Where Is My Mind?
Sometimes I am sooooo stupid.
I had some work to do for Friday, that took longer than anticipated and I started later than I should, so I was up late Thursday. Thus, Friday, I came home a little early, put a jacket potato in the oven and had myself a ‘power nap’ before heading out for the evening I had been so looking forward to, which was to start early (word stuff from 6.30, band on after 8, and art films over it all). Power-naps have previously been my private joker card, slipped up the sleeve to pull me through all sorts of situations. A magic hour or so before an evening out, followed by killer caffeine kick would allow The Contessa and me to party to the early hours without recourse to far more dirty chemical assistance. This time, I made a tragic mistake. My alarm clock was too close, considering how much unspent sleep had collected in my body, and I woke up 5 hours later, a time too late to catch the evening I had been so hungry for.
Groggily, I phoned my sister, who I’d said I would meet there, to apologise: unlike all my other friends who were going, she would know no others there. ‘Hi Big Sister. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been,’ I said, probably sounding unduly anguished from kicking myself.
‘What’s up? Is everything OK?’ she asked, obviously concerned at my tone.
‘No: it’s nothing serious,’ I reassured, briefly recounted the error of my oversleep.
‘Oh well, you’ve missed a really good night,’ she retorted, ‘That band you’d never heard of with the cult following; it’s The Pixies.’
‘What?’ I queried, aghast and unbelieving in my half awake state, as I hear the sound of ‘Brick is Red’ playing in the background. ‘No….. I don’t believe it. Shit, Fuck. I need to be there.’
‘Had you,’ she piped back at me, barely holding back her laughter.
You have to understand my gullibility: I was still half asleep; and I didn’t even know my sister had heard of the Pixies, let alone imagined her in a room with their music playing, or her recognising it as them (she is a Fulham girl).
I am a fool.