I thought I was dying last night. It went like this.
I met a friend at the Malthouse for the opening-night performance of Antigone. The bar was full of people talking and laughing. I hugged my friend, talked, laughed, said how hungry I was. She'd already ordered food. I went up to order some too, realised it was expensive, that I didn't want to spend that much money, bought a bag of crisps instead.
Read MoreYesterday I wrote something about it being seven days till my book is published, and my various anxieties around whether anyone will ever read it, and my related anxieties that, without publicity, it'll never be read by anyone cos I suck and everything sucks and ...
Read MoreIn seven days my book will be published. That's never been the case before. I'm nervous, and emotional in ways I hadn't expected.
A few evenings ago I met the author Clint Greagen, of Reservoir Dad fame, who will launch my book on September 10, and wrote a wonderful blurb on its cover. I drove to his house – in Reservoir, of course – listening to an audiobook version of Wuthering Heights, trying not to think about how nervous I was, wishing I was Emily Bronte and my book was still being listened to by soon-to-be-authors 168 years after publication.
Read MoreI attended the ceremony via my brother-in-law’s mobile phone. He held it in his hand, in the front row, the camera forward-facing. A celebrant who hadn’t known you gave a speech based on what my sister and grandfather had told her. And then my sister read out the speech I’d written, a thinly disguised excuse letter for my absence.
Read MoreSitting with my numbered ticket, next to a woman of colour who tells me in slow, hard-found words she is nervous, makes it difficult to block out how easy my journey has been.
Read MoreI watched the second debate – held a couple of weeks ago – on YouTube from my bed in Melbourne. For those 90 minutes, I could have been in Aberdeen, Inverness, Edinburgh. But the next morning, I got up and cycled to work in Australia.
Read MoreI’ve been wondering if I could beat Tony Abbott in a sprint, a hill climb, a mountain descent, a wheelie comp. In some ways, it brings succour to know the new PM is an avid cyclist.
Read MoreJust as my ego was inflating a niggling little doubt began to deflate it; in effect this meant my mood was unchanged. Were those alarm bells I could hear? Temporary tinnitus?
Read MoreMeditation halls the world over are dark and cold at this time of day, which makes it hard to see people sitting there. You knee them in the head as you pass, and can’t even apologise.
Read MoreI’ve thought about procuring a Popper Stopper, those circular, black things on the front of microphones – with the help of a bendy coat hanger, I could wear one like a harmonica holder, like Bob Dylan, except I’d look like a proper prick.
Read MoreThey looked grey-drained. We cut the cake. Sunwun blew out the candles. I got a pic of Sunwun with my parents looking grey-drained in the background. Hurray. A happy birthday
Read MoreIt was one of those situations where you have to hold on to your titters; where you know, as soon as the other person’s face starts contorting, you’re going to piss yourself.
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