Enttauschung

I have my own private things to get angsty about. Don't we all?

I'm hard to categorise, pin down. Even to myself. This means that sometimes I can tear myself up with worry about how to behave. What is authenticity? And how would The Real Me come across (whoever the heck she is?)

Here's an example. I'm at a very informal supper, with a good friend and some arty people I don't really know but seem nice. Peggy Lee comes on the sound system, with her beautiful disillusion (see the link in yesterday's post). We talk a little bit about the song.

I'm getting a bit stressed. I want to say, "Do you know that this song is inspired by a Thomas Mann story?"  But I'm worried. On the one hand, I'm worried that everyone will look at me with indulgent scorn: everyone knows that, of course they do.  How sweet of you to remind us all that coffee comes from a bean.

On the other hand, I'm worried that everyone will look at me as if I am a pretentious Oxbridge arsehole of the first degree (although mine was only a mediocre 2:2). I hummed and hawed inwardly, said nothing, the conversation moved on. Sometimes I am about 15 years old inside my head. Ridiculous.

And so I said nothing. And that was a shame, possibly, because they might have been interested.