It's occurred to me that I lead a double life sometimes.. In the privacy of my own home I can do all the crying, chucking things across the room, drinking absinthe and talking to Roy Walker on the TV.. in the same clothes I slept in/wore yesterday/slept in the night before etc.. but in public I have to do my best to hold myself together - smiley, clean, heels and tales of how fantastic my life is.
It's at times difficult to work myself out and where I belong - I can be sitting in a grotty NHS waiting room with dog eared half torn poster advertising Anthrax or Clamidia in the morning, and that evening I can be seated and Chtardonay'd in the Worsley footy players. It gives me a sense of confusion, and I forget who knows the real me and the other real me.
Years ago I was obsessed with fame - I wanted to be famous - I thought I WAS famous, I remember working at the Co-op in Cambridge in my teens and, as a shelf stacker, I was allowed in the store room. I was convinced that this was of VIP status, like I was allowed backstage. Now I can't think of anything worse (than fame - not store cupboards). I enjoy the anonymity of London too much. Just to contradict myself, I was once on The F Word talking about the co-op, but they edited what I said. I said my least favorite supermarket was the Co-op and they edited it to reveal that my favorite supermarket was the Co-op. And the fact that I'm talking too much about the Co-op in my blog means that I should stop right here!