So if I was going to be writing an autobiography anytime soon I think I’d call it I was a teenage twenty-something. I’ve come increasingly aware that I’m an awful adult. I’m just useless at it. When I meet people I think are sexy and interesting and fun I become a relentless teenager – my voice bounces up two octaves, I say dumb dumb things (if I can think of anything at all to say) and I immediately forget all the things that I’m proud of that I’ve accomplished and instead concentrate on how incredible and astonishing the other person is. You’re supposed to get over this stuff when you’re fifteen or something…
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