When I'm stressed I listen to the same music over and over. This week, Gang of Four. Over and over. I think it's some mild autism thing.
I think it's perfectly normal.
Though lately with grief, it's almost harder to listen to music because it opens up so many floodgates of memories and emotion. Sometimes you need some distance. But when I worked at Imagworks in the 90's and especially on the two big FX Producing jobs I did here, Contact and Godzilla, I listened to comfort music.
On Contact I would come in really early, like at 5:30, to get three hours of uninterrupted work time in. (I shared a big office with three other people.) I might listen to classical or movie soundtracks -- soothing background sounds. But there were days when only "Southern Cross" by Crosby, Stills and Nash would do. Not the album it's on. Just that one song. Over and over and over. It made me think of Hawaii and the ocean and night time. Specifically it reminded me of going on the trip to Kahoolawe my senior year of high school when we took a huge catamaran over at 3am and you could see the southern cross on the way over. That was a strange and great trip.
On Godzilla it was Madonna Ray of Light -- the whole album this time. I would just play the whole thing on repeat most afternoons. I love that album to this day. It's my favorite of Madge's.
Now, of course you know of my current obsession with Green Day. There are days when I most love the song with the first line "I'm Not Fucking Around!" If you are in a mood, that is a great one to sing along to. Anger issues much? Perhaps and I'm working my way around to expressing them better in writing. Just not today. Thanks Green Day.
(We got our tickets to the concert, by the way. YAY!)
Speaking of grief, a blogger friend's mom died a few weeks ago, unexpectedly. I have been thinking about him and how he's doing almost every day. Then yesterday I heard here at work that Jesus, the maintenance guy who's been here since I was here in 1996, his father died. Someone was taking a collection of money to help him get back to Mexico so I ran down to throw a bunch of money in the pot.
Because it's been ten years since I've been here full time, I hardly know anyone in the building anymore and they don't know me, which is fine. What is pleasantly surprising is that the parking attendants, the maintenance crew and the recycle collectors are all the same and I know them and often chat with them, catching up about their families, etc. They are like the foundation here, the one constant that doesn't seem to change. It's comforting. Which is why when I heard about Jesus, my heart was in my throat thinking about him going home for his dad's funeral.