Where’s Stevie?

img_2089Today was the first time in a long time I felt able to widen my world with some driving. I did drive thirty-odd miles a fortnight ago but as it was to attend a friend’s funeral and I had to persuade myself with the prospect of heavy pain killers on my return it doesn’t really count as a pleasure trip. Having been deflated by the psyche assessment yesterday it was good just to get out of the city and step outside my routines for a few hours.

Coming home again wasn’t so good. Rain started belting down which is my second least favourite weather for driving after fog and the several arseholes weaving in and out of lanes with no indication at ninety miles an hour on the dual carriageway made it extra harrowing for everyone who wasn’t them.

Ironically, when I got back from Pete’s funeral the other week I’d didn’t resort to the painkillers as I was so exhausted I fell asleep but this evening I’ve been aching in the driving muscle places I’ve not exercised for a while and did have to neck some big tablets.

It’s been a strange start to the year. I’m still trying my best to accept how things are even though I’d prefer them to be somewhat different. Maybe this made the assessors assume I’m doing fine and dandy yesterday? It ought to be obvious I’m neither dandied nor fine but who can tell what they’re looking for when fiscal requirements rather than emotional needs drive spending decisions?

Just another fortnight to hold on and then I have a holiday to look forward to. It’s been keeping me above water mentally for weeks. I know it’s not a panacea for all my ills, it’s just a trip to see my buddy, but rather like today’s excursion it will be a complete change of scenery and circumstance which could well spark enough new ideas and experiences to help me find my way a little better with 2017 on my return to Blighty.

Unless I dig a trench and hide in it somewhere in America. I could wear a striped top and it could be like a big international game of Where’s Wally. Except they call him Waldo in the States. And except I’m not called Wally or Waldo. And no one will give a shit.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in mental health and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s