My headphones broke the other day, some two days after the warranty expired. My suspicion grows that all electronic devices are designed to break the week after the warranty expires. Be that as it may, after a couple of days with lack of music on my daily walks the abstinence was threatening to become severe, so I headed out to buy myself a new pair. Well, the same pair, really, since they were bloody good headphones (apart from their fragility, apparently). Ripped open the package on the street outside the store. Must have had a rather frantic look on my face as I fumbled with the music player and put the headphones on. Went on to blast some Dream Theater loud enough to drown out the rest of the world, and felt the accumulated angst melt away. Walked home happier and considerably calmer.
Addicted to music? Me? So it would appear. But I don’t mind having music as a great vice. As long as I don’t play it too loud I won’t get tinnitus nor bother people around me. Better than smoking, every time.
“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”
— Albert Schweitzer
Winterdragon
