Sunday, September 5, 2010
Back In My Head
Sometimes my head is not a comfy place to be. I was all set for a fantastic blogaroo tonight in anticipation of a week of excellent gigs coming up but I've just had a small panic attack driving home from Somerset and the world is slightly out of skew. So apologies now if my grammar and general through track waiver in this here diary entry!
Had a beautiful weekend back in the shire. One of my favourite things about going back recently has to be my little brother. Out of my 3 siblings he is the only boy and he is also the youngest; this makes him a very interesting thing to observe as he gets older. I went through a phase of coming home and looking as his funny little form and worrying a bit that one day he would be taller than me and able to beat me up. I went home this weekend and my scrawny little rag of a brother is now a hench thug who, at 9 years younger me, is a good 4 inches taller and, it turns out, capable of pinning me to the living room rug for hours on end.
He also has a girlfriend that he refuses to introduce to me on the basis that he doesn't trust me not to mock her...he may have a point there. But I'm sure she's lovely and I wouldn't say anything too mean, at least until I'd worked out her boundaries for banter anyway.
By far my favourite thing about him at the moment is that fact that his voice is breaking. It is insanely fun. All of a sudden he's lost control of his vocal range completely and it's brilliant. Having lost all the higher ground on anything I might have been able to do to him when I could physically over power him I am clinging to the superior knowledge that I'm totally certain what pitch my next sentence will be in.
I've taken to asking him surprise stuff and then seeing exactly how high I can get his voice to go before he's comfortable again and the pitch grumbles back down to this new found low. Utterly stupendous. It's a bit freaky for me because he is my little guy and he is slowly turning into an adult. He had a haircut recently and has gone from looking like a sincerely grubby boy to a tanned teenager. Perturbing.
Does this mean I'm also getting old? Well, no. Because obviously I go home at weekends and fight him and mock puberty. Maybe I should grow up? Er, no. Because I always want to be able to go home and fight him and mock puberty.
So what if being this immature is holding me back from holding down a steady relationship or putting my heart and soul into a job, or buying a house or pushing my life in a general direction. So what. I get to eat gummi bears in a series of interesting ways, talk to my car and make interesting things out of napkins when I should be sitting quietly in a restaurant. So deal with it world. Maybe I am neurotic and mental and slightly too unbalanced to always understand totally but at least I am the world's best older sister. In my opinion. Probably not my brother's.