Freedom From The Mundane

Despite having to take a pain killer last night, I managed to trawl my way out of bed nice and early this morning. Before leaving for the day job, though, I had to take care of a few things before my lunchtime meeting with the new web client. I ran through and printed off copies of his requirements, as well as copies of my contract, pricing sheet, quote form, and design prompt sheets so I could take them with me.

I also finished recreating my GDR 2008 document in MS Word (see footnote 2) that had got blown into oblivion somehow. With all that done I had no time to start anything else so I shot to work – as fast as one can with a gammy leg.

Day job was slow but it was good to see my long-term sick colleague return to very light action. For how long, one can only guess.

Once I’d clocked off for lunch I met up with the new web client; a nice bloke who’s into the property game at home and abroad, and who is looking for cheap and simple websites to promote his businesses, with a view to developing and growing them as his businesses expand – with me as his long-term web guy. It’s a good contract with long-term prospects, and both sites are interesting ideas.

I had a meeting with my new boss after lunch - the one I start working for on Monday - another nice bloke with fresh ideas and lots of energy. Unfortunately, he’s asking the same questions we started asking 10 years ago. He’s about to discover how difficult it is to integrate our team into anything, despite the fact we do offer a valuable service. So instead of going round and round in wee circles as we have been doing, I now see that we’re really trapped in a very large circle that takes 10 years to get round. And as of Monday, we’ll be right back where we started.

I also discovered that due to space restrictions we won’t actually be moving anywhere. So on Monday, I’ll be in a new company division new department, with new colleagues and managers, and within a new budget code – but I’ll be doing the exact same work from the same old desk that I have been for the last few years. Don’t be surprised – I’m not.

The UEFA Cup final was played out tonight by Zenit St Petersburg and our own Scottish club, Rangers FC. The build up to this game has been massive; having a Scottish club in a major European final is a big thing here. The media have been all over it, with the Scottish tabloid section going into over-drive with their attempt at hyper-exciting coverage as if trying to convince the world that Rangers fans are all their for the carnival spirit, the fun and the frolics. The broadsheet section was trying to dumb down its reporting of the unfolding events in Manchester, yet still appealing to their normal audience. And the broadcasting brigade sent young fresh-faced reporters to cover the fans’ buiId-up, who wouldn’t know what the off-side rule was if it came up and kicked them in the arse. I wasn’t convinced by any of it.

The game ended up with Rangers getting beat 2-0, and although I missed the match through work, I tuned in just in time to see all the tears and hysterics, as if the 25,000 Rangers fans in the stadium had all simultaneously lost their entire families in a series of massive car crashes and fatal accidents.

“Rangers are our life”; “I love the club more than my family”; “I’d do anything for Rangers”. Get over it and get a life - it’s a fucking game!

While the blue nosed twats from Ibrox were wondering how life would ever be the same again, I was busy with other stuff.

I prepared the quotes and contracts for my new client and sent them off. I also updated my web design site to reflect a couple of new websites I completed for other clients recently. You can see the updated site here: Colin Galbraith Webdesign

I ran through a bunch of possible freelance gigs and sent off queries for 3 of them, so I have quite a few circulating at the moment. I’ve started putting myself forward for a few website gigs as well. I’ve done so much work locally that I reckon I can move outward with that side of the business too.

Footnote 1: Everything I said about Rangers applies to Celtic too.
Footnote 2: JT – GDR stands for Golds, Dreams, and Resolutions. It’s an annual guide that me and some of my writer pals do, which lists what we want to achieve within our writing life and personal life. We all handle it slightly differently, but I like to break it down into monthly targets then review them each month. The GDR idea can be used for anything, no matter what or who you are – it’s just a guide that asks you where you are, where you want to be, and how you get there.

My latest weekly article is now up at the Dog Blog. Please check it out.

Love Hurts, the sequel to Hunting Jack, is good to go. I’ve worked out enough of the plot to start writing it, and I quite like the idea that not all of it has been plotted. When I wrote Hunting Jack it was entirely done by the seat of my pants, and it was the characters that dictated mostly everything that happened. By plotting out that which must be plotted, while leaving the rest free for the characters, I’m able to ensure that all the unanswered questions and links into the first book are answered, while allowing an amount of creative freedom to happen as I write. It should be interesting, and of course it could all backfire if I get myself into an ungodly mess.

Also, I’ve written out character sheets for all the main characters in advance, as part of a refresher exercise, but also to prompt me to thinking about how I think they will develop into the second book. The novel is set a year after Hunting Jack, so that takes us to 1996. And now that I’ve begun work on the sequel, there is the natural question of: “what about a book about the event that was the basis for Hunting Jack in the first place?” I refer of course to the Glasgow Ice-Cream Wars of 1984 on which the entire thing is founded. Jackie was only 5 back then, and the whole thing about how he was whipped out of Glasgow to live with his uncle in London, his parents doing a runner for his own safety, how the decision was made to tell him his family were killed etc., could also all be written to complete the trilogy.

Tomorrow I begin.

First though, I had other things to take care of today. After all the usual admin stuff, I started work on the final (?) draft of Slick, making the changes I’ve decided on using the rest of the assembled crits I got back from my trusted readers. I also began recreating my GDR 2008 document in Word – a pain, but has to be done.

I also emailed one of my web clients to settle a bill, and spoke to a new client who is looking for a property website. I arranged to meet him tomorrow to discuss the project, but it looks like this has a green light to go.

And I also penned a new poem.

Lots happening now, and I’m buzzing with it all, especially as I’m on the cusp of another adventure with Jackie McCann. It’s been four years – I can hardly wait.

I had a good day on several fronts. I think I handled the last few days in the trough of a wave quite well; in the last it’s taken me much longer to get out of. But by following the process and understanding what I’m going through, I managed to tackle it without offending it, and so today I felt back to normal with an invigorated dose of energy thrown in.

I spent a lot of time completing the layout of RR issue 3. Next month I am publishing a feature on a local writer/artist so I’ve been working on this as well as altering how I lay out the rest of the prose. I’m having the usual problems picking a suitable front cover again – always the same – always the toughest part!

I caught up on 99% of my email – which I’ve been doing in stages – and update my invoice template for TLB based on new guidelines they sent me. I’m still waiting on work to come through this month, which is getting worrying because since the new editor came in I’ve had plenty of correspondence and information on the new guidelines, but no actual work. She seems very welcoming and friendly, so I might just drop a wee email to her tomorrow to see what the state of play is. I’m not overly worried because I’ve been here before with them. I hear nothing for 6 or 8 weeks then bam – a dozen assignments come in.

I’ve gone and lost the source document for my 2008 GDR. I still have the PDF, obviously, but no Word doc with which to update and export into PDF. I scanned my PC and retrieved an older version, but it requires a plug-in I don’t have so I can’t read it. I may have to create it from scratch, which is a total pain in the butt.

I checked all the job listings but there wasn’t anything in my range, and I sent off the last remaining contracts to the contributors for next month’s issue of the Ranfurly Review.

I had intended on completing my office work as well, but I heard through one of Laura’s pals that her dad was having problems with his PC. So I offered to help, and found myself in his home fixing his computer. To me this wasn’t a big deal, but to others it may be viewed as quite something extraordinary, mostly because of the label that has been assigned me since I arrived in the street.

For some reason, I seem to have become known as “the big scary guy”, which has always baffled me because I happen to think I’m a bit of a friendly chap when you get to know me. I just put it down to the east-west coast thing, because whenever I did talk to people they didn’t understand me, and when they did, they didn’t get my attempts at humour to lighten the conversation. It also turned out it was because of the way I walk and the fact I’m a skinhead (not a thug - big difference). Book - cover - judgement?

And so as time went on (I’ve lived here for 3 years now) I hardly spoke to anyone in the street, because most of the time, they ignored me. One can only try so much before getting fed up making the effort, but tonight I saw as a chance to actually talk to one of the neighbours and show them that actually, I’m a pretty decent bloke just trying to get on like the rest.

So I got his PC working and offered him some software and hardware he was lacking that can improve his system. He was most happy and I’m pretty sure I’ll be more welcomed once word spreads I’m not a monster.

I called a friend up who I’ve been meaning to call for ages. We both tend to not chat for a long time and then catch up, but tonight I was especially glad I finally got off my arse and picked up the phone. He’s not been in a good way for personal reasons, and when I was made aware of what had happened to him all I wanted to do was give him a giant hug.

He reminded me just how fragile life and everything that hangs it together is, and although he already knows this, if he’s reading this now I want him to know that I’m always here for him because he’s a valuable and much-loved mate. We’re going to get together for beers very soon.

It was about 11am before my FIL showed up so I managed to get a nice Sunday morning under my belt, free of hassle and noise. Gail was out the door before 8am to a special photography course on lighting, so I had an excellent breakfast of coffee and bagels with my wee girl while watching a cartoon. Then we got dressed and nipped out to the shops to get some fresh rolls and a newspaper.

Post 11am, and the loud banging had begun, but since I wanted to complete my organising today, it didn’t really affect me too much. Today I want to get everything – absolutely everything – in order, so that at the very latest by tomorrow morning I can start with a clean slate and fresh outlook on everything. Deadlines are important, but I think I’ve placed too many around my neck. Today is about shedding them.

During my morning email check I discovered a wonderful opportunity available at the Glasgow Subway - they are looking for a poet in residence! It’s not something I would be able to do at this stage in my life, but the idea is very exciting nonetheless. Click here for full details.

I sent off three queries for some interesting freelance gigs – my first serious set of queries for over a month.

And of course, I got through a tonne of cleaning and organising. All my drawers and shelves are now totally brand new and up to date, the room is looking good, and even the fish tanks got a spring clean. I threw out lots of garbage that I’d been clinging onto, and found some old photographs going right back to 1977! The only things outstanding are getting all the domestic paperwork up-to-date, as well as my research boxes and hard copy clip files. Other than that, the day went a long way to making me feel much more grounded and positive.

I stayed up late watching a film last night. It was so bad I can’t even remember what it was about now. Gail got home about 1am and spent a while telling me all about her day photographing a large wedding down in the borders.

It was another wonderfully sunny day to begin with, but by late afternoon we had thunder lightning overhead followed by some much-needed torrential rain.

Gail went on a recon mission to the grounds of a hotel near Portobello so I went with her just to get out and a change of scenery for a while. While she tested the light and possible locations for shooting the bride and groom in a couple of weeks, I just wandered around smelling the grass and taking in the large trees and overgrown hedges. It was very relaxing and helped to trigger a recharge in my desire to look out at the world instead of looking in. I think that’s why I’m so lacking just now.

The start of this year saw me get off to a flier and work my ass off in every respect, but this month and into the tail-end of last, I have begun to feel drained, un-enthusiatic, and tired with it all. Being in a new environment even for such a short time, moved my focus from what I have to do from my GDR plan, to something else. And that’s the key I think - I definitely need a re-start on a new project because I’ve been trying hard these last few weeks to tie up other projects, nothing new has been able to be fitted in.

Back at home I organised more paperwork and tomorrow I’ll finish it off, and I did do some work for a couple of website clients. I received a phone message (left on Friday!!) on my mobile voicemail. It was from a possible new web client wanting to talk about a website idea he has. I’ll call him back on Monday.

Details for sponsorship of this years PSH Poetry Contest were released, and I’ve committed myself to two different prizes this year. The first is for three personal prizes, each consisting of 1 signed copy of Fringe Fantastic and 1 e-book of Poolside Poetry. I also offered up a prize through the The Ranfurly Review, of a feature for the winner to appear in a future issue, which will also include an interview and maybe some artwork/photography.

For those who haven’t heard but are mildly interested, Our House the Musical goes on national tour this year and tickets are available to book now. The venues and dates are:

Birmingham Rep 29th May - 21st June
Stoke Regent Theatre 23rd - 28th June
Glasgow Theatre Royal 30th June - 5th July*
Edinburgh Playhouse 7th -12th July *
Bromley Churchill Theatre14th - 19th July
Bradford Alhambra Theatre 21st -26th July
Milton Keynes Theatre 1st - 6th September
New Wimbledon Theatre 8th -13th September
Salford The Lowry 15th -20th September
Sheffield Lyceum 23rd -27th September
Sunderland Empire 30th September - 4th October
Southampton The Mayflower 20th - 25th October

* Isn’t it typical, but for both Scottish weeks I’ll be unavailable due to my 17th Annual Blackpool trip and my family holiday to the greek Isles.

As with last week, and the morning after osteopath treatment, I could hardly move this morning. Moving into a position to get out of bed was hard, placing my feet on the ground and shifting my weight onto them was difficult, and moving one foot in front of the other to get around was absolute agony.

Today was pretty much a wasted day. I had the day off to provide school cover, so after a late lie in most of my day was spent with Laura when she returned from school. She didn’t want to do anything except play with her pals, though, so we never actually went anywhere.

I did manage to start tidying my office, but am really struggling to get going at the moment. I don’t know what’s wrong – think I may need to make a change and freshen something up somewhere – I just don’t know what.

There’s to be big changes in the day job. Yet again we (as a team) are being moved to another department in the eternal search to find our “best-fit” area where we can “maximise our potential”, allow us to “grow outside the box”, and “achieve strategic latitude while fine-tuning our synergy”.

For me, the move will mean a new building, a new line manager, a new department manager, and new team-mates. It will move us from the service line into the application management line, but also means I will be much nearer to Clark’s Bar compared to my current location – every cloud has a silver lining and all that.

I’m trying to be enthusiastic about it, but the bottom line is the job isn’t changing and we are being fed more lines about there being “huge potential for growth and opportunity”. I have heard that so many times in my ten years here, it will come as no surprise to any that my heart fails to flutter any longer. It’s a move, yes, but it’s the same old job doing the same old thing, so I’ll wait and see if it develops into anything more, but right now my focus is on my writing, not on repeated rhetoric from corporate rats.

I had my second trip to the osteopath this evening, which after my brief jog for the train on Tuesday night was most welcome. I wasn’t thinking that while I had an elbow cutting through my thigh, however, but when it was over, there was a certain amount of difference to be felt in the muscles. My leg was hot and sore when she had finished, and by the time I went to bed my leg was wholly sore, but progress is being made.

That’s all for today; I thought a short one was best after yesterday’s marathon entry.

When I first started out writing in 1998, it was a long time before I considered I was qualified enough to call myself a “writer”. It came with the publication of my first short story in May 2004 (Once a Borderer), but even after this success (minor to some, major for me), I still found it extremely hard to actually admit to being a writer in public. I use the word “admit” deliberately, because back then I felt, amongst other things, that nobody would take my claim to being a writer seriously.

I think it’s a mental line that all writer’s have to cross at some point in their lives; the question of what makes one person a “writer” and another a “wannabee”. I mean, what does it take to be a writer? Do you have to be paid, merely published, be writing full-time, or simply put pen to paper on a regular basis? It’s a struggle from day one, but eventually the line gets crossed, and certain realisations come to the fore in your own mind which help to answer them all. It’s an awesome feeling when someone asks, “what do you do?”, and you can confidently and proudly reply: “I’m a writer”.

But with that admission comes a new beast. In this weeks Writer’s Relief newsletter is an article called, Conversation With a Writer, which depicts exactly the kind of annoyances faced by all writers once they have crossed the mental line. I’ve reproduced the article here, because for anyone who isn’t a writer, this snippet of conversation says it all.

—
Conversation With A Writer
Courtesy of Writers Relief.

It’s hard enough to slog away at the craft of writing without having to explain yourself along the way. What have you written? Why haven’t I ever heard of you? So, you’re a real writer? If you’re a doctor, no one asks you if you’re a “real” doctor-why isn’t the same courtesy afforded to writers? Or how about the people who imply that they, too, could easily be a published author if only they had a wee bit more free time. It’s a frustrating career to explain at any rate. And if you recognize a version of the following conversation, you have our sympathy.

Oooh, you’re a writer? Have I ever heard of you?

Er…

Got any of your books at Barnes and Noble? Like Stephen King?

No, not yet.

Oh, so it’s just a hobby then?

Grrrrrr.

I used to write too; in High School.

Yeah, I used to scrawl graffiti on the bathroom walls too, but that doesn’t make me a writer.

Gosh, it’s so romantic to be a writer. Maybe someday I’ll write a book and get rich!

Yes, I’m sure you will. It’s virtually guaranteed.

Hey, you should send your stuff to a publisher!

Hey, I already thought of that, but thanks for the brilliant idea!

So, what do you write?

Oh, you know, those little warning labels on wart-removal packages. Oh, and the instructions on jars of wrinkle cream.

Where do you get your ideas?

I bid for them on eBay. Sometimes there’s a two-for-one special at the dollar store.

Hey, I know what you should write about! My cousin has this friend, you know, this real interesting guy who…

Sorry. Must go. The smack-your-face-against-a-wall store is having a sale today, and I wouldn’t want to miss it.
—

Click on the link to visit Writers Relief. Subscribe - they’re a good lot.

Anyway - onto other things - back in November when I bought my dad’s Christmas present (those tickets for Aussie Pink Floyd) I neglected to inform my sister, who then went and did the same thing but for the Glasgow leg of their European tour. So in the spirit of togetherness and family love, I took my sister’s spare ticket. And so yesterday afternoon I found myself back on the train to Glasgow to see Aussie Pink Floyd for the second time in two days. Given the quality of the set I witnessed two nights ago, I knew it was going to be awesome.

Today was another scorcher, so after arriving at Lindsay’s flat we paid a visit to the Clockwork Orange pub on Cathcart Road and had a nice dinner. We then took our drinks outside and sat in the beer garden for a couple of hours, shooting the (non-existent) breeze and having a wee bevvy.

No need for anything other than a t-shirt for the way to the gig, which is quite something considering Glasgow was under a hail of rain and thunder the same time last week. The gig itself was in the SECC armadillo theatre, which although has less seats than the Playhouse, has a much bigger stage.

The gig was as you wouls expect, awesome. They played the exact same set as two night’s previous, which suited me fine. The only main difference I could tell was the back screen was able to be displayed in full, and the presence of a giant inflatable pink kangaroo that bounced around on stage during One Of These Days, both due to there being no restrictions with stage size.

On the downside was the Glasgow audience, which normally I have nothing but admiration for. A Glasgow crowd really can make the difference between a good gig and an excellent one; take recent concerts I have been to in Aberdeen (Madness) and Edinburgh (Stiff Little Fingers). Both bands get a much more enthusiastic and fun audience when they play in Glasgow, but not last night, and it was all down to a tiny minority of morons.

The constant getting up and leaving for the bar by a group of about half a dozen pissed-up lads, who annoyed and disrupted the show for everyone in the front row left of the circle, didn’t really affect me, but the never-ending yelling over some of the quieter songs was just plain obnoxious and rude. All it told me was that they don’t have any idea what Pink Floyd is about, and have no sense of appreciation.

But it was after Great Gig in the Sky when one bloke shouted out, “Get yer tits out for the lads,” that the audience knew a line had been crossed. Not only was it totally out of place and utterly disrespectful, but it poured cold water over a powerful moment. It was disgusting, and I can only hope and pray that the female singer (who has more talent in her wee toe than all of those wankers put together), didn’t understand the broad accent that it was shouted in. Whoever he is, he’s just another of the wasters that seem to be plaguing Scotland on a whole these days.

That aside, it was an awesome gig. They put on such a strong and explosive final act, and with the auditorium being much more open than the Playhouse, the laser and light effects were able to be appreciated on a much larger scale. When it comes to audience appreciation in this instance, though, Edinburgh won hands down.

After the gig, we got a train home but stupidly, I ran to catch it only managing to bugger up my leg as I did so. Not a good move, because I spent most of today in absolute agony. Thank goodness I have my osteopath visit tomorrow, though she’s probably going to kill me for being so stupid. I can almost feel her elbows in my groin as punishment already.

Today was roasting hot yet again, which really does not sit with me at all. I know I spent the last few months complaining at the day job about how we need some warmth, but I wish they would let us open the windows now to cool down. Yeah - I know I have a cheek.

I was quite tired yesterday after only getting about five hours sleep. While Gail and Lindsay both had long lies to sleep off the effects of Saturday night, I was back out my bed five hours later when my father in law showed up with hammers and whistles; just what I needed that early on a Sunday morning.

Unable to make the breakfast I had planned for everyone, I took Laura up town instead to meet my parents off the Glasgow bus. We had lunch in a Princes Street café, then had a browse through Waterstones for a while, before going back to the house for the afternoon. Gail made a lovely beef stew and mashed potato dinner, which went down an absolute treat.

After some coffee came the main event; Australian Pink Floyd at the Playhouse with my wife and father- my Christmas gift to him. Lindsay dropped us off on London Road and we walked around to the Theatre Bar for a few drinks. The evening sunshine was glorious, and it was far warmer than I had been led to believe so I regretted my decision to take my jacket.

We had a few beers and chatted for a while – the first time I’ve been able to do so with my Old Man in a long while - then we headed into the theatre, and the front row of the circle. The auditorium was heating up rapidly as the people filed in because of the warm weather outside, and with all the lights the band use during a show I knew it was only going to get warmer.

This is the fourth time I’ve seen Australian Pink Floyd, and they just get keep getting better. The set they played last night was the best I’ve heard them do; concentrating on The Wall album, but dipping into other tracks from Division Bell, Dark Side of the Moon, Echoes, and Wish You Were Here.

The lighting and sound quality was absolutely fantastic, and as they belted out each carefully worked number after another with a spectacular light and laser display, it was impossible not to get totally caught up in it all. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house when one of the backing singers belted out the most emotional rendition of Great Gig In The Sky I’ve heard, but for me the best moment was at the very start of the second half, when they began with two of my favourites; Shine On You Crazy Diamond Pt.1 followed by Time – simply awesome.

Pink Floyd songs played live by this band – who are more than a mere tribute band – is amazing stuff. If you go to see them you will be moved emotionally when you hear Great Gig In The Sky, your hair will stand on end when you first hear In The Flesh, and you will be totally captivated when hear the simplicity of the power behind Wish You Were Here. But most of all, you will get your money’s worth and go away absolutely thrilled with their two and a half hour show.

But of course, what made the night most memorable for me was finally getting to take my dad along to see this band play. I always knew he would love them if he saw and heard them – and he did. Mission accomplished!

My second day without pain killers went well. I was a bit tired from the weekend, but the leg exercises I’ve been doing and re-training of my posture seem as if they might be working. I’m already wondering if this Thursday will be my last visit to the osteopath. If not, I can’t see me needing any more than three weeks treatment at this rate.

I spent my evening in the garden with the rabbits, writing ideas and notes into my notepad. It was simply too hot to work in my office. The temperature of my tropical tank is alarmingly high, which I’ll have to keep an eye on. I really need a shade for my room to keep the sun out during the day.

I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately; who I am, my place in it, whether anything I do or write will make a difference to anyone but me. Tough questions come with hard answers that are sometimes unavoidable. I think I need a wee change because I’ve lost my impetus over the last couple of weeks. I need to make a few changes just for the sake of it – give things a shake – but on a more fundamental level, I started writing some self-analytical poetry this evening, in an effort to explore the questions I asked at the start of this paragraph.

My leg’s slowly getting better, though it was hard to judge the pain on Friday morning, the day after my first session with the osteopath. All across my abdomen, my groin, and down my right leg felt as though someone had jumped up and down on my body, but now, as I try to remind myself every minute how I should be standing, sitting, or walking properly, I can tell a difference is being made.

I had to take pain killers on Friday, not as a matter of course like I had been advised, but to put en end to the crippling pain. The large bright orange tablets only made me feel nauseous to the point I had to lie down and sleep some of it off after I got home from work. Today, though (Sunday), I stayed off them entirely to gauge just how much my leg had improved, but also because I felt as though I could get away without them. Plus I wanted a drink in the evening and didn’t want to them to conflict.

I’m fed up taking the pills since the effect on me has not been a good one; they’ve been killing the pain alright, but they’ve left me feeling lethargic and sick. The result of this has been a severe lack of enthusiasm to even get my mind around to my work, which is my main worry. But today was good; yes there was pain, but nowhere near as severe as what it has been lately.

Saturday was a washout because of it though. I just couldn’t summon the energy or desire to do anything, and all the things I wanted to have got done by the end of the week remained undone.

My sister, Lindsay, had a night out in Edinburgh so she was through to stay over night, and with Gail also out pitching for work in the evening, I was on my own to watch the house. I took Lindsay up to where she was meeting her friends; a luxurious modern building near the Kings Theatre overlooking the canal. We couldn’t find it at first, but then I heard the noise of some girls laughing and as I walked around the corner I saw a couple of stunning ladies standing on a balcony in little black dresses drinking champers. It was like a scene from Footballers’ Wives!

I left Lindsay to it then headed home, and finally got my dinner around half past nine. I watched a couple of DVDs – the remake of War of the Worlds (preferred the original), and American Pie 2 – which took me until 2am when Gail arrived back with one of her pals, followed by Lindsay an hour later. I had said I would stay up for her to make sure she got home safe, and I was shattered by the time she got in.