I talk to myself in the car

I do it often enough that I rarely think about it. I was sitting in the parking lot of Sonitrol this morning waiting for my paycheck when I started to talk to myself. Nothing to call the men in white coats and large novelty butterfly nets over, but I do notice I carry small conversations.

Often I talk to my car. Penny is a fickle little car. She has her moments where she's purring like a well tuned machine, then there are days when she feels like she's giving back a little too much attitude.

Today my conversation to myself involved music. Like many other drivers, I sing along to good music. I was blasting Fleetwood Mac as loud as my Neon could mustre. It had been a really long time since I sat down and listened to some good Fleetwood Mac songs and today coming home that's all I kept thinking about. The last time I really did that was when I was heading out to Corpus Christi in the Mustang. I took along with me some 9 hours worth of FM and by the end of that road trip I had my fix.

So today was one of those days where I said "IM just gonna listen to this one song [Gypsy] and that'll be it".

Then The Chain played.

You can't interrupt a good song.

Then Dreams.

Then Silver Springs.

Pretty soon my playlist started to shape into just hitting play on all Fleetwood Mac songs on the iPod. I sat at a stop light and happened to notice there were a few people staring at me as I sung. I stared straight at them and sung louder. I tried to turn the radio even louder and found I was maxxing out the volume on the Neon. It wasn't loud enough. I was in the moment, in the zone with some truly awesome music. I listened to Stevie Nicks belt out Rhiannon, then started thinking about her concert performances back in the 1970s when she was performing like a mad woman possessed by the passion for her lyrics and oblivious to the world beyond the melody. I could hear that version in my head screaming out the lyrics and captivating the audience in what would have been a spectacle of sequins and lace trailing from her black satiny blouse as she hung onto that microphone and painted the concert hall in her soul.

Then the light turned green.

I talk to myself in the car. It helps keep me sane.