Are you a handful of rare golden coins?

The first was the night before I lost my virginity. I remember lying on the bed with the curtains open. It was a big summer full moon and the light was streaming through the windows. Because, even in the height of summer, I'm the palest person, the moon light was reflecting off my skin and turning it silver. My then boyfriend told me I was beautiful, and that one time, just for a moment, I believed him. The other was when I used to do a lot of drama. I was playing Maggie in Mill On The Floss and there was a point in the play where it was completly silent and I walked spotlit up a ramp. Feeling the focus of so many people on me ... it felt slightly un-natural, but still ... I think the best metaphor would be like those forced orchids, made to blossom un-naturaly.

And that's it. Ten minutes with first boyfriend, and one minute a night for five nights of a play. Fifteen minutes out of nearly 23 years. Great. I mean, like everybody else, sometimes I feel quite good about myself and sometimes I can sink to 'I am a monster' depths. But only fifteen minutes of feeling precious.

I'm most happily myself when I'm not thinking about it at all -- Jel beat me to it.

[Isn't jel unfailingly lovely, btw?]

I couldn't bear to be special, like Paddy McAloon says. There are moments when it's nice to feel special. I wrote a play and it won an award, and the first time we put it on, when I realised it was going to win before it did - then I felt special. Then I wrote another one and it just felt like a half-fun grind, so I stopped. Writing makes me feel special, very occasionally. People do, even more occasionally.

I feel much the same way, only I embrace my inner egomaniac.