On the drive to work this morning, I didn’t feel like I was listening to the CD that was playing in my car; I felt like I was listening to the soundtrack of my life. The rule with soundtrack music is that it isn’t heard by the person it belongs to but instead is only heard by the audience. No, I’m not so ate up with it that I think I have an audience. I’m just saying that I felt removed from the experience of listening to the music, yet it perfectly fit the mood of the foggy-morning drive, plus I can’t seem to wake up today and I have lots going on in preparation for the upcoming holiday blah blah blah. The song that was playing was Solsbury Hill, by the way. Then I get to work and suddenly have Alouette stuck in my head. My cubemate is unfamiliar with the song, so I have to sing it to her. Once I stop laughing. I only know the first two lines (Alouette, gentille Alouette/Alouette je te plumerai), so they keep repeating over and over in my head. I sing the lines to her. She is vaguely creeped out, probably because of my singing but mostly because of the cheeriness of the song. Guess she thinks I typically have a dirge in my head. I don’t. Mostly.