I don’t remember whether I have ever told you this, but for some reason, I immensely enjoy action-packed movies: you know, the ones with big loud guns that do lots of damage and a larger-than-life protagonist who pulls off the impossible — fight off, with ease if I might add, 30 brutal-looking men with guns, an assortment of other mean weapons and karate skills to boot. Think Lee Child’s fictional character, Jack Reacher.
But this is not the only amazing feat this main character can achieve, he can also take suicidal jumps from skyscrapers and not even sprain an ankle, and always manages to walk away from fatal car accidents unscathed.
I know, it is unrealistic, but I cannot help being besotted by such flicks, probably because once in a while, we all need a break from reality.
Don’t ask me why my break has to be littered with violence though. This is just the way I relax, how I reward myself after a hard week’s work, my favourite down time.
I suspect some of you have read this and have been convinced that there’s something wrong with me. I mean, ideal down time is a weekend away, somewhere with a pool and room service, or at the very least, a night out with friends. I get it, but I have nothing to say in my defence, so deal with it.
Anyway, for the last couple of months, I have been unable to watch “my” movies at a sitting. Just 10 minutes in and I am in slumber land, only to jerk awake when the movie closing credits are rolling.
It reminds me of a relative who has a tendency to fall asleep seconds into the church sermon on Sunday, studiously snoring through the preaching only to wake up right after the preacher closes the Bible.
It is behaviour that puzzles even him because for the life of him, he cannot explain it. It is as if there is a timer that goes off his head when it is all over.
Recently, an aunt explained that it was the devil’s doing, that the evil one didn’t want him benefiting from the word of God, and so he put him to sleep.
Only prayer, she explained, could put a stop to this reaction, which she insisted was ungodly. Listening to her, it sounded like a plausible explanation, but it could also be that those who preach in that church are boring.
There was no way I could have voiced this in the presence of my aunt though, so I kept my wisdom to myself. I haven’t seen this relative for a while, so I don’t know whether he took this aunt’s advice or not, and if he did, whether her suggested solution worked.
But I digress. This development has me worried and I cannot help wondering whether this ovyo ovyo dozing when I should be having the time of my life is a sign of premature ageing.
It is bad enough that I get teased by those who know about my “abnormal” love for tea, which they describe as old-woman behaviour.
At my age, they say, I should be pining for more stimulating and exciting stuff, not drowning myself with my grandmother’s favourite beverage. And then this.
It is scary. What I need is consolation that I am okay, that this is just a passing phase, that there is someone, somewhere, my age, who is sailing the same boat.
Have a relaxed Sunday!
[email protected]; Twitter: @cnjerius. The writer is the editor, MyNetwork, in the Daily Nation