open when the glass door is closed, and not go batshit.
Decades ago, an often-aired television commercial for a shoe brand suggested the company’s court shoes were as comfortable as sneakers. If I wanted to keep my head clear of the annoying jingle, I couldn’t watch the commercial, featuring a camera shot of women’s feet while they played basketball — in court shoes, not sneakers.
(Explanatory Note: In this case, the term “court shoes” refers to shoes with heels, not shoes for the basketball court. Most Americans call them “pumps.” This morning I was looking through a reference book listing British English equivalents to American English words. It’s possible the information in that book is replacing the music that ordinarily sticks to my brain.)
The shoe commercial was stupid, and the music could ruin my whole day.
Earlier today, I listened to some recorded music. I did it so the patience-testing, often desperation-producing burden could return. That might make no sense to you, but if you’ve suffered lifelong anguish sometimes staying on course is the only thing you can do to keep your wits intact.
I listened to the songs that are most likely to stay with me for hours. I heard The Flower Duet from Lakme by Delibes. I listened to Tommy Tutone’s classic, 867-5309. I even tried a wholesome teen hit from the 1980s, which I won’t identify by title because public performances of that song caused embarrassment for the poor bastards who recorded it. The list goes on.
I know this sounds weird, but I just want to feel something — even if it’s coming out of a frozen corner of hell.
Taking requests now. Operators are standing by.
Wait. I think I’m okay. Something about high-heeled sneakers…