I woke up with my brain full of things I need to blurt out in snippets on social media. I'm reading a book that makes me want to write, but nothing coherent, just the things I'm thinking.
Last night I went to see Caitlin Moran - I'd written a post about remembering too late she was on, being interviewed by Sinéad Gleeson. I was in college with Sinéad, who is massively nice, and talented and intelligent and beautiful. She's gone on to have a career in music journalism and literary journalism and most recently editing, and is coincidentally married to the coolest guy from the small village I grew up in, who has his own music career. I admire her immensely, though her life highlights how non I made mine. However...
So I was dithering about going to Caitlin Moran or if it wasn't worth it because of babysitting and Olivia and her all her Stuff, and feeling self pitying, and then I thought, fuck it, I'll just go and not do the Cinderella thing, and then tickets were all sold out, so I resigned myself to not going, and THEN Sinéad got me put on the guest list, bless her. So I went, but got there v late as I was coerced into trying to make an apple pie in an hour and a half before going, which I didn't get time to finish, but was still late and had no time to stop for petrol and while I flew into town, laughing at the rush hour traffic going the other way, it then took me half an hour to just get across the city, sigh. AND I suddenly realised I didn't necessarily have enough petrol to get back to the petrol station, so I worried about that through the interview, and didn't enjoy it as much as I should have. Then I got back to the car and reviewed the guauge and realised I had enough, and it was fine. Stupid stupid. Clearly, there are things to be learned from this boring little story.
Soon I will enthuse about Kristin Hersh and her memoir, though I have no idea if anyone reading knows who she is - will you let me know if you do, because I need someone to talk to about it?
Last night I went to see Caitlin Moran - I'd written a post about remembering too late she was on, being interviewed by Sinéad Gleeson. I was in college with Sinéad, who is massively nice, and talented and intelligent and beautiful. She's gone on to have a career in music journalism and literary journalism and most recently editing, and is coincidentally married to the coolest guy from the small village I grew up in, who has his own music career. I admire her immensely, though her life highlights how non I made mine. However...
So I was dithering about going to Caitlin Moran or if it wasn't worth it because of babysitting and Olivia and her all her Stuff, and feeling self pitying, and then I thought, fuck it, I'll just go and not do the Cinderella thing, and then tickets were all sold out, so I resigned myself to not going, and THEN Sinéad got me put on the guest list, bless her. So I went, but got there v late as I was coerced into trying to make an apple pie in an hour and a half before going, which I didn't get time to finish, but was still late and had no time to stop for petrol and while I flew into town, laughing at the rush hour traffic going the other way, it then took me half an hour to just get across the city, sigh. AND I suddenly realised I didn't necessarily have enough petrol to get back to the petrol station, so I worried about that through the interview, and didn't enjoy it as much as I should have. Then I got back to the car and reviewed the guauge and realised I had enough, and it was fine. Stupid stupid. Clearly, there are things to be learned from this boring little story.
Soon I will enthuse about Kristin Hersh and her memoir, though I have no idea if anyone reading knows who she is - will you let me know if you do, because I need someone to talk to about it?
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