Silence is golden for sleeping

Now that I’m writing again, I need a bit of background music to keep myself company. There are many pros and cons to writing with music, a lot of advice given out there say it is best to work with no music at all, with complete silence for full-concentration. So I say, yes, that usually works for me…for a good 10 minutes before I fall asleep from the silence.

So my word for it, is silence is golden for napping. And napping is not good for productivity – especially if you nap the way I do. My naps tend to rage out of control. The next thing I know, it’s the next day and I’ve no idea what had happened.

I used to write to a lot of contemporary pop but now that I’ve cut down on my morning commutes, I rarely listen to the radio these days (unless it’s the BBC radio stations, which you’ve seen me wax lyrical on my blog time and time again) so I’m not that up to date with the latest stuff. And I am starting to really enjoy songs before my era.

My cousin reckons I was born too late, I should have been born in the 70s or the 60s. While my sister on the other hand reckons that I’m regressing, working my way back in time – when I’m in my 30s, I would be enjoying Gregorian chanting.

To think that as a teenager, I mocked my good friend’s older brother for listening to Air Supply. The shame, for nearly 13 years later, I was at an Air Supply concert. I know. I try not to talk about it in polite society.

The beauty of writing again means I get to explore good music to write to. I’ve not found anyone ‘new’ i.e. people I’ve not listened to before, not new contemporary acts, as of yet. I’ve just going back to some of the old ones that I really liked to write to. As I get more and more into my writing, I’ll be posting the songs I listen to, sort of the soundtrack to my writings. So if it ever gets published, and you’re curious as to what inspired me – it’ll be here.

Right now, I’m writing to Simon and Garfunkel. It’ll change in a week or two, when I’m bored of their music. But I can’t imagine being bored of them anytime soon, Scarborough Fair is still as haunting as I heard it before many years ago and I still wail aloud to Bridge over Troubled Waters. The dog next door joins along sometimes.

Eizwan can’t handle my ability to listen to songs to death. Which is a good thing that he’s not at home while I work because for now, this household is being serenaded by the wondrous Art Garfunkel and Paul Simon.


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