Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Month: November 2015

Sunday

It’s a Sunday evening and I’ve had a gin and tonic. Earlier we sat on the stoep and brushed four out of five animals (the fifth had been brushed earlier and was asleep on the bed). I cannot explain the calm happiness that filled me.

I went with my friend to choose a kitty from Lucky Lucy this morning and we lazed in the young cat enclosure. Because it was clear in my mind that I didn’t need to choose a kitty myself I could love them all, and I did. So many kitties, so much loving. What an amazing place, filled with love and light. Finally, my friend made up her mind, and chose the sweetest little boy to join her family. My heart was exploding. He was one I would have chosen if I could have.

My year is slowing down, allowing lovely space for the loving of animals.

Facebroek

It is confession time, and it’s not funny. I am addicted to Facebum. I can’t help myself. I detest it and cannot live without it. I make up the worst excuses about why I need it; networking you know, publicity for my work, the best way to support my causes, to express my point of view, blah blah blah. Puhleez. I am addicted. Plain and simple. I log onto Facebum at least three times a day. It is on my phone. It is on my phone!

There are people on Facebum that I only have relationships with on Facebum. Some of them are people I don’t even know, or like. There are people I have forced myself to unfollow, if not completely unfriend, and I will still obsess about them, particularly if they have posted something that outraged me. There are those I tolerate (old bigots I feel sorry for, punsters, bad spellers, and even the odd over sharer), and those I cannot (racists, sexists, supporters of the Israeli government and Donald Trump). Then there are those I judge; even for stupid stuff, like liking a Lionel Ritchie song.

I hate every youtube video of people falling downstairs, every picture of an abused or starving or bleeding or dead animal. I despise slogans on sunsets. I hate being reminded of people’s birthdays (even though I am deeply grateful for the reminders) and then having to decide whether I care enough to wish them in five words, or whether they deserve a whatsapp message or even phone call. Sies.

I despise with a passion the temporary rainbows or flags with which we are coerced into showing our support for this or that thing, or disaster or cause.

I hate the ‘intelligent’ advertising that knows I need a new frying pan, or that knows I secretly looked for holiday accommodation in Zanzibar.

I hate the FOMO and the nostalgia and the TBT’s and Humpdays and yet, there I am. Daily. (I wish. More like at least 3 times a day).

It’s a disaster. I’ll quickly update my status about it.

Acting

These are just a few thoughts, because I am deeply in love with my current cast, who are busy performing an industrial theatre roadshow , and I am reminded how extraordinary actors can and should be, when they are the real deal. And, I consider myself an actor of sorts, an actor amongst other things, but I do think I am in a good position to see what works, and what doesn’t both on stage and off.

Acting is proper teamwork. Unless you are in a one person show that you have written and directed yourself, you have to work as a team, and your goals and desires are shared and the same. Your intentions are all aimed at the same audience and you should have each others’ best interests at heart.

Acting is sharing; usually sharing something special and important with an audience. It is the actors’ job to share that.

Acting is doing something that somebody else told you to do (playwright, director, possibly client) as if it were you that thought it up. This is an amazing thing.

Acting means being sensitive to group dynamics, on and off stage.

Acting is shining a light, but not more brightly than the other members of your cast. Acting is listening to the others, and responding to them, but not during their thing.

Acting is remembering that you are in the business of magic, and the suspension of disbelief needs to be bought into by the whole cast, all the time.

Acting is storytelling, only it isn’t your story and nobody can know that.

Acting is fun, but it is also hard, and if you are a diva, you are doing it wrong.

Falling in love on a Thursday

Today was an unusual day to fall in love. Everybody else in the world seemed busy complaining, or criticising (at least that’s what it looked like on Facebum and Twitterer), and there was a lot of mourning going on too; Jonah Lomu replaced Paris, but was quickly replaced by Nigeria (the world and its people are for sure going to hell in a hand basket) and my morning appointment was cancelled, and suddenly I had a free one. I decided to take my neglected and abused and filthy dog haired car to be cleaned; a big clean, while I shopped (for groceries, one of my worst).

And because it was going to take 2 hours, it was going to be a long shop; a surrender type shop, a stroll around and see what they have type shop. Which was just as well, because the PnP at the Gardens Centre is being renovated within an inch of its life. Not one single thing was where it used to be and other things had vanished. I crashed into a woman in one of the make-shift aisles and she looked at me in terror after we had narrowly avoided mowing each other down with our trolleys. “I can’t find any toothpaste,” she moaned. “None, nothing, nix.” I couldn’t help. I had no idea where any of the toiletries were.

Actually, I couldn’t find wasabi paste, tomatoes, oat bran or broccoli. Big Friendly is lucky. I found myself in front of the discount biscuits and got him two boxes of marked down Romany Creams. I hope they’re ok.

And then I fell in love with my cashier. She was a patient, kind and lovely human being, and she grinned from ear to ear as I stumbled over my isiXhosa. We had to shout over the drilling and angle grinding, but the complaining witch alongside us, who was being completely revolting to the cashier serving her, was louder than everyone. We shared a moment of hatred for this woman, who took the renovations so personally; they had fucked up her whole life by the sounds of it, and she was going to make her poor cashier pay. The more she screamed the closer she brought me and Nosipho. It’s the small things. We greeted and wished each other a lovely day, and we had made each other a little happier, and the world a little more bearable.

And, after chatting to the barista who made my coffee, and after buying fresh herbs to plant in a pot, and after sticking my nose into a dress shop, I finally made my way to the basement to get my car. And then I fell in love with the guy there too. Perfect service, total care, special treatment and a divine attitude. I could have kissed him. I left with a huge smile on my face. Falling in love is easy, even at the Gardens Centre, on a Thursday.

 

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