My favorite radio story is Starlee Kine's This American Life, where she tries to write a torch song with the help of Phil Collins. I love this story. I love the songs that she plays to demonstrate a great torch song, I love the song that she writes and even bought a copy on itunes.
I was the child who cried most in my family. Though I'd been accused of mock crying at opportune moments, I only ever faked gawping sob-like fish face, but all my many tears were real.
I wasn't maudlin or anything and I was easy with a laugh as well. But I indulged in the catharsis of a good cry.
For me, the cleansing nature of crying can only be used if I then move on to cheer or neutrality or any other emotion afterwards. But at times when I'm sad, I sometimes like to double-down on the sadness; really wallow. I'll listen to a sad song or watch a sad film. After breakups, I used to either watch Sliding Doors and just bawl when Helen thinks that James is cheating on her, or watch If Lucy Fell and weep when it looks like Joe and Lucy wouldn't get together (and then cry harder when they did.) Then there was the decision to not turn off About Time on the airplane home from my mother's funeral and - is "cried like a drain" an expression, or is it reserved for laughing? Because those were the sounds that that cry created. I mean, planes will make me cry at any movie, that tennis one with Kirstin Dunst, or Elf... Keira Knightly's Pride and Prejudice undid me on the way home from visiting Ivo during our long distance relationship ("I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." Oh the satisfying groan that gives me even thinking of it now...)
I like to try to put limits on a wallow, but I can sometimes get stuck in. When I miscarried a few years ago, a friend sent me the video of Walk Off the Earth playing the guitar simultaneously and singing Somebody That I Used to Know. I then listened to Gotye's song over and over, relishing the melancholy. Throughout the years of trying to conceive, I would listen to Barren Egg by Jill Sobule nearly monthly and allow myself at least a day to properly mope and mourn every menstruation - until we took a break from trying to conceive. We'd made a plan to try IVF and sex was purely sex and procreation was a bookable effort.
One of the ways I try to interrupt the momentum of bummer-dom is also music. I set a gratitude alarm on my phone. Days when I anticipate stress or when I've been feeling blue, I set it every hour or two. It plays a cheery or uplifting song and while turning it off, I take some deep breaths and concentrate on gratitude.
During the month of taking hormones for IVF, this was my alarm playlist:
I was the child who cried most in my family. Though I'd been accused of mock crying at opportune moments, I only ever faked gawping sob-like fish face, but all my many tears were real.
I wasn't maudlin or anything and I was easy with a laugh as well. But I indulged in the catharsis of a good cry.
For me, the cleansing nature of crying can only be used if I then move on to cheer or neutrality or any other emotion afterwards. But at times when I'm sad, I sometimes like to double-down on the sadness; really wallow. I'll listen to a sad song or watch a sad film. After breakups, I used to either watch Sliding Doors and just bawl when Helen thinks that James is cheating on her, or watch If Lucy Fell and weep when it looks like Joe and Lucy wouldn't get together (and then cry harder when they did.) Then there was the decision to not turn off About Time on the airplane home from my mother's funeral and - is "cried like a drain" an expression, or is it reserved for laughing? Because those were the sounds that that cry created. I mean, planes will make me cry at any movie, that tennis one with Kirstin Dunst, or Elf... Keira Knightly's Pride and Prejudice undid me on the way home from visiting Ivo during our long distance relationship ("I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." Oh the satisfying groan that gives me even thinking of it now...)
I like to try to put limits on a wallow, but I can sometimes get stuck in. When I miscarried a few years ago, a friend sent me the video of Walk Off the Earth playing the guitar simultaneously and singing Somebody That I Used to Know. I then listened to Gotye's song over and over, relishing the melancholy. Throughout the years of trying to conceive, I would listen to Barren Egg by Jill Sobule nearly monthly and allow myself at least a day to properly mope and mourn every menstruation - until we took a break from trying to conceive. We'd made a plan to try IVF and sex was purely sex and procreation was a bookable effort.
One of the ways I try to interrupt the momentum of bummer-dom is also music. I set a gratitude alarm on my phone. Days when I anticipate stress or when I've been feeling blue, I set it every hour or two. It plays a cheery or uplifting song and while turning it off, I take some deep breaths and concentrate on gratitude.
During the month of taking hormones for IVF, this was my alarm playlist:
and our IVF / Path to Parenthood themesong:
The Zombie's song, as well as the OK GO cover, continues to give me hope despite the years that I have listened to it, wondering if it would be our year to become parents. This will not be our year. But today my alarm sang it to me again and I still thought that This Will Be Our Year for something. It needn't just be procreation.
In the meantime, I continue to let myself get manipulated by music and try to maintain homeostasis. If surgery is in my new future, I wonder if I'll come up with a theme song for getting an ostomy.
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen