When pop music goes bad

As a post clerk at a solicitors firm I spend hours folding and sending out hundreds of letters every week, but it's been years since I have written actually written a proper one.

Miss R.Black

247 Stuck in my head street
Won't leave my Headville

Worst song ever

SZI H8U

Dear Miss Black,

I am writing to tell you that your actions have ruined my life. I'm not the same person I was 2 months ago because of your imprint on the world I have changed, and it's all your fault.

Now no one likes getting up in the morning I'm going to be bold and say that is a fact. But because of you the getting up in the morning just isn't worth it. When I go downstairs and "get my cereal" the joyful ping of the spoon in my bowl and playful splash of my lactose free milk is just another reminder of your work. And what's worse I feel like you are mocking me, "gotta get down to the bus stop and then I see my friends", good for you Rebecca good for you, when I rush down to the bus stop I go solo. My friends are on the train or in their cars, I'm just minding my own business doing my Sudoku, but you miss it and get picked up in a soft top. Do you know what happens if I miss my bus? I get fired. Oh and P.S. my choice of seats on the bus is next to a sniffer, a talker or a worker with dead eyes.

My life used to be good, really good yes I'd get a song in my head from time to time, the Match.com and their enjoyment of old movies has definitely done the rounds. But I've always been able to shift them. But your song has not left my head, since the first listen and what's worse people take advantage of this hold on me. My boss mentions the word Friday on purpose and then sings your song/torture device. I call it torture device because I have seen films where they play the same song on repeat over and over until the detained screams out or just goes plain mad and well now that is my life.

At work it is an activity to get an annoying catchy song completely stuck in other people's heads and guess what it's yours. Your song isn't making people happy, it's the musical equivalent of The Ring, when people hear it they die inside.

I think my job aids it, constantly opening the post and checking dates to send letters out and people mention days of the week. On Monday I just know that in three days my hell will worsen, someone will ask what day it is on Wednesday I get a cold shiver and my palms get sweaty. Conversations go along these lines, "It's only Wednesday today, I want it to be Friday" then there "It's Friday, Friday". I dread hearing the days of the week, because it's just another thread to your tapestry.

It's like a gateway drug Wednesday is the equivalent of marijuana and Thursday is just full blown heroin.

People have said the glint in my eye has gone, my spring in my step in more like a thump and my sunny disposition has evolved into a thunderstorm. They say chin up, you will get through it your stronger than this, but I'm just not sure I am.

Now I'm not for one second claiming that my life is the worst life in the world but before I learn't of you it was at least 70% better.

Yes Rebecca I am referring to your song 'Friday', or at least I think that's what it's called I can't really remember what it's called because when I hear it my brain boils and then leaks out of my ears. I'm not one of those people who is going to post a death threat on twitter to you or wish you bad luck in your life I just thought you would like to know that mine is ruined.

Today is Sunday, so by your calculations, I've got four days until I can even consider "Partying partying yeah". Other things that have plagued me and your torture device are your sweeping generalisations, "Everybody lookin' forward to the weekend", really everyone? Do you think the nurses that have to look after Saturday nights people that have been "partying partying" so hard that they are consistently throwing up and soiling themselves think thank god it's the weekend.

I'm not saying that the inebriated general public that fill hospital waiting rooms on a Friday and Saturday night is your fault, but I'm going to be honest I don't think you've helped.

I think you have got my point and I hope as you drive round in your soft top, with your personalised number plate and your new designer clothes behind your newly whitened smile and your auto tuned voice should be the cold sting of guilt.

Yours

Cat.