I think I am having a second adolescence.

I don't know if it is because I turn 40 in a month but well, I think I am really trying too hard at being a teenager. Today for instance, if you were in Glasgow Airport, you would find me, sitting at Starbucks with my over-priced silly coffee (3 quid for a coffee! Jesus, Mary, Joseph, that little donkey and half a village but this civilisation needs to decline!), headphones on, music blaring, doing my maths homework. Yes, I appear to have woken up to the fact that I need to sit my gcse's in a couple months time and yes, I should do some revision. Oh and did I mention that I would much rather contemplate the concept of 18 year old boys then work on solving questions involving triangle numbers? I think it is a major case of trying to pretend I am not grown up.

At other moments these last few weeks, I thought I was coming to terms that I have become a sad adult. It all boils down to music. It started last week with The Cure's 'In Between Days' came on my player and in an instant I was back at LuValle commons, in the sun, waiting to meet Tone for lunch. Its lead to a frenzy of on-line music buying. Not that I have managed to fill the player up. I have a Rio. I got a 1GB sound card for Christmas and I still haven't filled the thing. I don't seem to find 'Trane could commuting music (though I do need to add more Billie to it).

So, I look at the state of my player and I can't tell if I am trying to pretend to be with it or if I am just trapped in my past. On the current trends, I do have my Muse, Magic Numbers, Arctic Monkeys, Killers and Strokes (I have an abiding fantasy about meeting up with Brandon Flowers in a parking lot in Vegas. But then I also have a fantasy about meeting Dave Grohl in the Coral Reef Lounge too). But on the whoel stuck in the 80's I have a great deal of fun with Camoe, Elvis 'The King' Costello, Joe Jackson, X, B-52's (my favorite band from Athens GA, as if Michael Stipe has ever produced such danceable music as 'Your Own Private Idaho). I am not sure where I stick Green Day or The Futureheads (particularly Hounds of Love), but at least I have a spring in my step though I do not believe I will be getting an A* in that exam.

And I screwed up The Guardian Soduku.

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Am I just completely self-indulgent?
I don’t buy the whole horoscope/zodiacal thing (I can just imagine the reaction of H the physicist if I did) but I do sometimes wonder if I am really, deep-down inside just a complete taurean (yes that means I have a birthday soon. Its for 40. I don’t know how I got so old). I mean my life just seems to be increasingly centred on pleasure. My everyday activities are changes to be more pleasurable. I seem to spend money on things like nicer bottles of wine, higher thread count sheets, tropical holidays.
For example, take the pens I use. I am picky about the pens. I only use certain pens. I figure writing should be a pleasurable activity and if that means I have to buy my own pens at work, so be it. And actually this is what happens. Surely if I was a rational person I would just write with a pen? Right?

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So people who could be curious can see what my commute in the morning takes is!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/imageglenbourne/105842944/in/pool-northernireland/

I know if I was smart I would be able to just show the image but I can't. Anyway, that is the Whitehead train station. I don't cross thr bridge. Unless I was going to the yacht club for a drink. Not that I darken their door much since the boat I was learning to sail on capsized (turned turtle) and I worried about the cold water, the small life jacket, the jellyfish. Abandoned sailing lessons soon after that. Nice people though.

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I am not the only one who tortures the Blessing
It was film club this week. We saw Good Night and Good Luck. People liked it more than Munich but I am not sure I agree. There may have to be an emergency film club outing to Grizzly Man because I work with someone obsessed with bears. There was a good story in yesterday's LA Times about bears in Monrovia (hanging out in pools, eating avacados) but I am too lazy to link with it. Anyway, at the same time the H made pancakes with the Blessing. Who wouldn't eat them. But he also spoke to her about Lent and maybe she should give something up. He suggested tomato ketchup. Which upset her. She pointed out she loved ketchup and well couldn't she give up her scooter for 40 days. Yeah, he's a good presbyterian.

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Let's go poke the skeleton in the closet (or doing things that make my mother(s) shudder)
I don't know who my birth father is so I can't even have this experience. If anyone has any good advice on how to find out who a birth father is, when the birth mother says she can't remember the name and well that the name isn't on my birth certificate, not that I have seen my birth certificate, why would I need to see that. And I don't know if I need to know the person. But I do wonder if there are a bunch of me's out there in the world. But I don't know how to find out.

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