I'm in philosophical mood, which is reflected in June's Observer piece. Perhaps it was the effect of St Paul, or - less likely - the wisdom/acceptance of what cannot be changed, that (perhaps) comes with turning 40, but I feel happier being on my own than I did when I first contacted The Observer in November last year.
If I'm honest, I'm not entirely sure where a relationship would fit into my life at the moment. I feel fulfilled in many ways: the twins are easier, and I'm beginning to enjoy their company more; work is quieter and will probably continue to be so; and I'm in my element producing and performing theatre, and creating a beautiful garden.
When I picture having someone to come home to, or having someone come home to me, I don't get the sense of comfort I used to get. In fact, I shudder slightly to think of how it would mean that I would have to deal with someone else's habits and mess when I've only just come to accept dealing with that of the twins. There would be someone to scrutinise my own habits and mess in a way that two five-year-olds are incapable. Sure, it would be nice to have someone to curl up in bed with, but the way I live right now I get to decide when - or whether - anyone sees me grumpy and dishevelled first thing in the morning. I get to choose what programmes to watch at night, and what to eat for dinner. Again, it would be great to be cooked for, and to have someone to appreciate my attempts at food preparation, but the price to be paid seems too high at the moment, and the difficulty of finding someone special enough to share my life too offputting to even bother to look. Have I given up searching? No, but having given up on my cherished desire to have a baby with the love of my life - a mythical being, it would appear - I'm in no hurry to settle for second best.
Incidentally, did you know that philos is the Greek word for friend or lover? I looked up the origin of the word philosophy thinking it had something to do with Greek pastry. Ah, food, it never lets you down...
