I'm gonna have to move out soon, as conditions here are getting worse. I currently have 3 leaks, including the boiler which nearly blew up last night as the pressure was too high. The hot water came out so hot that I think I would probably have suffered burns if I put my hand under it. In addition to this, the electrics are still not safe as the landlord didn't bother to call an electrician. It's going from bad to worse, and I now accept that I'll have to be re-housed. Due to my abiding weirdness I wouldn't last 5 minutes on a housing estate, so that isn't really an option. What I'd like to do is borrow enough money to put down a deposit and pay as many weeks rent in advance on a non-benefits place until the benefit money starts coming through (I'd pay the landlord out of my own pocket, and cover my own costs with the benefits). But I can't borrow from the social until September at the earliest, and borrowing from anywhere else would saddle me with debt I couldn't afford.
So it looks as though I'm gonna have to face the only realistic option that I have...to accept that I can't cope on my own, ask for help, and get taken in to residential accommodation for the mentally ill. I would imagine that places are at a premium, so even that wouldn't be straightforward. But the truth is that I can't cope on my own any more. I can't even travel because my head's all over the place, so what chance do I have with moving? And even if I were to find a nice place on my own, why would a landlord take me in if my mental state is all too obvious? At least in a residential place I'd be with "people like me", which is so badly lacking in my life right now. If the only people like me are mentally ill, then perhaps that's who I need to be with. And if the only way I'm going to move is to do it with help, then perhaps that's what I need to do. Because I'm not dying here, that's for sure. My life isn't worth much, but it's worth a damn sight more than my landlord's negligence.
Bizarrely, while all this is going on, I'm going to be writing some erotica for an escort's website. I contacted her with the idea, as I wanted to do something a little bit different to conventional adult blogging, and she seemed enthusiastic enough. So then I sent her a sample of my prose based on a couple of images she sent me, and I didn't hear anything back. Now she clearly states on her website that she replies to emails promptly and daily, and so I assumed that the lack of a prompt reply meant that I wouldn't be getting a reply. I also assumed that this lack of reply was on the grounds of "taste" (ie, she's tasteful and I'm not!), so I sent her a somewhat drunken email defending myself against my own assumptions. (I'll take any opportunity I can get to attack the laws of taste). But as so often is the case, the assumptions were wrong. It wasn't just the assumptions themselves that were wrong, but the urge to make those assumptions was also wrong. When will I learn? Turns out she was just being professional and dealing with me the same way she deals with professionals who contact her on a daily basis. Which comes as something of a relief because I was worried she was comparing me with time-wasters who send her dirty emails. Professionalism isn't a concept I find easy to get my head around, so that's why I make these mistakes sometimes.
I don't know. Erotic writing. Conducting. Mental illness. Homelessness. There's too many strands, aren't there? Too many strands pulling in too many different directions, with too many different states of mind required for each one. It undermines my credibility, and I'm sure you the reader are as aware of this as I the writer am. And of course it undermines my health too. So I've started to meditate, but even that requires another strand and another state of mind, with tenuous links to the others. But I'm getting into nature-based approaches to life, because I figure that if I'm asking the earth then I may as well ask the earth. Seems appropriate, and I'm aware that appropriate is good even though I don't always fully realise it.
Monday 28 May 2007
Saturday 26 May 2007
Stick Technique
Wow, really got into the conducting tonight. It's only basic patterns that I'm learning, but I started to feel it and that's the main thing. I'm not worried too much about the fineries of technique as I know that will never be my strong suit. Of course technique is important, but if I worry too much about the correctness of technique then I'll go exactly the same way that I did with instruments. And at the end of the day I'm not looking to conduct orchestras; I'm simply looking to develop an interpretive and expressive language that will enable me to channel ideas in my head without using instruments or any other physical entity. And what really got me passionate about it tonight was that as I was nailng the beats in front of the mirror, I felt the music in my head being "shaped" accordingly. And I'm like "Damn, this shit works!"
Found some interesting conducting stuff on YouTube too. There's this one guy who conducts a jam band, and alternates between conducting the band and conducting the audience. Which is great, and pretty similar to what I want to do. My idea was always theoretical though, with artist and audience more as abstract concepts. But it got me thinking though: could I do it live? I'd have to get really good at it first, which I reckon would take me about 5 years or so. (Great to have a 5-year project to work on. Should keep any suicidal thoughts at bay). But watching this guy do his thing, I started to think that maybe I could do it live. And I started to envisage it...the different positions I would adopt, the different perspectives I would filter through position, the different and creative things I would use as interchangeable "batons" (I'm thinking firesticks!). It's definitely a possibility.
What mattered tonight was that, for the first time in a long time, I felt confident. I even smiled at myself in the mirror as I was practising my stick technique. I don't think I've ever smiled at myself in the mirror before. Maybe it's because I've got something else to look at!
Found some interesting conducting stuff on YouTube too. There's this one guy who conducts a jam band, and alternates between conducting the band and conducting the audience. Which is great, and pretty similar to what I want to do. My idea was always theoretical though, with artist and audience more as abstract concepts. But it got me thinking though: could I do it live? I'd have to get really good at it first, which I reckon would take me about 5 years or so. (Great to have a 5-year project to work on. Should keep any suicidal thoughts at bay). But watching this guy do his thing, I started to think that maybe I could do it live. And I started to envisage it...the different positions I would adopt, the different perspectives I would filter through position, the different and creative things I would use as interchangeable "batons" (I'm thinking firesticks!). It's definitely a possibility.
What mattered tonight was that, for the first time in a long time, I felt confident. I even smiled at myself in the mirror as I was practising my stick technique. I don't think I've ever smiled at myself in the mirror before. Maybe it's because I've got something else to look at!
Tuesday 22 May 2007
Untitled
Love yourself. Lose yourself. Find yourself. Control yourself. Let go of yourself. Hold on to yourself. Rise above yourself. Accept yourself. Adjust yourself. Feel yourself. Steel yourself. Look at yourself. Just listen to yourself. Save yourself. Release yourself. Hold on to yourself. Get away from yourself. Will you just LISTEN to yourself. Let go of yourself. Touch yourself. Feel yourself. Steel yourself. CONTROL yourself. Let go of yourself. Get away from yourself. BE yourself. By yourself. Live yourself. Leave yourself. Think of someone else. Think of yourself.
And they wonder why I'm confused...
And they wonder why I'm confused...
Friday 18 May 2007
Plugging The Leak
Woohoo, I did it...I plugged a leak! It was only a minor leak compared with last week's escapade, but it was a leak all the same. I stayed calm in a crisis, which was the key. There was a point at which I could have lost my head, but if I lost my head then I would have never figured out what to do. I tried to stay composed, and it was noticeable how useful thoughts popped into my head that would have otherwise been blocked out. The leak isn't exactly fixed, but it's contained...which means I don't have to stay up all night emptying buckets and wringing cloths. So although it's hardly a major triumph, I am quite pleased with my efforts.
(*goes to check leak to make sure he hasn't typed too soon*)
Nope, it's ok. It's re-inforced one thing though: I have to get out of here. The place is a death-trap...it's one disaster after another, and I'm convinced that something really bad is gonna happen if I stay. I've slackened off this past week...I decided about halfway through the week that I was just going to enjoy the week, and not worry about it too much. But that isn't really an option, and tonight has reminded me of that. There's so much to organize. I need to organize help, because right now I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I've developed an insane fear of transportation, so I need to overcome that and fast. And most importantly, I need to find a way of paying my own rent, as I wouldn't last 5 minutes on a housing estate. (Don't know if you have housing estates in America, but they're basically where all the lowlife tenants are). I'm not well enough to get a proper job, but I need to find a way of generating a steady enough income to pay my own way. I'm doing all I can to generate an income through blogging, but I'm really not convinced that there's any money in blogging. I mean, does anyone actually click Google ads when there might be more informative stuff on the page you're currently viewing?
Anyway, enough worry for tonight. I contained a leak, which is more than I could do a couple hours ago.
(*goes to check leak to make sure he hasn't typed too soon*)
Nope, it's ok. It's re-inforced one thing though: I have to get out of here. The place is a death-trap...it's one disaster after another, and I'm convinced that something really bad is gonna happen if I stay. I've slackened off this past week...I decided about halfway through the week that I was just going to enjoy the week, and not worry about it too much. But that isn't really an option, and tonight has reminded me of that. There's so much to organize. I need to organize help, because right now I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I've developed an insane fear of transportation, so I need to overcome that and fast. And most importantly, I need to find a way of paying my own rent, as I wouldn't last 5 minutes on a housing estate. (Don't know if you have housing estates in America, but they're basically where all the lowlife tenants are). I'm not well enough to get a proper job, but I need to find a way of generating a steady enough income to pay my own way. I'm doing all I can to generate an income through blogging, but I'm really not convinced that there's any money in blogging. I mean, does anyone actually click Google ads when there might be more informative stuff on the page you're currently viewing?
Anyway, enough worry for tonight. I contained a leak, which is more than I could do a couple hours ago.
Thursday 17 May 2007
Defragmenting The Mind
Had a good walk today, which I'm always pleased about. Struggled a bit at first, but eventually found a nice constant frame of mind that wasn't too stressful and, crucially, found the discipline to stick with it. I'm not getting out much these days because mentally it's so exhausting, so it always feels like a genuine achievement when I come back in one piece. I do wish I didn't have to be "on" all the time, continually checking my state of mind to ensure that I'm not getting distracted. And it's especially hard when I get tense and distressed, because "getting distracted" and thinking from somewhere else is always my automatic response to danger. But fortunately I managed to keep a lid on everything today, so that's always good.
Yesterday I defragmented my hard drive as my computer's running slow. Didn't seem to make much difference though...pages are still loading slowly, and images are an absolute nightmare to load. I suspect that the problem might be the processor, which is a pain in the ass because I can't afford any computer repairs or upgrades til September at the earliest.
Anyway, I'm interested in the process of defragmentation because I'm wondering if it can yield any clues about how to "defragment the mind". It all seems a little complicated, but the jist of it seems to be that the defragmentation process compresses files to clear up free disk space. This is from the Wikipedia entry:
"A defragmentation program must move files around within the free space available to undo fragmentation. This is a memory intensive operation and cannot be performed on a file system with no free space. The reorganization involved in defragmentation does not change logical location of the files (defined as their location within the directory structure)."
Interesting. It seems that the key here is organization. Now I do like to be organized within my daily life, and for the most part I think I am pretty organized. But at the same time the artist and erstwhile class warrior in me has an innate mistrust of those who preach the virtues of organization, as I've always harbored the suspicion that what they're really preaching is little more than middle-class values. Organization is for everyone, but the creed of organization is strictly for the middle classes, as they will always use that creed as a justification to whip the rest of us into line. But as I type this, I am well aware that it might be little more than childish paranoia. And I'm mainly going by how it is here in the UK, where the remnants of the class system are still very much in place. It may be completely different in America and the rest of the world. But if there's one thing that separates the middle and working classes in this country, then I think it's this creed of organization. The working classes are just as capable of organizing themselves in a practical sense. But the middle classes have been better educated in the importance of organization, and consequently they value it more.
Anyway, my inner class warrior's distracting me. So is organization the key to defragmenting the mind? Well I would imagine it has a part to play...out of chaos comes order and all that. But the trouble with too much organization is that it creates too many things to worry about, and too many checklists to tick. One of the biggest problems that I have is that for every strategy, I have an opposite and equal counter-strategy. You know..."if this then do this, if that then do that". I just want to not have to think about this stuff!
Yesterday I defragmented my hard drive as my computer's running slow. Didn't seem to make much difference though...pages are still loading slowly, and images are an absolute nightmare to load. I suspect that the problem might be the processor, which is a pain in the ass because I can't afford any computer repairs or upgrades til September at the earliest.
Anyway, I'm interested in the process of defragmentation because I'm wondering if it can yield any clues about how to "defragment the mind". It all seems a little complicated, but the jist of it seems to be that the defragmentation process compresses files to clear up free disk space. This is from the Wikipedia entry:
"A defragmentation program must move files around within the free space available to undo fragmentation. This is a memory intensive operation and cannot be performed on a file system with no free space. The reorganization involved in defragmentation does not change logical location of the files (defined as their location within the directory structure)."
Interesting. It seems that the key here is organization. Now I do like to be organized within my daily life, and for the most part I think I am pretty organized. But at the same time the artist and erstwhile class warrior in me has an innate mistrust of those who preach the virtues of organization, as I've always harbored the suspicion that what they're really preaching is little more than middle-class values. Organization is for everyone, but the creed of organization is strictly for the middle classes, as they will always use that creed as a justification to whip the rest of us into line. But as I type this, I am well aware that it might be little more than childish paranoia. And I'm mainly going by how it is here in the UK, where the remnants of the class system are still very much in place. It may be completely different in America and the rest of the world. But if there's one thing that separates the middle and working classes in this country, then I think it's this creed of organization. The working classes are just as capable of organizing themselves in a practical sense. But the middle classes have been better educated in the importance of organization, and consequently they value it more.
Anyway, my inner class warrior's distracting me. So is organization the key to defragmenting the mind? Well I would imagine it has a part to play...out of chaos comes order and all that. But the trouble with too much organization is that it creates too many things to worry about, and too many checklists to tick. One of the biggest problems that I have is that for every strategy, I have an opposite and equal counter-strategy. You know..."if this then do this, if that then do that". I just want to not have to think about this stuff!
Tuesday 15 May 2007
Removing The Link
Yesterday I thought I was being sooo clever. And needless to say, I wasn't. I put up a link to a seriously high-quality mental health blog, with on-the-edge writing, sharp politicizing, and a wealth of resources for the reader. But I've had to take the link down again because the author in question has checked out this stinking heap of shit, and it's left me feeling so utterly ashamed of myself and my feeble little efforts.
I feel so sorry for her for having to suffer this and me. She was here for less than 5 seconds, but that's 5 seconds too many. If you had 5 seconds in the life of someone you admired and respected, what would you fill those 5 seconds with? I filled them with shit. This woman has been abused as a kid, and she has to suffer the ineptitude of some ginger-haired spazzy prick who doesn't how to live. IDIOT. (*smashes fist against head*)
How DARE I think I can punch above my weight like that! I've been blogging for 5 minutes and already I think I know it all. Well listen, sonny boy, you know FUCK ALL. These people have READ BOOKS. ARTICLES. JOURNALS. MANIFESTOS. OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOGS. And I think I can get by on a whim and a prayer!
These people have been abused and/or institutionalized, for fuck's sake. Now these are just about the worst possible life experiences that I can think of, but at least they are experiences and as such are worth a hell of a lot more than spazzy ineptitude. Because I don't have a life, I'm paying insufficient respect to the knowledge and experiences accumulated by others in their lives. Now this isn't deliberate, but it's there and I recognise that it's there. And if this woman or one of her quality-blogging, abuse-surviving readers has had to endure reading about my pathetic attempts to deal with a flood in the cellar, then I deserve to die. It is as simple and as straightforward as that. Child abuse = bad. Incompetence = fucking stupid. End of.
It's the same story with more commercially-oriented blogs I do elsewhere. Because I think like such a perennial outsider, I can never quite grasp the kind of "industry insiderism" that these blogs seem to thrive on. And consequently I don't make any money. Clever, huh?
Right, I'm going to crawl into a hole, take lots of books with me, and DO SOME FUCKING RESEARCH . I'll come back when I have something to say that's actually worth saying. And I'm sorry for having to take a link down that would be a great resource to my readers, but I'd just beat myself up everytime I see it there.
I feel so sorry for her for having to suffer this and me. She was here for less than 5 seconds, but that's 5 seconds too many. If you had 5 seconds in the life of someone you admired and respected, what would you fill those 5 seconds with? I filled them with shit. This woman has been abused as a kid, and she has to suffer the ineptitude of some ginger-haired spazzy prick who doesn't how to live. IDIOT. (*smashes fist against head*)
How DARE I think I can punch above my weight like that! I've been blogging for 5 minutes and already I think I know it all. Well listen, sonny boy, you know FUCK ALL. These people have READ BOOKS. ARTICLES. JOURNALS. MANIFESTOS. OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOGS. And I think I can get by on a whim and a prayer!
These people have been abused and/or institutionalized, for fuck's sake. Now these are just about the worst possible life experiences that I can think of, but at least they are experiences and as such are worth a hell of a lot more than spazzy ineptitude. Because I don't have a life, I'm paying insufficient respect to the knowledge and experiences accumulated by others in their lives. Now this isn't deliberate, but it's there and I recognise that it's there. And if this woman or one of her quality-blogging, abuse-surviving readers has had to endure reading about my pathetic attempts to deal with a flood in the cellar, then I deserve to die. It is as simple and as straightforward as that. Child abuse = bad. Incompetence = fucking stupid. End of.
It's the same story with more commercially-oriented blogs I do elsewhere. Because I think like such a perennial outsider, I can never quite grasp the kind of "industry insiderism" that these blogs seem to thrive on. And consequently I don't make any money. Clever, huh?
Right, I'm going to crawl into a hole, take lots of books with me, and DO SOME FUCKING RESEARCH . I'll come back when I have something to say that's actually worth saying. And I'm sorry for having to take a link down that would be a great resource to my readers, but I'd just beat myself up everytime I see it there.
Saturday 12 May 2007
Living The Life
Now I have something of a confession to make, and it's a confession that may cost me some readers. My confession is simply that I don't know how to live. Really. Not at all. Now I have a disorder that undermines my perception of reality, which in turn undermines my capacity to live, but that's no excuse and I know it. I figure it may cost me some readers because so many blogs and bloggers are actively promoting the aesthetics and ethics of living well. In other words, somebody who doesn't know how to live is a threat and/or an irrelevance.
To give an example, I was thinking of starting an erotic blog, but I've since discovered that most erotic blogs are basically recipes for life. Food stuff, but about sex instead of food, or sex as food. They may on the surface be about sex, but what they're really promoting is a lifestyle and the vindication of that lifestyle. Lifestyler writes blog, other lifestylers read and comment on blog; lifestyle re-affirmed and vindicated. So that kinda scared me off a bit...because my sex stuff isn't food stuff, it's just sex stuff. It isn't meant to be tasteful, and it isn't meant to register a tick against my name.
So what do I mean when I say that I don't know how to live? Well it's quite simple really...I'm on my own for long periods of time, and I can't figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do. I always end up resorting to what I need...I need to eat, I need to write, I need to think etc. But I need to breathe too, and I need to experience the kind of life-enhancing things that the Great Accumulators experience every day. Of course when I'm with someone it all becomes much clearer, and I remember that I need not to need too. But that's just feeding off the other person, and I know that professional lifestylers have serious issues with that. But professional lifestylers have serious issues with just about everything I represent, so maybe I should just ignore them. They won't go away, but they might become less prominent in my head.
Ach, stop thinking and just live, FFS!!
To give an example, I was thinking of starting an erotic blog, but I've since discovered that most erotic blogs are basically recipes for life. Food stuff, but about sex instead of food, or sex as food. They may on the surface be about sex, but what they're really promoting is a lifestyle and the vindication of that lifestyle. Lifestyler writes blog, other lifestylers read and comment on blog; lifestyle re-affirmed and vindicated. So that kinda scared me off a bit...because my sex stuff isn't food stuff, it's just sex stuff. It isn't meant to be tasteful, and it isn't meant to register a tick against my name.
So what do I mean when I say that I don't know how to live? Well it's quite simple really...I'm on my own for long periods of time, and I can't figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do. I always end up resorting to what I need...I need to eat, I need to write, I need to think etc. But I need to breathe too, and I need to experience the kind of life-enhancing things that the Great Accumulators experience every day. Of course when I'm with someone it all becomes much clearer, and I remember that I need not to need too. But that's just feeding off the other person, and I know that professional lifestylers have serious issues with that. But professional lifestylers have serious issues with just about everything I represent, so maybe I should just ignore them. They won't go away, but they might become less prominent in my head.
Ach, stop thinking and just live, FFS!!
Friday 11 May 2007
Tackling The Blaze
Major drama here this week...the house nearly blew up! There was a major leak in one of the flats downstairs, and all the water went rushing into the cellar. Right where the electrics are. Fortunately the cellar is big enough for the main meters to be located on the other side, but there are some loose wires hanging from the ceiling right where the torrent of water got in. I have no idea what they are connected to, but how they survived is a miracle.
We had to call the fire brigade out, because I (supposedly the man of the house!) did not even know where the stop-taps were. We couldn't get an emergency plumber or electrician, so as a last resort I phoned the fire service. And in they came in their alpha uniforms, delivering the goods in no time at all. Leak stopped, no fire, no crisis. Job's a good 'un.
That's what being a man is all about, isn't it? I should know, but I don't. All I could manage at the height of the crisis was to pace up and down, and generally do my utmost to convince the new tenants that, yes, that ginger bloke with the spazzy mannerisms really is crazy. Shameful. Absolutely shameful. I deserve to die for that, and if the truth be told I probably will.
Whilst I am in no doubt that what happened was an accident, it's fair to say that the new tenants have a habit of bringing trouble with them wherever they go. The boyfriend has served time and is a known thief and junkie, and the girlfriend...well quite frankly she acts, speaks and looks like a prostitute. That's not to say that she is, and it's not intended as a slur on prostitutes, but that is how she comes across. She shouts as only a drug-addled prostitute can shout, as though merely speaking would imply some level of intimacy. And when the boyfriend borrowed something from me the other night, he lowered his voice and said knowingly that if ever I needed anything then all I had to do was ask. I wondered what he meant by that, because he knows I'm on my own, he knows I don't do drugs, and he's sharp enough to recognise what's missing from my life right now. But I wouldn't, in case you're wondering. And now that she knows that I'm crazy, I'm pretty sure that neither would she.
The whole episode has left me feeling very isolated and very scared. I've had to put an SOS out to community mental health groups, because I have to get out of here and I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I am quite literally grounded...I can't even get on public transport because the panic attacks are so bad, and I'm attacked by self-contradicting negative thoughts at breakneck speed. I'm simply not strong enough or calm enough to move by myself, so I've had to put out a call for volunteers to help me. (The friends I once had are long gone, after I and they recoginsed that I had nothing to bring to the table).
But I have to get out of here, and fast. The new neighbors are bad enough, and the idiot next door to me is getting worse by the day. He's slowly stewing in his own pigswill, and he listens to me all the time. He's complained to the landlord about me staying up at night and shutting doors, but guess why I shut the doors? It's bad enough living here as it is, but recent events have really put me on edge and it's fragmenting my mind even more. I'm sorry if there is a lot of anger and paranoia in this post that isn't particularly pleasant to read, but I had to vent it somehow and this is the safest way.
Now that I've finished this post, I'm about to start what I call Handyman 101. Basic domestic stuff that you need to know...how water systems work, how electric systems work, how to use tools that a trained fucking chimp could use. Do you think if I say Handyman 5 times I'll actually become one?
We had to call the fire brigade out, because I (supposedly the man of the house!) did not even know where the stop-taps were. We couldn't get an emergency plumber or electrician, so as a last resort I phoned the fire service. And in they came in their alpha uniforms, delivering the goods in no time at all. Leak stopped, no fire, no crisis. Job's a good 'un.
That's what being a man is all about, isn't it? I should know, but I don't. All I could manage at the height of the crisis was to pace up and down, and generally do my utmost to convince the new tenants that, yes, that ginger bloke with the spazzy mannerisms really is crazy. Shameful. Absolutely shameful. I deserve to die for that, and if the truth be told I probably will.
Whilst I am in no doubt that what happened was an accident, it's fair to say that the new tenants have a habit of bringing trouble with them wherever they go. The boyfriend has served time and is a known thief and junkie, and the girlfriend...well quite frankly she acts, speaks and looks like a prostitute. That's not to say that she is, and it's not intended as a slur on prostitutes, but that is how she comes across. She shouts as only a drug-addled prostitute can shout, as though merely speaking would imply some level of intimacy. And when the boyfriend borrowed something from me the other night, he lowered his voice and said knowingly that if ever I needed anything then all I had to do was ask. I wondered what he meant by that, because he knows I'm on my own, he knows I don't do drugs, and he's sharp enough to recognise what's missing from my life right now. But I wouldn't, in case you're wondering. And now that she knows that I'm crazy, I'm pretty sure that neither would she.
The whole episode has left me feeling very isolated and very scared. I've had to put an SOS out to community mental health groups, because I have to get out of here and I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I am quite literally grounded...I can't even get on public transport because the panic attacks are so bad, and I'm attacked by self-contradicting negative thoughts at breakneck speed. I'm simply not strong enough or calm enough to move by myself, so I've had to put out a call for volunteers to help me. (The friends I once had are long gone, after I and they recoginsed that I had nothing to bring to the table).
But I have to get out of here, and fast. The new neighbors are bad enough, and the idiot next door to me is getting worse by the day. He's slowly stewing in his own pigswill, and he listens to me all the time. He's complained to the landlord about me staying up at night and shutting doors, but guess why I shut the doors? It's bad enough living here as it is, but recent events have really put me on edge and it's fragmenting my mind even more. I'm sorry if there is a lot of anger and paranoia in this post that isn't particularly pleasant to read, but I had to vent it somehow and this is the safest way.
Now that I've finished this post, I'm about to start what I call Handyman 101. Basic domestic stuff that you need to know...how water systems work, how electric systems work, how to use tools that a trained fucking chimp could use. Do you think if I say Handyman 5 times I'll actually become one?
Tuesday 8 May 2007
Manning The Station
A good day today. Held my nerve and composure when things could've gone seriously awry. It's not good when you're unstable and you know you're unstable, but it feels so damn good to stay on top of it. It's reaffirming; gives you a feeling of power over yourself, which is a precious thing when it happens all too infrequently.
I really can't articulate this any better right now. I could if I wanted to, but I don't want to think. And I am currently reading some beautiful mental health blogs which make my feeble efforts look rather less than beautiful. If I were to think right now, I would think about why beauty is such an alien concept to me.
"Because you're thinking", is probably the answer to that one. I think, therefore I don't feel. Cogito ergo something-or-other.
Oh and somebody remind me to read more. These people read books and it makes them better people than I am. Fact. And fiction.
Come on now, don't spoil a good day...
I really can't articulate this any better right now. I could if I wanted to, but I don't want to think. And I am currently reading some beautiful mental health blogs which make my feeble efforts look rather less than beautiful. If I were to think right now, I would think about why beauty is such an alien concept to me.
"Because you're thinking", is probably the answer to that one. I think, therefore I don't feel. Cogito ergo something-or-other.
Oh and somebody remind me to read more. These people read books and it makes them better people than I am. Fact. And fiction.
Come on now, don't spoil a good day...
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