Let me get my mind off it. Here are my three thinks for today:
My Dear Ol' Headphones: Listening to music with my eyes closed and my headphones planted firmly over my ears, has always been a hobby of mine that brings me instant peace. I'm not quite sure when I started doing that, but I remember building a fort in the living room when I was 10, dragging my enormous 'ghetto blaster' into it, and then falling blissfully into my own little world of Spice Girls and Kylie Minogue (oi).
Going into my teens, my headphones saved me from insanity countless times while I was in hostel. Being an only child, a bit of a loner, and generally preferring the company of Gandalf to that of squealing and gossiping fifteen-year-olds; a noisy hostel was a massive adjustment! Clutching out and allowing the music to take me somewhere far, FAR away... It kept me (mostly) sane.
At seventeen, when I met my husband-to-be, he gifted me with my first MP3 player. Oh what joy!! Now I could zone out on my seven hour bus rides every two weeks when I went home! By the time my playlist ended, there'd only be about an hour of travel left - what a blessing! I was given over to six hours (well, twelve if you counted the round trip) of pure daydreaming.
At university, the little gadgets saved me once more when I encountered one bully (for want of calling them something that would make my family blush when they read this) after the other: screaming and abusive butch girls who thought they were entitled to embarrass and harass me because I was more culturally inclined than their soccer-playing, beer-chugging selves. By switching off my light, locking the door and popping those puppies over my ears, I could ignore them.
Not to mention the next year, when I found myself living with housemates who had taken it upon themselves to try and poison everyone around them (I kid you not). During this, there was no time more peaceful or holy than when I was in studio at 5:00 in the morning, prepping to do my show as I blasted Steelheart through my 'phones (my taste in music had taken quite a turn by then). Being a radio presenter, a producer and a sound engineer granted me the privilege of wearing headphones almost constantly, without looking like too much of an idiot. Being able to escape like that - it really did save me from many a thing.
If I had to pinpoint it, I'd say that I probably learnt the habit from my dad. When I was very little, a real tjokkertjie, I remember creeping upstairs to his music room. He used to go straight up to it the minute he came home from work. There, I'd find him listening to Dire Straits and Paul Simon, eyes closed, head back.
Many years later, while sitting next to a fire and having a drink together; he related one of his war stories to me: he'd once completely ignored his commander when they'd just come out of battle in Angola. Fed-up and having lost many of his troops (he was a sergeant), he wasn't in the mood to listen to that man's opinion on anything. So he stared him in the face, took out his Walkman and pressed 'play' to listen to Bob Marley's 'Buffalo Soldier'.
Fighting on arrival. Fighting for survival.
Guess it runs in the family.
To Read, or Not to Read - If you'r a regular peruser of my blog, you would have gathered by now that I am an avid reader of pretty much all things written. Now, that's good, I guess. Except when you are trying desperately to write something yourself.
You see, my problem is that I tend to empathise a bit too much with the characters in books. While reading a story (or a magazine article) (or an ad for arthritis creams), I will quite often stop and try to put myself in that person's shoes. Whether it is the hero or the villain, the interviewer or the interviewee, the old lady or the poor photographer who had to take the shots of her; I want to fully understand them. I try to experience their emotions and envision what I would do in that situation.
This is all fine and well, but when I submerge myself like this while writing my own stuff, I tend to draw it into my own story. Not only that, but I get so consumed by what I'm reading, that I find myself thinking in that writers style! That. Is. Not. Good.
So, I've taken it upon myself to throw a mental dust sheet over my bookcase at home, to stop anything from clawing its way into my brain. Much too often I have found my character's bowels turning to water after reading George Martin; chewing the fat with old people and getting highly aggressive at the sight of graffiti after an encounter with Holden Caulfield; or getting all Helen Fielding-y and becoming v. busy and important.
Don't get me wrong, I need to read for inspiration.
But once inspired... Let's put it down, now shall we?
Hippo Chase - I work for a production company that makes wildlife documentaries. That being said, you can imagine the types of harrowing stories that fly around the office on a regular basis: camera crews stranded by seasonal floods, producers playing tug-of-war with tigers (the 'rope' actually being the talent that turned his back at just the wrong moment) and the odd snake bite or two. So, this morning, I found myself remembering my own experience from a few years ago...
When we were still dating, The Man and I went on a mini holiday to Botswana, camping as usual. Long story short; there was rain, a bit of a flood, and everything was quite miserable. On our last day there, the weather finally cleared and we decided to go for a drive in the reserve. Stopping next to a pool, hubby heard some bull frogs going mad nearby. Curious, we got out of the car and went looking for them. Heads down, our intense search consumed us completely - until we heard the distinct snort of a hippo. Very close to us.
We looked up just in time to see a massive male staring at us from across the pool, approximately 8 meters from us. Now, in case you don't know, hippos are considered one of the most dangerous animals in Africa (both because they are incredibly aggressive and permanently in a peeved-off state).
Next moment, it came charging at us through the water. We gave each other one look, and bolted. I've never run so fast in my life.
Now, a strange thing happens to you when you have had a number of these experiences in your life (stories for another day): everything becomes funny. By the time we got to the car, we were almost doubled over in laughter - and we didn't stop giggling until we got back to camp.
There, our mirth came to an abrupt halt: we found a baboon ransacking our tent. He ran up a tree, and continued to happily snap The Man's braai tongs at him. What an insult.
Zone out once in a while, find your own voice and ALWAYS RUN FROM HIPPOS!
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