Full of Hot Air.

On the way to work this morning, I started thinking about how utterly humiliating it would be if there were ever a tape recorder in my car. The reason? I love to belt out horrific sounds that I try to pawn off as "singing" -- and the cheesier the song, the louder & the more horrible said "singing" becomes. This morning, it was Air Supply's "Making Love (Out of Nothing at All)". Yes, I should be ashamed, I know... but at least I'm admitting it, right? Isn't that supposedly the first step to recovery? And not only did I belt it out at the top of my lungs, but I even went so far as to press the "back" button at the end of the song and do it all over again. On purpose. And, dammit, it felt good.

I don't know if it's strange or not, but that time in the car with just me, my radio, and God-knows-what music (literally) blaring is like therapeutic "me-time". To the point that I get totally pissed off if my phone rings, forcing me to actually turn the radio off and, God forbid, TALK to someone. How dare they interrupt this very important self-meditation that I'm so clearly [albeit sadly] relishing!? Of all the nerve!!! {wink, wink}

(It is important to note that my musical tastes are not limited to Air Supply or Air Supply-like music, as shown by the song that followed on my burned CD, 50 Cent's "In Da Club". But have you ever noticed, the cheesier the song, the more fun it is to sing... and to sing badly?)