Life Without Music? you ask

What would my life be like without music? Well, first, I’d wake up groggily with no Peace Train to carry me through the morning, just the shrill blare of the alarm clock screaming like it’s auditioning for a horror movie. My coffee would taste like Father and Son arguing over who’s pouring too much cream, and I’d try to hum Wild World, but it would come out as Mild World, leaving the cat glaring at me like, “Really, human?”

Breakfast would be tragic. Without Morning Has Broken playing softly in the background, even my toast would land butter-side down. I’d glance at the toaster, imagining it singing Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, trying to escape my kitchen, and I’d spill my cereal like I’ll Have to Say I Love You in a Song was too shy to save me.

I’d pick up the phone to call a friend, hoping for an Operator moment, only to be met with hold music that sounds like a James Taylor knockoff fumbling Sweet Baby James. I’d hang up frustrated, wishing for a You’ve Got a Friend scene, but all I’d have is a voicemail beep—cold, indifferent, and cruel.

Walking down the street would be pure chaos. No Carly Simon serenading me with Anticipation while I wait for the bus. The pigeons would flap like offbeat percussion, missing the soft Sitting on the Dock of the Bay vibes I’d been imagining. I’d trip on a crack, thinking, “Where is my Time in a Bottle when I need it?” and step on a puddle, creating a soundscape that could only be called Moonshadow: The Splash Edition.

Romance would be impossible. No You’re So Vain to give me confidence or self-awareness, no I Got a Name to make me feel like a leading man in my own life story. I’d try to woo someone with poetry, but without a Carly Simon bridge or James Taylor strum, it would just sound like me rambling. And crying in the shower? Forget it. No Fire and Rain to console me, just the steady drip of the faucet mocking my sadness.

Lunch would be equally tragic. No James Taylor guitar to make broccoli taste like art, no Cat Stevens whispering Oh Very Young while I chew, and no Bad, Bad Leroy Brown playing in the background to give me energy for my sandwich. Even dessert would fail—chocolate cake would taste like cardboard without Sweet Baby James singing me through it.

Afternoons would drag. I’d walk past the park and see kids playing, but no Where Do the Children Play? to remind me life still has hope. Without Operator to check in on my friends, even the squirrels would look sad, like they were missing a harmony. I’d try to strum my broomstick like a guitar, pretending to play Time in a Bottle, but the neighbors would just shake their heads.

And as evening comes, the world would be painfully silent. No James Taylor lullaby to soothe me, no Carole King to tell me It’s Too Late, no Croce story song to make me laugh at life’s little ironies. The only “music” would be my refrigerator humming Allegro Miserable, punctuated by the distant siren attempting Peace Train… poorly.

Bedtime would be unbearable. Without Moonshadow drifting through the room, no soft Morning Has Broken echoing through dreams, I’d toss and turn like Wild World itself was haunting me. Even the cat would curl up in defeat, resigned to a world without ballads.

Yes, life without Croce, Simon, Stevens, and Taylor would be tragic, absurd, and awkward. I’d spill coffee, miss the bus, fail at love, and stare at the furniture wondering why life isn’t scoring itself with soft acoustic guitars. Without music, I’d be a Wild World in a very silent storm… and honestly, I’d probably just sit on the porch with the cat, humming badly, wishing the universe would forgive my tone-deaf soul.