I will stare and shake their heads, as

I sing about everything I do. I don’t know why; I guess I enjoy singing. I used to have an okay voice, but since puberty rolled around and my voice dropped, I don’t think there’s a song in the world I could make sound nice. Even so, I’ll narrate random aspects of my life through song. I don’t think of it as a nervous tick, but it’s certainly become habitual after years of practice. It’s not something I only do alone either. In fact, I have no problem consciously singing in front of my friends, let alone accidentally singing. My best friend will join in. We’ll sing as we walk. We’ll sing as we drive. We’ll sing as we walk to the car to drive. But my other friends are normal. When I make up song lyrics about going to get a bag of pretzels and sing them to the tune of We Are The Champions, the rest of my social circle will stare and shake their heads, as if to say, “What on Earth is wrong with you?” But it’s fun. Maybe it’s the challenge of trying to fit words into a given tune on the fly. Like free styling, but much easier—I couldn’t freestyle to save my life. I can rap anyone else’s lyrics, but if you told me to make up a rap, I’d need at least a few hours. Yet for some reason, I can fit any thought into the tune of a chorus.I sing about everything I do. I don’t know why; I guess I enjoy singing. I used to have an okay voice, but since puberty rolled around and my voice dropped, I don’t think there’s a song in the world I could make sound nice. Even so, I’ll narrate random aspects of my life through song. I don’t think of it as a nervous tick, but it’s certainly become habitual after years of practice. It’s not something I only do alone either. In fact, I have no problem consciously singing in front of my friends, let alone accidentally singing. My best friend will join in. We’ll sing as we walk. We’ll sing as we drive. We’ll sing as we walk to the car to drive. But my other friends are normal. When I make up song lyrics about going to get a bag of pretzels and sing them to the tune of We Are The Champions, the rest of my social circle will stare and shake their heads, as if to say, “What on Earth is wrong with you?” But it’s fun. Maybe it’s the challenge of trying to fit words into a given tune on the fly. Like free styling, but much easier—I couldn’t freestyle to save my life. I can rap anyone else’s lyrics, but if you told me to make up a rap, I’d need at least a few hours. Yet for some reason, I can fit any thought into the tune of a chorus.

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