Knickers

IMG_2664Having to do laundry is god’s way of reminding us that we don’t like most of our undergarments. I like most of my socks, though. Aside from heating up leftovers for lunch, washing clothing and putting it on the line is the only genuine activity I have bothered to engage with today. I may not have spoken out loud unless I said things to myself in my sleep. Things like, “Mmm, sleep is great.” or “Stop dribbling in your own shoulder, Steve.”

I decided after writing that paragraph to say something out loud. Apparently when reaching for spontaneous words I am drawn to uttering “Bollocks!” A sonorous word with satisfying in-built plosives.

Saying things out loud is quite exhausting. I need further napping and then some yoghurt. Or to jump off a cliff. No cliffs in Exeter. Yoghurt it is.

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People Are Strange

IMG_2661To avoid stressful incidents such as the ones that peppered my day throughout Friday I have come up with the perfect plan for Saturday. It involves not leaving home, watching documentaries, cooking bolognese (almost ready) and eschewing all contact with the world unless it is through a television or computer screen. And even the computery contact is minimal.

Misanthropic? Possibly not. I love individual people, not all of them but enough for me to understand I’m not filled with hatred for humans per se. But I am not and never will be a fan of the societal priorities which inevitably come as a result of capitalist cultures: priorities which place unreal fiscal values on spiritually priceless experiences such as living, breathing, loving, growing.

Most of the things in life that have touched my heart or enriched my soul have nothing to do with money and even those that did require a degree of cash only needed it to grease the wheels of my journey through experiences further afield than my front doorstep.

Sometimes the only escape I can find from persistent reminders that my priorities are at odds with the world in which I live is to cut off like I have done today. That my cutting off was prompted by frustrations amongst my fellow humans yesterday only highlights how at odds with some of them I am. I know I’m not sulking or throwing toys from the pram, however, as I am still happy to fire up my computer and watch cultural artefacts. When I really do become misanthrope films can go suck it too.

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Falling Down

IMG_2659The outside world is a wanker. A massive wanker populated by irritating fuckwits and bollockheads. It’s also full of surprise rainfall. The outside world can go suck a bag of dicks.

I had to do a couple of chores. Annoying humans made the simplest of activities complex and more difficult than they needed to be. Going to the doctors surgery to spend a couple of minutes filling out a repeat prescription form turned into fifteen minutes of frustration as some selfish cunt decided that they didn’t need to worry that they would block in the two solitary disabled parking spots by planting their car in the middle of the minuscule car park and swanning off somewhere entirely other than the surgery or the pharmacy. They seemed somewhat astonished that I and the other driver blocked in by their self-centred cavalier attitude to parking restrictions had rendered us rather angry. Prick!

I wanted to grab a few essentials at the supermarket too. Sadly I chose a busy day so headed for the self-service check-out to avoid long queues. All of those who queued at that moment were out of the supermarket ahead of me as the machine I was dealing with decided with every single scan that it didn’t recognise the item and required an assistant to come along and do tip tap code shit on its screen. She could tell I was fuming by the fourth incident and chose to explain it to me in a patronising voice using words that lacked logic and coherence and therefore failed to equate to an explanation. Needless to say this added to my fume.

“I fucking hate machines and morons!” I muttered to myself as I headed for my car whilst being battered by a sudden downpour. A trolley collecting, high-viz wearing moron (or machine) overhead me and checked to see if I needed kicking in the knackers. I am taller than him, a rare occurrence and one which assured my knackers remained un-kicked.

Home now where the only moron is me. The outside world can fuck the fucking fuck off until it’s time to pick up my meds on Monday.

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Don’t Look At Me

IMG_2656Stupid dentists not being able to see people immediately. Stupid teeth being all stupid. Stupid me for all the amphetamines and Jolly Ranchers (the former from the distant past, the latter more recently).

If you see me over the next couple of weeks and I sort of shy away, mumble and generally act like I don’t want to talk to you, it’s not you, it’s my own self-conscious awareness that lacking a tooth makes me feel ugly.

You know, on top of my actual face and all.

I’ll be able to pretend I’m human again in about a fortnight once I’ve insisted they knocked me out and take all my remaining teeth away. See you then. Sorry if I dribble from the operation and spit through my new dentures.

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Thunkday

IMG_2654Today has been a duvet day. I didn’t manage to make Monday my recovery from lots of driving day because of appointments and life so it was transferred to today. I’m uncertain yet how much of a recovery I’ve managed but at least I’ve snoozed and thunked and only left my bed to make brownies and more substantial food.

Some of the thunking has concerned this stupid body of mine, about how very fortunate I was earlier this year that my health was stable enough while I was in the States for me not to need to take days out in bed to recover from being reasonably active for me. The same was true last year of my previous trip to Ohio as well as for my long weekend in Paris.

I’m thunking how lucky I am, considering bad health could have ruined, even cancelled any of those trips. I know that part of the mental improvement of the last three years has involved deciding to make such plans even though they might be scuppered by flare-ups. It’s better to be planning to live like I have a life rather than making virtually no plans at all out of constant health anxiety. But even with this improvement maybe giving me something of an energy boost it is still lucky that I’ve experienced such stability while away. I’m hoping my luck continues this July when I am visiting Dublin with my son for a couple of nights.

By the way, I know I’ve written ‘thunk’ rather than ‘think’. Ok, so it doesn’t amuse you but it makes me laugh.

Brownies kicking in now: must return to snoozing and faint dreams of victory.

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In The Beginning (Of The Week)

IMG_2650It is traditional to start a new week with a Monday. Unless you’re seriously old school and begin it with a Sunday. Which is ridiculous, Sunday is the seventh day, the resty day, the completely opposite of start of the week day.

I started this week with a Monday because there happened to be one lying about the place looking forlorn and frightened. Or was that my own face in the mirror? Perhaps it was somebody else’s face in the mirror? Spectral visages r us.

I had to go to my six monthly respiratory check up which is often a terrible trial and a source of anxiety. The prior anxiety existed but for reasons I cannot quite pin down the actual event wasn’t a trial. Even better the results of my breathing tests were reasonably good for me, particularly good considering I’ve only just about thrown off the most recent flare-up. So they are happy for me to fuck the fuck off again for six months without fearing I will imminently die.

I like not being expected to imminently die, it makes me go and drink coffee. Being in town to drink coffee does quite swiftly remind me that I’m mental and dislike being subjected to the general public for long periods. So I soon came home to drink coffee of lesser quality but which tasted all the betterĀ for not having the general public reflected in its blacky/browny surface.

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Road Runner

IMG_2649

If only all roads were this deserted

To shake the malaise that has hung like a storm cloud over my mountainously weird mind of late I was to be away for a couple of nights over the weekend, staying first in Northamptonshire with Adam and then in Wiltshire with Darren and Vicky. I was also hoping to cram in a flying visit for a cuppa and catch up with my son at Oxford en route from my first destination and my second.

In the end I was so exhausted by the driving and the late night backgammon of my lovely time with Adam that when I reached Oxford I realised I ought to listen to my hurting body, head for home and take giant painkillers. An hour or so of conversation and rest with my boy was rejuvenating but only in the sense of readying me to get back behind the wheel.

So my feelings are mixed about the weekend. I’m sad not to have spent some more time with the Sweeneys as we’ve only recently met up again after some years and I know there are so many more discussions to be had and more laughter to share. But I’m uplifted by what I have managed to achieve.

Driving is a curse as well as a blessing. My world is far larger than it was eighteen months ago before I got the car but journeys of more than an hour absolutely fuck my muscles up. Plus I have to deal with those growing numbers of wankers on the roads who seem to believe that nothing bad can happen to them despite how dangerously or idiotically they drive.

On the journey up there was a four or five mile stretch of the M4 that was slowed down so badly that it took an hour to traverse. Once the bottleneck was finally over I saw the reason – a burnt out car crushed into concertina proportions by another vehicle or vehicles presumably already removed. I also saw an air ambulance taking off from the site of the crash where seven police cars still sat. Sobering stuff that made the delay totally acceptable yet within another mile or two other drivers around me, people who had surely also seen what I’d just seen, were weaving in and out of lanes without indicating, overtaking on the inside, and acting like immortals with utter disdain for the mortality of others.

We have a suitable British word for such people: they’re cunts.

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