Do you ever lip sync to your favorite tunes? Of course you do. Ever been up until 4 a.m. scrambling to finish something that, if not for your sold-out performance in front of the mirror, could have been finished a few hours before? I have, and before you make fun, keep reading.

I suffer from voluntary ADHD. When I don’t feel like focusing on homework I create a “necessary” distraction for myself. These distractions often include cleaning up my room, eating or getting ready for the next day. When I’ve successfully completed a task, I usually reward myself with a few songs off my iPod, all of to which I sing along.

I know where this all stems from. It wasn’t until very recently that I learned not everyone ultimately aims to become famous. It came as a real shock considering I picture my life taking place on a screen, set to music and complete with a laugh track.

I guess the obsession is unhealthy. It can’t be good to operate under the idea that I’ll one day pay a bodyguard to fend off paparazzi and fetch me caviar. That’s an exaggeration of course. A bodyguard would be unnecessary with a physique like mine, and I’d have someone getting me Subway anyway.

Regardless of the details, I suffer from delusions of grandeur.

But that’s what happens when the iPod wires snaking their way up to your ears resemble something more like an oxygen tube. Sometimes I need that music just as much as I need air. I need to listen to it on my way to class like I need to stop and take a breather after the fourth flight of stairs in Franklin Hall. It’s pathetic, but it’s reality.

In fact, singing is one of the things I miss most about home. I don’t have my own car, and so the only alone time I get to belt it out is when I’m borrowing Mommy’s Honda and taking advantage of free reign of the stereo.

If I was less selective about my audience, or lack there of, I could sing a lot more often. I could be one of those people without shame, who sing along to their iPods and the music only they can hear. I could be one of those. As a considerate person, I choose not to subject others to such torture.

My delusions aren’t restricted to music, however. If the whole singing career falls through, I figure I can always resort to the modeling industry. I’ve been watching Tyra Banks critique OK-looking girls for years and feel I have a real grasp of the industry now. All I have to do is wait for someone to scout me once I’ve taken a pill that will transform me into Barbie.

I have a problem, but I’m not sure it’s one I want to fix. A girl’s gotta dream, and if that means imagining myself in the limelight then so be it. If it gets me through a few painful hours of homework it can’t be so bad, and if I can drone on about it for 500 words and make a sweet 15 bucks, it’s more than worth it.

Kristine Gill is a sophomore newspaper journalism major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].