I sing when I'm in the bathroom. That's when I shower, when I wash my hands, when I go to retrieve miscellaneous objects. I sing when I'm in the kitchen. That's when I do the washing up, when I'm preparing food, when I am wandering aimlessly around. I sing when I'm in my room. That's when I am at the computer doing something that can let my mind wander, when I'm getting dressed, when I'm lying on my bed looking up at the ceiling. I sing when I am outside. That is when I'm going to the car, hanging the washing out on the line, walking down the street.
I sing, I sing, I sing. And when I can't sing, I grow increasingly frustrated.