I have BB depression. No, it’s nothing to do with Big Brother – which I decided after 10 seasons is totally crap and a waste of time. It’s the Bill Bryson depression bought on because I failed at winning a competition to meet and greet him. I can’t believe I convinced myself I would win. Such a huge let down!!!!
I normally don’t gamble and I think that this is a good example of why I should never be allowed to gamble – or enter a competition – AGAIN!!
I reckon I would be one of those people who spend $20 every week for 50 years trying to win the lotto only to end up sobbing over a lotto ticket every Saturday night. Or become completely deflated when I didn’t win the trip to Disneyland after sending in 6 barcodes from tinned baked beans.
I honestly don’t understand why I wasn’t chosen to win. The terms and conditions of the ‘Meet and Greet Bill Bryson’ competition clearly stated that it would not be a random draw and that the winner would be judged on originality and creativity.
My first thought was to declare myself (in 25 words or less) to be Bill Bryson’s biggest fan. Not too much of a stretch considering I HAVE written him fan mail, give his books as gifts to everyone, own every single book he has ever written and even have 3 copies of my favourite one of his books ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything’!! Then, just to reaffirm myself as his biggest fan I had at least 20 family and friends also enter the competition and declare (in 25 words or less) that they would take me as their date to the Bill Bryson Meet and Greet. I got them to use my full name – Bianca Davis. I thought that this may help ease the judges minds that I wasn’t a crazy psychopath. I had 20 people vouching that they would love to spend an evening with me!!
My second thought was that maybe that approach was a bit of an overkill. Never one to back down I enlisted more friends, and even some inlaws, to enter and composed for them witty, original and creative entries – which was not easy to do given you could only use 25 words. I concocted a sentence about why my friend should win and ONLY used words and phrases from the titles of Bill Bryson’s books. My very clever friend entered a limerick saying why she should win. In my mind I thought it was absolutely impossible, given the calibre of entries, for one of them NOT TO BE CHOSEN.
So you can understand my depression.
I want to cry (actually I have). But then I’m also sad for being so distraught over such a trivial matter.
HE WAS ON MY LIST!!!! Before your mind goes to the gutter he isn’t on THAT list. Just my list of people I want to meet before I die. The others include Eminem, The Dalai Lama, Angelina Jolie-Pitt, and the Queen. Recently I’ve been considering adding Ian Somerhalder to that list but am still undecided.
Nothing else on my list of things to do before I die has been achieved.
- I did not go to the Olympics as a figure skater
- I have never sung onstage with a band
- I have not written a book (although I have started to write about 6 and have one almost completed in my head)
- I am not even close to meeting any of the above mentioned people
- I have not been to the pyramids
- I chickened out of getting a tattoo
- Never dyed my hair blonde
- And I haven’t had the pleasure of spending a week in a Buddhist retreat.
Meeting Bill Bryson was going to be the first thing crossed off. I was so close to winning (in my mind) I could almost hear his distant chuckles as he read my witty entries (not that he was the judge – because of COURSE he would have picked me – but in my mind the event management people showed him my entries just because of their fantastic and creative originality).
Why do I want to meet him so bad?!? Besides the fact that everything else on my list has been chucked in the ‘too hard basket’, I really think we would get along like a house on fire!! I can imagine our hilarious, intelligent conversation and I envision myself doing something completely dumb, but wildly funny, which he then writes about in his next book – which he decides should be all about housewives – and uses me as a source of inspiration.
I think I have the opposite of transference. Transference (if I remember correctly) is what my friend explained to me I had when I told her all about how I wanted to make friends with Rohan’s psychologist and my GP. I thought they were so lovely and friendly and was considering taking the relationship to the next level (play date) but didn’t realise that there was no relationship. I loved them because I could talk to them about myself for ages and they would ask all sorts of interesting questions. I in turn, knew nothing about them EXCEPT for the fact that they liked to get me to talk about myself – and lets face it, who doesn’t like to talk about themselves?!?! *this blog is evidence of my love of talking about myself.
It all turned out ok without me crossing any boundaries. My GP made me have a pap smear, which made me not want to be her friend anymore and Rohan’s psychologist told me that we could be friends because I wasn’t her patient. (This came about after a very awkward and embarrassing conversation after I accidentally told her we couldn’t be friends because of transference)
Anyway, back on topic. I think I have the reverse of transference. I know everything about Bill Bryson from all the hours I have spent pouring over his books. He has enlightened me, entertained me, kept me company on the loo, provided Ben with an endless stream of ‘easy’ presents to buy me that don’t require much thought and given me a tiny bit of escapism in an otherwise completely chaotic life. Since I know all about him I think it’s only fair that he know a little about me. Which is why I wrote him a fan letter some years ago inviting him to dinner next time he is in Australia. He wrote back!!! And while he didn’t accept my invitation he didn’t decline it either. As my mother will exasperatedly tell everyone, I take anything other than a ‘NO’ to be a yes. If you say to me ‘maybe’ or ‘we’ll see’ I will start jumping for joy.
So here I am, sitting at the computer hoping that letting my depression flow from my fingers into this blog will give me some sense of closure, or acceptance that it just wasn’t meant to be. I was going to buy a premium ticket to his talk… but now I think I’ll just buy a pleb ticket and sit up the back. I don’t want to disturb all of the other fans, who paid $180 for a premium seat, with my constant blubbering during his talk. Not even Bill Bryson’s hilarious sense of humour will be able to make up for the fact that I was *so close* to crossing off something on my list and meeting my idol.
I bloody well should have focused my efforts on bumping into Angelina Jolie when she lived at Upper Coomera, or brushed up on my non-existent ice-skating skills.
This hasn’t worked. I am still #totallybummed
I might have to go work on plan B to cheer myself up which involves ice-cream, nutella and episodes of Maury Pocovich.