Singing In Bed

I don’t sing.

I have been known to sing along with a song on the radio as I drive down the highway, but I do not sing.

I haven’t sung in public since my sophomore year in college.  Back then, I was a member of a folk quartet called the Converts.  The other guys were accomplished musicians with fine voices; I was just good enough to sing back-up harmony and act as master of ceremonies.  We played at the college, a couple of beer joints and one gig at the Cellar Door in Ft. Worth, but were generally unknown outside of Sherman, Texas.  Mostly it was a just way to meet girls.

Anyway, I don’t sing.

Until last night.

I woke up around 11:45 p.m., and I’m pretty sure that I woke up singing. 

I remember thinking how strange that was, but I kept on singing.  I must have sung 20 songs or so, and I sang a little bit of everything.  My eclectic repertoire included a few older country ballads, a couple of rock and roll “Golden Oldies” and “Once Upon A Time” from the Broadway show, the Fantasticks.

I kept thinking how odd this was, but I did not seem to be the one in charge.  One song somehow led to another until I finally rolled over and went back to sleep.

I slept like a rock for the rest of the night, and woke up refreshed this morning.

Nobody can confirm this – Honey was down the hall with the TV on – but I’m pretty sure I sing better when lying flat on my back.