I was consumed with guilt and regret last night after I wrote my blog.
Not straight away, though, it took a while to manifest. There I was sitting doing something else that had nothing to do with anything and boom, it just hit me.
I wrote yesterday’s blog, as I often do, with the body first and the title after. If you get updates as to when these things go live you’ll probably have realised that because every now and again I have an itchy trigger finger and post the blog before I’ve written a title. I do it this way because I don’t really know what’s going to happen when I put finger to keyboard or, even if I know where I’m starting, I rarely – if ever – know where it will end. I might come up with something, mid-blog, that sends it in an entirely different direction.
So yesterday was about Peppa and making the bed. Or how you can’t because every time you try to there’s a cat on it. See also laptops, books, magazines, shopping lists, notepads… the list goes on and on, and it will always have a cat on it.
So I wrote it and I had not title. I sat and tried to think of something.
In the end I went with The Truth About Cats And Duvets.
A play, I decided, on the film title “The Truth About Cats And Dogs”.
And then as I say, later on that same evening, my brain just went, “Hey, why didn’t you call ‘The Truth About Cats And Togs’ because duvets are rated by the tog system?”
And I died a little inside.
I wanted to boot up my laptop and re-do the title. I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide away from the fact that I had missed an obvious, and genius, pun. My brain was just revelling in the brilliance of it all, enjoying the fact that it had essentially ruined my evening by belatedly coming up trumps with something.
I put it down to the machinations of the inconsistent brain chemistry – not my ability to come up with the pun in the first place, or second place, but the fact that having then come up with it I felt such a crashing wave of misery at having not used it. The brain chemistry gremlins, mixing their concoctions, had added just a little too much self-doubt and loathing to the mix last night, I think. They could have just left me be. They could have let me think of it, laugh about it and move on. They have done that in the past – I think of something far funnier than what I have already sent into the ether and I just move past it.
Not last night though.