1. Yesterday made a list of summer activities that me and the boys can do. It's a bit of a juggling act, having children of such different ages. So some will be with Olly alone and some will be with Olly and Alfie. Sam doesn't need organising anymore. Actually, he needs sorting out more than the other two, but that's more to do with him being all Greta Garbo. And an afternoon crafting at the Tate is not the same as day dreaming about the French girls from our holiday.......
2. I have a couple of personal goals that I have set myself. They have absolutely nothing to do with weight loss or trying to make my hair more thick and lustrous. I have started to make peace with my hair, and I will never be a Keira Knightly waif. So I'm moving on, fat knees and all. Trying to anyway!
3. I patted myself on the back for getting myself to the GP and having one of those chats. It led to blood tests for thyroid - both over and under. The vanitarian* inside me yelled "make it over active, I'll not need to order that tapeworm over the Internet!" (Even when I'm in the pits, I still question whether my bum looks big). And then the 'M' word was proposed. Me? Menopausal? I'm not old enough for that yet, surely? But it looks like it's a possibility, and may explain some physical symptoms, and some emotional ones too.
I forget that I'm forty three. Most days I act like I'm still sixteen. Age creeps up on you like a very stealthy Scholl sandal. But I can look back at my disaffected youth without wanting to return. There is only one thing I really miss, and that's all the dancing. God how I love to dance. I loved clubbing - not for the alcohol, not for the boys - for the dance floor. I would dance all night. I didn't need any performance enhancements to keep going. I loved the feeling it gave you. I would step onto the dance floor, close my eyes and that was it. I miss dancing.
|circa 1992, Leeds University. Before the hipster jean......|
Have a lovely weekend.