Isn’t it funny how many ages you can feel in a day, let alone a week?
When I’m at work I feel grown up and responsible, I know people rely on me, and children depend on me. I’m organised and hardworking and all that good stuff. In other areas of life, I feel a completely different age, if not a different person. When I’m on the phone with Siobhan, or on msn with Christy or Lou, or drinking wine and singing showtunes with Hannah, I feel like I’ve regressed ten years and I’m seventeen again. When I sing properly, I feel a million ages all at once, young but old, strange but familiar. When I’m goofing around with Mlle Wilson I feel young and silly and foolish, a teenager again, full of chat and hope and giggles and sweeping statements.
When I’m cuddling Bryony Boo, her four month old face painted with a smile, big beautiful eyes taking in the world, I feel old. Her newness is intoxicating! When I’m curled up chatting with the boy I like, I feel young and vunerable and safe. All at once. When I blog sometimes I feel old and wise (even though I’m not wise), looking back on the years past, dreaming of the years to come, remembering faces and feelings and friends. When I look around my flat at the books and postcards and piles and disarray I feel like a student again (this feeling is further compounded when I choose to fish a teabag out using a fork, rather than washing up a spoon!). When I do a decent workout I feel young somehow, feeling as my body changes, growing stronger as the months pass. When I curl up to go to bed I feel like a child again, the smell of lotion and the coolness of the pillow lulling me off into the immortality of dreams…