Another me, another me.

Every so often I get hung up on who I am and who I have been.

We had a lecture with an author called Nuala Casey today and she spoke about past selves, and what happens to them when you aren't that person anymore.

I've just done a massive sweep of this blog to clear it up for human consumption and I've rediscovered many versions of myself.

There's Nicole circa 2006 who was scared to so much as wear her hair up in case someone made a comment about it. I'm not her.

There's the one from 2008 who was so scarily hung up on a guy that looking back on it makes me slightly concerned. Not her either.

There's 2009, choked up with depression, school drop out and worker bee.

There's the one who went to college and shopped at Primark all the time I tried to do the girly thing and failed miserably.

There's the me who went to university to study live events production and was so sure she was in the right place, doing the right thing. And then she took a sharp turn and ended up in 2015 starting all over again.

Who am I now? I was this person who speaks way too languages and travels over to Norway all the time, but I haven't been in months. How can I be the same person who tours with a band seeing and doing so many crazy amazing things when I'm sat in a lecture on metaphysical poetry at 9am? How can I be the one programming lighting consoles and hauling cables and microphone stands around when I'm sat writing a poem?

These don't feel like the same people.

And then there's the people I knew back then. I feel like I should know them and I don't, and I don't know how to be who I was so I can know them again.

I suppose it's the realest example of time marching on, but it still caught me out today. Where are the ones I was? I'm not them.