I’m not a hamster, what the heck are you even on about? I’m a dormouse.
Here I am, curled up inside my madly hatted teapot, snoozing, snoozing, snoozing. And nothing else.
Nope. Not a darned thing. Except cake. Cake has happened. And sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
Oh and going to the lavatory. That’s always a good idea unless you want to snooze in your own wee wee. Which I don’t and neither does anybody who isn’t fucking weird in the brainbox.
Sleep. Cake. Wee = dormouse. It does, it bloody does.
He’s not a real…you know where that’s going
I’m small. I’m not very furry. I do not have rodent-like teeth (or indeed many of my own actual teeth due to a life spent addicted to first amphetamines and then, when I grew up, sugar). And yet I am now practically nocturnal.
I’m a stupid twat and I’m ok. I’m awake all night and asleep most of the day.
(Sing that bit. Go on, SING IT!)
How I love to trundle about on my little wheel. Pause to ponder the complexities of sunflower seeds, take a little sip from my water bottle then back on the wheel. Or is that hamsters?
(Please note, illiterate dickheads, the word ‘hamster’ does not and never has had a fucking p in it. Jeez, how do you manage to be away for the whole of reading at school?)
No, there isn’t anything worthy I’d like to say today, actually. S’my blog, I’ll post what I cocking well like.
You can’t see my face and if you could you wouldn’t want to. It’s a grumpy face, a scared face. My back muscles continue to be a source of mucho paino, compromising my breathing and making even the simplest of movements an exhausting test of endurance and will.
I summoned up every ounce of my will earlier to crawl to the store and buy some fatten my face substances. Well done me. Now I’m exhausted and back in a world of ouch. It’s really boring, it’s becoming quite frightening.
I’ve had spells like this in the past and they will doubtless come again but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to cope with prolonged periods of being incapacitated. I just wish I could roll back time to when I was a small boy and be tucked up in bed by my mum with some hot soup for nourishment. I can make my own soup and tuck myself in but that’s besides the point: illness and pain can infantilise a man so he just wants his momma.
When I stop being a baby man I will hopefully regrow my cojones and rejoin the wider world. Until then I shall hide in my apartment feeling fairly sorry for myself and epitomising the phrase ‘right fucking fed up’.
Chewie, we’re home
When does being low because my stupid health is being stupid in stupid ways become depression? I never quite know where the line is and usually stumble over it before I’ve realised and then have to deal with depression as well as stupid health.
It feels like that line is quite near but whether it lies behind me or ahead of me I cannot yet say. I’m used to considering myself reasonably useless when it comes to, you know, life and stuff, but there is a difference between considering myself useless and the more active self-loathing that depression can usher in.
Looks in imaginary mirror. Thinks face is sort of ok. Assumes self-loathing has not yet kicked in.
I was a human being once. I did human things. I saw friends, I went places. Recently those moments feel so fleeting and I wonder if it is an avatar version of me experiencing those rare human moments and sending them back as compressed data straight into my brain place.
Deckard can’t be a replicant, by the way, if he’s in the new film. Or can he? Anyway, this is the point at which I say “I want more life, fucker!” and leave you to draw your own conclusions as to my vulgarity, obsession with science fiction movies and the state of my mental health.
My back hurts. Like uber hurts. Like twisty all to fuckup hurts. Like Hertz van rental. No, not like that. They don’t pay me to advertise them so they can suck it.
What is it we expect people to suck when we say they can suck it? Their own anus? That would really hurt one’s back. That’s not how I hurt mine, by the way. This is the inevitable consequence of respiratory crap causing coughing causing overworking of the muscles causing twisty ouch fuck shit that hurts. Van rental.
I don’t need to rent a van, I’m just a dick.
I did go out to pick up meds and grab some shopping. It hurled down with rain which at least took my mind off how hurty my back is long enough for me to do what I needed to do and get home.
And now bed. I want someone to invent a hoverbed so I can never leave my duvet but still go out and see stuff now and then. Scientists apply here. Van rental companies, go suck it.
They knocked this cinema down years ago. Wankers.
I done some stuff today. I was gonna not do some stuff on account of being a lazy shitbag what is still all fatigued from stupid health crap but in the end I did done stuff and it was good. Although now I’m fatigued. More so.
A friend from long ago who has lived in Michigan for many years ended up on the wrong train from Paddington and instead of getting off in Taunton as expected was propelled by rail to Exeter. So he contacted me via the book of faces and asked if I might drive him upcountry as he’d been on the go for more hours than he could count because of the jetlag from all the hours he couldn’t count.
While waiting for him to arrive I filled out a form the government recently sent me trying to find reasons not to continue giving me Personal Independence Payments by asking sneaky questions about whether my incurable, degenerative health conditions have somehow miraculously improved. In the box for additional information I said I found it insensitive and unrealistic for them to expect incurable issues to go away as if by magic. They’ll probably stop my money for being a troublemaker and a sarcastic twat now.
Then the train arrived and we drove up to Somerset, grabbed some lunch, and did a few other things my friend needed to sort out before I felt the call of my regular medications and had to come home. He’s over for a month, not for a jolly as such but because his dad is terminally ill, so we’ll catch up again over the next few weeks.
The town he and I both grew up in is a shadowy fuckstick of a place now. We maybe had the best of it during our teens and twenties when there were crazies and kooks everywhere. Now it’s a soulless place that even on sunny days like today still gives me a sense of gloom. I like Exeter, it feels like it’s alive even when things are reasonably quiet during non-studenty times.
And I like lying down after becoming fatigued. Sleepy night bye byes for bozo.
Posted in Finance, friendship, health, travel
Tagged Exeter, friendship, Michigan, Paddington Station, Paul Simon, Somerset, Taunton, travel
Yesterday was good. I drove my son and I up to spend some time with my mum just ahead of my boy heading for Manchester to begin his Master’s degree. It’s become harder in recent years to get us all together because I’ve got unreliable health stuff and my son is a young man in his prime with a busy life. Days like Saturday are precious to me, then, and hopefully to them too.
We chatted and we ate, just family time but these are the times I treasure the most. Having cooked myself a roast dinner on Friday evening, a cooked meal in the middle of the day on Saturday was almost more than my wee stomach could cope with but I somehow tucked it all away, knowing I could come home and roll around in my bed groaning later.
No, not because I would be playing with myself. Honestly, some of you have minds in the gutter. I’m talking about my family here.
Where was I? Oh yes, full of food and contented. So contented that today I’ve been mostly asleep. The driving was okay yesterday but just after a flare-up it’s one of the things that can wipe me out a bit, the need for such prolonged concentration plus the adrenal shocks of idiot drivers sapping energy.
So I’ve not really seen Sunday other than to make a drink here and there and to wonder why my dreams have been full of old friends in strange houses. This has been a nice weekend. Move along if you wanted something more adventurous. Stick around if family means a lot to you too.
Posted in academia, Family, food, health, Life, Transport, travel
Tagged academia, adrenaline, driving, Family, food, health, Manchester, Master's degree, mother, Sleep, son, study