Last night I was talking to my husband about the pain of fame... or to be exact my brief moment of being a "somebody" and how it messed with my head, quite literally.
I mentioned how I once had a writing job (advice column) on a newspaper. When they told me I needed a photo for the column, I was surprised and thrilled. 'Me in the paper? Me?? Wow!'
I must have spent two days figuring out what to wear. That was really daft since the picture was just my head, and you never saw what I was wearing anyway, but (typical woman) I needed to wear something that made me feel good. When it was done, I took my photo in to the newspaper offices. Feeling Very Important I handed it over with a flourish and told the guard it was needed for the next run.
Next day there I was, near the back, lower left page... ME smiling back at me.
Wow. What a rush! What a head swelling ego-smug moment. I wanted to roll in the paper like a cat in catnip. I wanted fireworks and champagne. Reality set in somewhere between having breakfast and going to the local supermarket. Yes, my photo was in the paper… now everyone would see me. It was a small newspaper in a small town, which means any gossip moves at light speed. It would take a very short time for the entire town to know who I was. Everyone would know ME, everywhere I went, all the time.
All the time?
Suddenly I felt as if the universe had placed a flashing sign above my head with a big arrow pointing at me. I felt incredibly visible and the feeling was not good! At the shopping centre, a few people seemed to stop and stare at me as I walked by. I could feel their eyes burning my skin. The unspoken thoughts of, "she looks familiar? Isn't she the one in the newspaper?" seemed to scream in my ears.
I grabbed a trolley and made a dash for the entrance, thinking furiously…
'Try to keep cool. Breath in. Breath out.
They aren't staring at you. No-one is staring.
Oh my GOD, they are STARING at me! I am VISIBLE!
I am this new huge neon-glowing ME and it feels horrible!
I want to be small, invisible ordinary me just browsing the shops. Not this person with the LOOK AT ME arrow above her head.'
At the supermarket entrance there was a turnstile with a hole in the railings next to it where you pushed your trolley through into the shop.
'Quick, quick! Get in there, get the food and get out.
Be cool. Be calm. Don't look stupid. People are watching…
DAMN. There's a fat lady wedged in the turnstile, moving slower than a sea turtle.
Ok, don't panic. You can get through this. You are cool. You are in control.
Push the trolley through the gap, duck down and follow the trolley.
Simple! You are short, the trolley gap bar isn't too low.
You can do this…'
That's the last coherent thought I remember before someone picked me up off the floor.
Yes, I am short. Yes, the bar across the top of the area where you pushed through the trolleys wasn't that low. No, I didn't duck down far enough. In my blind animal panic to get in fast and inconspicuously, I ducked at the wrong moment of dashing forward and smashed my forehead into the metal bar, falling backwards flat on the floor while my trolley happily drifted off into the supermarket without me...
and EVERYONE stared.
The pain of fame going to your head is indescribable.
...
On the cliffs we could see tiny white spots... seabirds nesting. They weren't seagulls - the were Fulmars - cousins of the Albatross and Petrels.
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