in my head....and quite often as sung by me in the car, in the house, and occasionally in the grocery store.
Not only do I enjoy songs so intensely that I must sing and dance along, but I've realized that I am internalizing many of the lyrics to the extent that I actually project that story onto my life. Example: I am pretty sure I liked this guy waaaaayyyy more than I ever would've liked him because I encountered a few choice songs that were so poetic and beautiful in their expression of devotion and basically unrequited love, that I adopted those feelings. I think my photo definitely deserves a place in the dictionary right next to the word "impressionable". It helped that he stopped liking me after acting like he liked me a lot...basic psychology says that is going to make me think I want him..A LOT, but songs like "Make you feel my love" by Adele and "Animal" by Neon trees are so awesome that I felt compelled to enact them in my own life. Now I am aware of what I was doing, but I'm not sure at all that it means I will be always be cautious in the future about what music I get sucked into. Right now I am thinking "It hurts so good, come on baby make it hurt so good", so it would seem that my brain is addicted to the drama. Crap. crap. crap. And I was so convinced that I did not have an addictive personality. Actually thought I was the only one in my family to escape the addiction gene. Addicted to manifesting songs as my own life. I totally have to take Colbie Callait off my itunes before I meet someone new or all bets are off, I'll be in love in 2 seconds. (Shut up, I know it usually only takes me 5 seconds to fall in love). All I can think to do is start writing my own songs- and then have someone else change them to be practical-and then only listen to those songs. Nooooo....that would be excruciating. I got it. I will change the lyrics of the songs I am living. "Here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends" will henceforth be " Here we go again, you make me wanna puke out both ends".
That is catchy.
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