Here we go again. For the regulars, there are only two of these left, so hang in there. If you happen to be new here, I’m writing 100 posts in 100 days, and giving a weekly update on them. This is the twelfth. I’m also trying to get 60 000 views in 100 days, and failing miserably. Yesterday, I passed the 30 000 mark. It’s still possible, I suppose, but I’d have to give the pope a wedgie or something; there’s nothing wrong with a bit of publicity.
I am, to be honest, not unhappy that there are only fifteen days left. It’s not that I’m not enjoying writing them. It’s just that I’m starting to get a sense of sameness about my posts. Every day, as I drive my kids to school, I listen to the same station on the radio.
It’s a talk station, and a great one. They pride themselves on their social conscience, and are not afraid to speak truth to power. They get powerful and interesting guests, and are not afraid to ask them the hard questions. And every month or so, I have to turn them off. For a week or more.
It’s just too much of the same. It’s the same DJ, and no matter how much he varies his content and seeks out interesting guests, he can’t change his voice. He can’t change the rhythm of his speech, or his voice, or the favourite issues he keeps going back to. There’s the newsreader, too. Same guy. Every day. Different stories, but the same. Sport; same guy. Every day. Traffic; same guy. Every day.
Until it all gets to be too much. I can tell after two minutes that I’ve shot my bolt. And I turn off. The radio station doesn’t suddenly turn awful; I just reach a point where I’ve had enough. It’s all just too samey. I can just about put up with my family every day, and I love them. I don’t love the guy on the radio. So he has to go away every now and then.
When I’ve had my little break, it’s a joy to go back. They sound fresh again. They are, in their own little way, trying to change the world for the better. And they are smart. And challenging. And fun. They feel like old friends.
I’ve been here for 85 days (barring a brief interlude in the bush). It’s me, every single day. I’ve tried to vary the content as much as I can, but what I can’t (or don’t want to) vary is the voice. The rhythm. The favourite issues I keep going back to.
So I’m looking forward, in a way, to turning myself off. I have, as the world’s worst life planner, given absolutely no thought as to what I’m going to when I’m done with this. A series of public safety videos on YouTube?
I have no doubt in my mind that I’d like to carry on doing this. But like it should be done; once a week. Once a month. Just often enough to sound like an old friend, but not often enough to sound like a mosquito on a hot night.
So there you go. If you’re feeling heartily sick of me already, don’t worry, so am I. Stick with me, though, out of sheer bloody mindedness. It’s only fifteen days. If you’re not, you need to take stock of your life and maybe look into finding a hobby. Spelunking always sounded fun, and somehow slightly risqué and phrenology seems to be making a comeback.
So what have I droned on about this week? My son’s haphazard approach to personal organisation. And my own. And warthogs, as one does. I indulged in a bit of amateur etymology. Which beats the hell out of phrenology and spelunking. I looked at a few words that are peculiar to South African English. And then looked at the rather curious collection of dead animal parts that has appeared in my home. And then I mentioned the problems we’ve been having with our neighbours.
Right. That’s it then. Onward an upwards. I have no idea what I’m going to be writing about this week; I’ll know when I get there. And here’s today’s vote.