Mono – “Life in Mono”

Id: “OMG celebration time bro! You’re getting a date!”

Ego: “Ok dude, she said ‘that might sound nice’ to seeing you.”

Superego: “Yea, let’s not floor it yet.”

Ego: “Exactly, we need to know more before we launch into party mode.”

Id: “But broheim, she’s into us! Woohoo! Let’s start chanting! She’s into us, she’s into us…”

Superego: “Damn it, there he goes again. We need to shut him up, how the hell am I supposed to keep us to the ‘Three-Day Rule’ with that going on?”

Ego: “Yea, normally he’s subdued and mopey, if only there was something we could do…”

Me: “On it.”

So I grabbed my trusty iPod and set “Life in Mono” to repeat and stared at the wall. The song permeated my car as I meandered to the nearest Cricket location to finally get a cellphone again. After I left the store I sat in my car and crammed through the dial-pad to finally get my archaic text set up. Without sending it, I put the phone in my glove box, lowered the seat back and stared at the roof of my car while I let the song finish.

Back at home I blared the tune out of my laptop. The treble highs overwhelmed the tiny built-in speakers, while the pathetic bass rattled the cheap plastic housing. Having actively zombified my “Id,” I stared at my dishes in the kitchen sink, my hands clutching them motionlessly, submerged under the warm sudsy water.

And so this went on for three days. I dug out the phone from the glove box to complete the unwritten waiting period contract to portray that I wasn’t – though obviously was – obsessed. But…the phone was dead. So I took the charger and phone back into work, got just enough of a charge and sent off my text.

Then I waited. I tried to listen to other songs, but almost like trying to eat food too soon after food poisoning, my mind revolted. I found myself continuing to listen to this song.

Three more days passed before my phone, having sat idle for so long, finally buzzed. Apparently, she adhered to the three-day contract too.

The song then retreated back into dark corners of my music library, to rest in neglect and gather cobwebs. That is, until a day like today, where I blow the dust off the virtual cover, put it in my nostalgia phonograph, and drop the needle so that the fuzzy and scratchy memories can play back.

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