Ink on a Pin, Underneath the Skin

Last night, after a couple of vodka and limeades, I started to pseudo-belt out a few tunes - one of my last quiet nights alone before the weekend. I went through Blind Melon's "Deserted" again...one of the few rock tunes that I don't sound absolutely ridiculous singing, and suits my ever-deepening and limited range. It's what you get for getting out of practice.Then I got really silly and went through Alice in Chains's "God Smack" and "Would?" All along with the stereo, la la la. Living room is nearly pitch-dark, except for an Ikea cranberry paper latern that hangs over the bar cart. The cat, Sphinx, was asleep. She didn't notice my imaginary mic stand.After that I thought, "Well, now I feel thoroughly silly," and wandered off to bed. I need it cold when I fall asleep, else, well, I don't fall asleep too well; the side benefit of this is getting all snuggled in my sheets and comforter, and this night it also leads to belting some more tunes into the pillows.I'm sure this all sounds charming.I shifted to my old comfort zone of sensitive, singer-songwriter material but foolishly tried Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You." Terrible, terrible, embarrassing idea. It hit the upper limits of my (current, handicapped) register and I realized too late that my pitch control was sub-par. I'd have to take a slower pace."Blue." Nope, not really. Upper register problems again, and I frankly don't feel that way for anyone at the moment, so it was thoroughly contrived - even for a pillow serenade.("Here's a shell for you, babe." "Yeah, that's great, thanks. BRRAAAP!")...From about the time I was seven years old, I would spend most of my time home, in my bedroom, playing a few, select LPs on a portable Sears record player. I was a nerd in school, my parents didn't have a social life so I didn't have any skills to speak of, my parents were loth to play with me...you get the idea. So, my world basically consisted of Abbey Road, Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's..., and Crosby, Stills & Nash. Singing harmonies along with that first CSN album was likely my first sense of community. With no one else actually around, of course.It's no wonder I became a kind of celibate CSN, et al, groupie during college. Their music was one of the few precious moments of my childhood.
...So, alright, let's try "49 Bye-Byes." As usual, I end up preferring to hear Stephen's voice rather than mine - at least on this tune - so it's aborted by the second verse.Then I properly curl into a musical fetal position: "You Don't Have to Cry." It is nothing but harmony. But without the album actually playing in the background, my ear is lost, so I content myself with imagining their voices and decide it's time to just get to sleep....One would think, of course, that I would listen to the album on the way to work this morning. I would have to. That's how it goes. But I don't. It's a half-assed playlist as I pick uptempo tracks from the "Top 25 Most Played" heap. And that's it.I probably won't listen to it when I get home tonight, either. I've snapped back to my current, daily life. It's all about getting through the day with whatever music can help drive me. And that's not a bad thing.Still, when I come home, it somehow doesn't feel safe to reminisce. While, in my childhood, the stereo was a place to build a dreamscape, now I'm a kid sitting alone in a room.