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Every once in a while, music gets stuck in my head.  Like a fly that found its way in the house, but cannot locate the nearby window to escape again.  Sometimes it stays there for ages.

Once, I had the prelude to Wagner’s “Tristan and Isolde” stuck in my head for three days straight.

Not that that’s an entirely bad thing.  ‘Tristan’ is one of my favorites.  But there does seem to be a statute of limitations for pleasantness when it comes to this kind of thing.

By day three, I felt like the be-curlered old lady living in the apartment under a great party.  Clad in my mental house-coat and faded flat slippers, I assaulted the ceiling with my theoretical broom, yelling ‘turn it down up there!’