Summer is upon us. After weeks of dreary, non-committal weather, we are having one supple day after another of Apollinian bliss here in London.
And like a sun-baked lizard, I seem to have come alive.
I won’t go into the details of this new life force, only that it upsets the equilibrium that has so far dominated my day-to-day business. A few bike rides in the morning and there go my serotonin levels, climbing like a determined spider, sending me into a grinning spin.
Truth be told, it’s not the cycling that has me gurning stupidly. I’ve developed an unseemly interest in a colleague – that will go nowhere, I hasten to add – but that keeps me entertained for the hours I spend at work.
Call it a distraction, or simply letting go and doing what makes me smile (as one of my dear friends has suggested I do). I feel ridiculous, potty, gormless. In spite of myself, I find myself edging closer to whatever it is, hooked on this rush of serotonin.
Of course it will pass. These things always do.
But it doesn’t seem to make a difference to the wild thing in me (the thing that ignores all sense – you know the one). I am so not impressed with my behaviour.
What happened to the sensible, staid person I’ve been for the last few years? What happened to self-discipline and self-denial (for me, both vital sources of creativity)?
This whole thing can only end badly. I predict calamity and embarrassment and erasure. I predict everything that can and probably will go wrong. I know these things, but the wild thing in me dismisses them all right now.
Blame it on years of loneliness and neglect.
I blame the sun.