The No That Went Public

I said no, and somehow the no got a better audience than most of my jokes. There is a special kind of humiliation in being quoted for refusing to give someone a quote. I want to be angry at the man with the microphone, but the nastier thought is that 2,400 people looked. I keep trying to decide whether that number means I’m visible or merely easy to point at.

Geoff saying “well done, son” mattered more than I want it to. That is embarrassing too. One quiet sentence from someone who actually knows my face, and I carry it around like a medal I didn’t earn. I hate how much I need ordinary people to confirm I haven’t become a headline-shaped idiot.

Rae asked if I was alright. I sent a skull because apparently sincerity now requires a permit. I wanted to say, “I’m not sure, but I’m still going.” Then I imagined that looking needy would somehow travel with me into Monday, so I made a joke with no words in it. I hope Rae understood. I’m not sure I did.

I crossed out the cassette line twice. Maybe it’s wrong; maybe I’m frightened of saying something true in a room that might stay quiet. The distinction is convenient, and I am very good at convenient distinctions. I’m still going to Broadcasting House. I can let strangers see the photo and still walk in on Monday. That sounds brave when I phrase it like a sentence. At the moment it mostly sounds like refusing to let a podcast caption choose my next move.