Ohrwurms

Woke up at four this morning with Elton John's "Goodbye Yellowbrick Road" stuck in my head. What is the universe trying to tell me with this early-morning looped soundtrack of flamboyant '70's superstars? Seriously, what are the odds? First Queen and then Elton John. And not precisely their most well-known tracks, either. If I were Allison DuBois (you know? from 'Medium'?) it would probably be some sign that I had to lay to rest the wandering soul of some music producer who passed on with some Gary Glitter-based guilt still on his conscience. What's next? Will I progress on in time and have some George Michael next? Or will we stick to the same decade and branch out to gay favorites sung by straight supergroups (you know I'm hoping for some ABBA; maybe "Chiquitita" or "Fernando")? I'd rather sleep through the night undisturbed by earworms, truth be told. Because you know the only way to get them out of your head is to pass them on to someone else. It's cruelly self-serving but it has to be done for your own mental health. Although I don't think that Dan has ever quite forgiven me for the whole "Train They Call the City of New Orleans" episode. At three and four in the morning, when you're single, there's no one to spread the contagion to, though. So unless I beat whatever this is, I'll probably be spending at least an hour lying in bed mentally chanting "Golden Years."