Wow. That actually looks like a gothic song title.
Sore throat. Can't talk. I'm pretty sure my office mates are going to love that . . . one in particular. Lucky little poops.
It's like I've reverted back to the good old pre-pubescent years. My favorite time of life.
The thing that really sucks about it is that I can't sing along in the truck as I'm going to work. Granted it's a 1.1 mile drive, so there's not a lot of singing going on anyway, but it's still always fun. And no one can criticize how crappy I sound. Oh well. Next week, I guess.
I should have seen this coming. Yesterday, while I was taking a shower, I tried singing a song that was in my head. It was difficult staying on key, my voice kept cracking, yet I had to try to force it. That should have been a tell-tale sign right there, yet it went unheeded.
You have to understand . . . when I'm "singing along" to something, it's not just singing along: I *am* Matt Bellamy, or Geoff Tate, or James Labrie, or Layne Staley (RIP) . . . I totally get into it. Ask any of the people who have seen me in traffic. I've sung to complete strangers sitting next to me at a red light. Put on a whole show for them. One couple even applauded (though I think that was because the light turned green and they were finally able to drive off).
So yah. Sore throat. "And there was much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth."
Doesn't mean I can't air drum the crap out of my steering wheel though. :)