Oh, where do I start?!
The nerves! Anyone would think I was going to be performing WITH them, I am so tangled up in knots. I feel on the verge of gagging, constantly.
I wish I could retain this feeling every time I am about to say something stupid or innapropriate to him. It is just SSOO pathetic how much I want this man to like me…and how much I felt I had that…and how much I feel I’ve ruined it.
I want to cry.
Why does it matter so much? I dunno. It just does. I mean…I keep the comparison to Bowie going…but if I ever thought that David would have liked me…if I’d have been able to talk to him and I got a feeling…a sense that he liked me…then I’d have been…utterly gobsmacked. It just…I can’t even think about it!
People have such conflicting things to say. “Never meet your heroes”, some say. Others say “Bollocks to that! I have never been more happy, so and so was the loveliest, friendliest person.” That was me with David Tennant on Monday night.
When once I felt that (perhaps delusionally all in my head) Jim may have once been happy to meet me…now…it’s all dread. He’ll just frown upon the idea so much…treat me with utter distain. I deserve nothing less.
I am glad to be up in the balcony tomorrow. I will be incognito. I will blend in. He won’t be able to reach me, and perhaps proceed to make a point of ignoring me.
And I am not saying this because I expected it to happen (ie: meeting him). Far from it…but if it had, the sense that he’d have been happy for me to be there was a nice one. Now…I just dread he will dread it…or worse still, be angry. And so…I will leave it to others, no doubt.
He’ll be happy to see them, and they’ll fuss over him suitably. I will quietly retreat and go back to my hotel room and reflect upon what will no doubt be a wonderful gig. To sleep…per chance to dream…of a time when maybe the situation would have been different. For when my nerves would have been nervous excitement, as they were predominently in Hackney…not fear and dread and loathing (of myself).