Last Sunday, I woke up. That’s a remarkable feat for a someone who usually shuns Sunday’s sunlight because she’s been dancing around in Saturday’s moonlight.
It wasn’t just the physical act of waking though; when I opened my eyes it felt like someone had swept the cobwebs out from behind the sockets.
I could put it down to the recent change in the weather (I have never been so happy to be cold in my entire life, that heatwave was murder), but it’s something more.
Last Saturday I covered Gary Numan’s performance at Bush Hall for Gigslutz and I spoke to Tim Muddiman (producer/musician) before the show. I took my Brother with me as my +1, and we spent 90% of the day pinching ourselves asking “Is this actually happening? Are we watching Gary Numan & his band sound check in an empty venue? Are we talking to Tim Muddiman who’s toured with NIN and Pop Will Eat Itself? Are we out of our minds on happiness instead of Peroni?”
Talking to, and witnessing people do the things that fascinate and inspire you is the social equivalent of fresh air. It clears out all the stale oxygen you’ve been choking on, and it makes you focus on what you need to do to get to where you want to be.
The clean, precise, electric nature of the sounds and sights we saw at Bush Hall made me feel an inexhaustible gratitude towards Gigslutz, my family, to…well, everything. It’s woken me up, and the strange thing is I didn’t even know I was sleeping in the first place.