Despite walky, countrysidey, busy doing stuff much of the afternoon yesterday my stupid body still decided not to let me sleep until dawn chorus and beyond. Way beyond, actually. Stupid body. Or brain. Or both. I blame Brexit.
I’m irritable today as a consequence of noteneoughfuckingsleep. Of course that’s a real word. I’m too irritable for doubt today. Irritable and slightly aimless until later when I hope to be spending a little time with my son before he goes back up to Oxford for his final term there. The three years have gone pretty quickly from my perspective, maybe less so from his as these crucial and formative university experiences can bring so many changes and new ideas, so many new people. My university years had a huge impact on me and I was already an alleged adult returning to education as a mature student. Going at the ‘right’ time is one of the few genuine rites of passage British culture still offers.
It’s an uncertain world, as it can often be, but I’m hopeful that my son’s experiences and His connection to some of the people he has met during his undergraduate years will provide a solid footing for him, whatever he goes on to do in the future. At his age I was much less grounded, far more wayward and definitely less e optional mature. I took madcap risks and had bonkers adventures and have a ton of memories and stories to tell. I do realise, however, that I was fortunate to have survived some of my more extreme escapades mostly untraumatised.
It’s not that I’m necessarily any more sensible now but the needs of a malfunctioning body mean I have to look at the bigger picture more often, have to consider the consequences of some potential decisions in advance. That’s not a bad thing I guess. It’s kept me alive into my fifties. Unless I get hit by a bus in a minute. That can happen. Buses are always popping up on the stairs in cafes or people’s houses.