Morning seems strange, almost out of place

I really needed to listen to music yesterday in the car. Unfortunately I've misplaced the tape-converter I usually use with my MP3 player, so I was forced to dig deep and explore my tape collection. In the morning on the way to work, I heard Al Green's "Tired Of Being Alone" and it gave me shivers that sent my hand straight to the volume dial, turning it way up and belting out the words as time washed away inside the car.

After work, the first tape I popped in turned out to be Joy Division, "Still." Wearing my corporate sell-out generic running gear, windows down, garnering more disapproving stares than usual for my bumper stickers, dancing and singing while driving... This is the story I wanted to tell today, the perfection and time-machinations of music, this particular serendipitous choice. The words won't come, though, and nothing gets done. I'm blocked and nothing flows through me. If I close my eyes, I'm the branch who will snap in the wind. Open the floodgates, I want to cry. There's nothing to stop them from opening, yet they remain stubbornly in place.

Addendum:
This morning in the car I listened to a mix tape I originally made for Erik, soon after we met. It had me laughing out loud. Really, did I think he'd enjoy listening to the Go-Go's "Vacation?" And what possessed me to place the jarring cacophony of Guitar Wolf's "Wild Zero" after Elvis Costello's velvety "Red Shoes?" I was trying to impress him with my eclecticism. Hilariously, I end up aurally coming across as inhabiting some wild mood swings.