Marilyn Englander struggles to deal with that annoying condition known as earworms.
I suffer from earworms, those little sonic bits that burrow deep into your brain. They’re impossible to avoid, and utterly maddening, assaulting the subconscious around the clock.
If you are not susceptible to this parasite, lucky you. Those infected have ear worms for life. There is no known cure.
Music is the prime contagious agent. I borrowed my daughter’s car and got Taylor Swift clogged in my head. For days, I was humming one of her plaintive love songs — and next, compelled to try to puzzle out the song’s story line. Even more irritating. There was no escape. Even at 4 a.m., she was my steadfast companion.
I resorted to the nuclear remedy. Shoving an ancient CD into my even more antiquated boom box, I gave some old-time banjo and fiddle players Taylor’s spot while I cooked dinner. But then I had “that woman who done me wrong” worrying me all night.