Earworm

Lately, I've been getting earworms. Ever since the lockdown and subsequent nonsense that life has become. I feel like SpongeBob Squarepants with his Musical Doodle. But the songs. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the songs... why are they never our favourite songs? Why are they totally random, bizarre...?

These are just three off the top of my head. I don't want to think too hard about the others that have drifted off, in case I draw them closer to me (And if you're reading, M, if you even dare mention that B*Witched song to me, our friendship is done).

Hear'Say with Pure and Simple. That tortured me for days. Days. The chorus. I'm not typing the words in case it creeps back in again.
Gotye with Somebody That I Used To Know. That tortured me for weeks. Seriously. Weeks. That only stopped last week, maybe the week before. In the shower (But you didn't have to cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut me offffffffffffffffff). In bed. Stood washing the dishes. Reading. Anywhere. Everywhere.
And now. Today. Words I never thought I would ever have to type. From waking up. Right Said Fred's Deeply Dippy. I shit you not. I mean, what the hell? I don't think I've heard that song since 1992, 1993 maybe? I definitely haven't heard it in the 21st Century, anyway.

Google (who is always your friend in situations like this) has a wealth of information about earworms. Causes are said to be anything from anxiety and depression, OCD, to signs from spirit or your own intuition. I don't know what sign Deeply Dippy would be trying to give me. Apparently science says to; listen to the entire song, listen to a cure song, distract yourself with something else, chew gum and leave it alone. I really, really don't want to listen to Deeply Dippy. I didn't like it the first time around.

It's not easy being me.

So, I rope Mr G in to proceedings when he wakes up at tea time.

Me: Did I tell you about the earworms?

Mr G stares blankly at me. I tell him about Hear'say. I tell him about Gotye. And I hesitate, as I cannot bring myself to say the words.

Me: And this morning. Upon waking. It was... I can't even say it. Deeply Dippy by Right Said Fred. I don't think I've heard it since it was in the charts. I wouldn't mind, but it's probably my least favourite Right Said Fred song (not that I have a favourite, you understand, but if I did? This is not it).

Mr G: Oh my God.

Me: I know.

Mr G: No, you shit. It's in my head now.

Me: Apparently there is a way to get rid of them. You listen to the song, then listen to a cure song, and some other things, I can't remember. Chew gum.

Mr G: Ok.

Me: Oh, that's a cure song, not a Cure song, by the way.

Mr G: Great, now I have Deeply Dippy and Friday I'm in Love battling in my head. It's like a mash up.

Me: Deeply in Love? Friday I'm Dippy?

It's not easy being him, being married to me either, bless him.

He has told me that on one of his days off this week he's taking me to the beach. Probably to drown me or bury me or something. I've been dying to go, just for a barefoot walk along the sand, have a paddle, try and ground myself because I'm starting to feel really antsy again, watching life start to go on around me. I hope I'm wrong, I really do hope I'm wrong, but I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. We'll see a month from now how things have gone. Just got a horrible feeling that all this drinking and socialising and eating out and shopping and holidaying and beach going and hair appointments with barely a care in the world, is going to bite a lot of people on the arse. Too much, way too soon.