Music is my medicine. Or more appropriately my addiction. Most of the time I get my fix sitting at the computer, the mouse wire plugged into my wrist, satisfaction just a click away. A variety of specimens supplied by my dealer, iTunes. I am really not that picky of a client. I will try anything from Nirvana to Elvis to Ludacris.
If I go into withdrawal—this usually happens when I’ve gone two to three hours without hearing some sort of music—I will start humming to myself. Humming quickly progresses to singing under my breath, and when I’m really deprived my behavior escalates to full-fledged song.
Like most drugs music stays in your body for years and years after you’ve taken it. You could easily hear me mimicking a song I heard on a top forty station an hour ago when I get the shakes from not having my music. Or I could have an aneurysm and sing a Back Street Boy song from my misguided youth (that’s your cue to back away slowly).
Sometimes it’s like I took too much and one specific song keeps reeling about in my head—the lyrics running around in circles with a dancing leprechaun. It’s moments like that when I can’t concentrate on anything. God help me if I am supposed to be writing an essay when this particular side effect kicks in. I remember trying to write an essay test about the history of Judaism and I couldn’t get My Humps out of my head. I got about two full lines down on paper before I realized what I was doing. I must have looked very strange dancing in my seat to music no one else could hear.
As often as this happens it is a wonder I haven’t been hospitalized. Even if I was I know it wouldn’t change anything. I would take out my I.V., replacing it with the cord of my headphones. I would start a riot if I couldn’t update my iPod. I’m sure the nurses would just love me.
I would be a most temperamental patient; I certainly am a temperamental consumer. What I can’t get enough of one day could nauseate me the next. Few songs stupefy me for long. Only the headiest get consistently replayed. Best of You, American Woman, Dice; these are the songs that really get me going. Others such as Lucky, Fever, and SexyBack are just my latest lyrical playthings (I will minorly O.D. on them and decide to quit). Then there are those that just had to be purged from my system: Knock On Wood, Walk Like An Egyptian, and L.O.V.E to name a few.
But I never get rid of any of the songs that have temporarily fallen from grace. After all, I might get a renewed craving. I suppose it also comes down to my moods. If I’m feeling dark and gloomy I need a depressant to prove that there are others down in the rabbit hole. If I’m feeling energetic and light I need a stimulant to knock the socks off me. If I’m feeling affectionate and euphoric I need a hallucinogen to bolt the rose colored glasses in place.
No matter what my mood is my little habit is at the heart of it. Music just makes me feel better. So if you ever see me tapping out a beat with my pen or hear me mumbling a melody, you’ll know I’m trying to keep my cravings at bay. I need my music.
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