james k. adamson

Another 5AM wake up call, quick shower, throw the laptop in the backpack and double check that I have clean underwear in my carry-on. You know what mom always said, “If you’re not going to wear clean underwear, at least pack some in your carry-on.” What sage advice.

This morning, however, my radio alarm clock gently awoke me from my slumbering coma with a soft string melody that sounded vaguely familiar. Mind you, I don’t have the radio tuned to classical music, just not exactly the thing to get you moving in the morning. Then the lyrics began.

“I don’t know where I’m goin
but I sure know where I’ve been
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.”

This isn’t what I think it is, is it?

An’ I’ve made up my mind, I ain’t wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again.

So I turned on the light and jumped in the shower singing.

Here I go again on my own
goin’ down the only road I’ve ever known.
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone.
An’ I’ve made up my mind, I ain’t wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again,
here I go again, here I go.

They really shouldn’t play that song at 5AM in the morning, at least for the sake of those of us who thought they had finally escaped Whitesnake.