I don’t want to worry anyone, but I spontaneously started singing a Phil Collins song today.
And that probably means I’m dying.
Look, I don’t think there’s anything inherently toxic about Phil Collins. Anyone raised in the 80s has a few lyrics shelved in their prefrontal cortex that are bound to dislodge at odd times.
And I don’t have any problem with spontaneous singing. I sing when I’m happy, bored, angry…I don’t need a plan to sing. I just do it.
But washing dishes in the dark (kids in bed, too lazy to turn on a light, because ew, why would I want to see all that yuck if my only job is to scrape and shove in the dishwasher?) means an almost meditative zen state of flow.
And having Phil Collins arise at just that moment probably means I have a cold coming on. Or spinal meningitis. Or the flu. Or a brain tumor.
Just saying. Brain tumors aren’t funny. And neither is having Phil Collins stuck in my head.
And then falling out of my mouth.
(“Against All Odds”; thanks for asking. And I mean that sarcastically. Because I had eight bars of verse looping for a long time, until I considered blogging this catastrophe. I realized I had to push further into the song to ascertain the title. And now the chorus is looping. Incessantly. Against my will. Probably a tumor.)
NaptimeWriting 
If Phil Collins means a tumor, what do you think you have if your ear worm is the national anthem? I mean, the South African national anthem … in Afrikaans … followed by “Oh Say Can You See” … and then back to “Die Stem”. I’m terribly afraid I might not be dying.
I’m not a doctor, so please know that I have only blogging authority to tell you…you might very well have a non-displaced fracture of the spleen.
Oh no! Not my spleen! Please, anything but my spleen!
Seriously, what is the spleen for? Apart from being a totally wonderful word. I can feel a limerick coming on any moment now.
The good news is it might be a spleen torsion, which actually makes limericks twice as rhyme-y at half the level of alcohol.
that was just an evil plot to get the rest of that singing that song too!! thanks a bunch! i think whatever you have is contagious!
Contagious brain tumors are sweeping the nation! Repel them with loud music of your choice and a cup of cocoa!
Funny! I’ve been singing Kenny Roger’s The Glamber…”You gotta know when to fold, know when to walk away….lalalala….”
I don’t want to be the one who breaks it to you, but that particular Rogers anthem to moderation and mindfulness might signal severe inflammation of laundry centers.
Oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that might signal sever swelling in the hippocampus’s laundry centers.
I intentionally listen to Phil Collins occasionally still. I have a playlist titled “My Emo Childhood” (though I guess he’s not really actually emo) that may feature a few of his tunes.
My empty skull is stuck on Hammertime, which started with daylight savings coincidentally. Not the whole “song”…just the digital dancing part, not the words. That little trill just keeps going between my ear holes. Way past tumor, more like zombie state. There is a reason this dumb “song” isn’t played in elevators!!!!
Bo bo bo bo bo bo bo you can’t touch this.