Confessions of a Music Junkie

Emily

So, I am a music junkie. I admit it. You will always find me with one ear-bud in, with some type of music blasting. I have gotten in trouble countless times by my parents, teachers, and friends because they are trying to talk to me. Then, after about 4 minutes and 29 seconds (yes I have timed this) they hit me on the arm, and pull my headphones out. After, I will get a very long lecture about how their problems are more important than my music. I then have to sit there for a while longer and actually listen. Once they are done, I put my headphone back in and walk off, hoping that the music can make me forget all the complaining I just heard (or actual teaching). My friends have finally stop freaking out when I switch to the other side of them, since I have my headphone in the ear they are talking to.

You cannot blame me, because it is not my fault. I have been listening to music on a constant replay since I was born. I think even before I was born. In the car, in my room, in the rest of the house, during meals, and while I was sleeping. Somehow, my dad had it playing all the time. So, if you would like to yell at someone, yell at him. I have been asked many of the hypothetical questions that everyone likes to ask, but no one likes to answer. Many go like this: If you could have anything on a deserted island, what would it be? Regular answers vary between a life raft, and a lifetime supply of food. Mine is  always the same:   my music. I don’t care if its on iPod, CD, record or 8-track.  I just need it.

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One thought on “Confessions of a Music Junkie

  1. I agree. My parents have a photo of me at the age of three, and I am staring at the phonograph, the record player. My father thought I was fascinated at how the electronics worked, and he would come over and interrupt Tennessee Ernie Ford singing “Sixteen Tons” by giving me a complete and thorough explanation of how the grooves on the record replicated sounds. I would get bored and wished I could hear the words:

    “……one fist of iron, the other of steel.
    If the right one don’t get ya, the left one will.
    You load sixteen tons. Whatdya get?
    Another day older and deeper in debt.
    St. Peter don’t you call me ’cause I can’t go.
    I owe my soul to the company store.

    Later.
    Mr. R.

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