ROSEMARY MAC CABE

I was sick and tired of everything. . . sometimes you listen to a song, over and over, for a week, or two, or three, and it makes you feel everything that you’re already feeling, but more – amplified.

Sometimes I dream about meeting a person who could do that, but then I imagine it might be like that episode of Fringe where the guy made everyone feel how he was feeling and they all tried to kill themselves because he was so fucking depressed.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if I left, if I went and did what people keep telling me I should do, and I realise that it would be the same, but in a different vista. Because the common denominator is me, and I’m always going to have to be inside my head, ain’t I?

Sometimes that really gets me down, and other times I don’t really give a crap. Because I’d rather be in my head than in Amanda Knox’s, or in a lot of people’s – people who can spell but don’t bother; people who LOL a lot; people who have a collective conscience instead of an individual one; people who cough during the theatre.

Sometimes I think I laugh too loudly in the cinema. The rest of the time I don’t care, because it embarrasses the person I’m with (99% of the time), and that’s kind of enough to make me keep laughing.

Sometimes I write “poetic” prose, and a certain member of my family (ahem) without fail, will send me an email giving out about it. “Did you read that?” No, I didn’t. I don’t like to re-read, but I like to write. So I’ll anticipate your email. I can’t wait.

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1. Me Ma’s gonna murder me for this
2. Random encounters
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