I’ve been reading Is It My Body? on and off for a while. It was a birthday present to me from K (thanks, always). The book is difficult for me to read, I look at a paragraph and then my mind goes off. Thinking about projects, and people. It feels more personal that a lot of things I read. There is interpretation, but it seems less analytical and more experiential. I like this type of writing. It’s like talking to a friend.

I’m reminded of the mid-1990s, when I frequently borrowed Never Mind The Bollocks: Women Rewrite Rock from the library a handful of times a year. Back then, things felt possible and exciting. I wanted to go to art school and I wanted to make my own clothes. I wanted to live in a city. To travel. I’ve achieved a lot of that, but just not in the way I expected.

Today feels like catching up with someone from my childhood. I’m doing OK.