Back in the Ivory Tower

I am back at Real Work, up high in my Ivory Tower. I have much to say, but I don’t know where to start. It’s been a whirly-gig couple of days with some big thoughts washing about in my head, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, making me dizzy and tired.

I swing from those pits of despair where it all just seems too much and I can’t be bothered to joy, like a bipolar patient who has thrown their medication down the toilet. I am eternally grateful that I’m not bipolar. I’m not, am I? Snigger. No, life is just a bit rough sometimes.

I miss the baby boys, my nephews. I was awake this morning at 5am. This was not unusual during my holiday either. They wake early, those who are only 17-months old. From the time they wake it is a journey filled with fascination, peek-a-boo, emotions that change with the slightest breeze – a bit like their aunt? And those giggles I mentioned before. And squeals. Literally. Squeals of delight.

I was amazed, once again, by my sister and her partner, N. So much controversy involved in having two mothers but, yet, there it is, in your face… a parental unit that really works. I’m not saying heterosexual parental units don’t work. Some do. Just as some homosexual ones do too. These two make an incredible team and those boys are content and happy and growing and learning and loved. Oh, they bicker, they get tetchy (both parents and mini’s) but, at the end of each day, when the boys go down to sleep, they sit together on the couch and are still as much in love. Something to aspire to.

But now they’re all back in The Big Smoke and I am up in the Ivory Tower and I’m trying my hardest to grin and bear/bare it. More thoughts later, perhaps?