Unsettled

I’ve not been myself now for a few weeks. I don’t know how far I follow the typical aspie pattern of needing routine, but I have been back and forth on trips with one still to come - we will be taking a couple of students out on Monday - and I’m in between houses with a real worry about not having time for writing when I move. I have been unsettled, and caught myself too worrying earlier in a real waking sweat (I needed to lie down for a nap after dinner, as I increasingly do) over whether I will become a writer at all, despite the ideas in my head.

I don’t know, perhaps this is typical for me. It’s hard, if not impossible to compare your mindstate with some time in the past. I do hope this is not typical. I have been so unsettled, unable to sit down and do one thing. Constantly angry, restless, distractable and irritable. I have been suffering (and truly suffering) angry reveries in re-run and re-runs throughout the day.

This morning it was unbearable. I didn’t want to be around people. I was depressed, and, there were the most difficult people, one of the cliques, with Jaffa and the others who work with him who I’ve always felt look down on me somehow. I can’t deal with their banter in the mornings and I was particularly gauche in the morning. Helgar, unrelated to the clique, made some unnecessary comment which pissed me off and the others were just giving some with the banter which just goes on all around me making me feel all the time like I’m playing piggie in the middle.

I was angry all morning, and didn’t want to be around people at all. I couldn’t make conversation. Less than usual even. I wanted to eschew coffee, and the clique was all gathering around a percolator and some decent coffee. It smelt good but I went outside. Dave, my immediate boss came in to make a couple of sharp comments as he does - he’s a good bloke, but gets irritable at times - about how we were sitting around, and it was one of those days I couldn’t do anything right, everything I tried to do to help was just that little bit wrong; we all have days like that with him.

There was a new member of staff in the morning meeting and I was stood next to him. I wasn’t able to greet him and make him feel welcome. I wasn’t in that frame of mind. I was feeling belittled, condescended to. That my face doesn’t fit. I was having reveries such as handing my notice in, telling one of the guys who is leaving, and with whom I get on best, that I can’t deal with it anymore, and that two years is generally about my limit in a new place. They were talking about new people who were going to replace him, and a direct boss above us, and I was fearing the worst, and feeling like my time with the place has come to an end.

I was glad to be asked a little later to go out on an errand to a guy called Cal one of the scrappies we’ve got to know. I noticed they went out of their way to describe the items they needed in excruciating detail due to my failures in the past to identify crimp connectors and the like. But I was glad of the walk to the car, and then the drive. First, though, I sat down in the car and cried. I’ve been crying a lot recently. And then I drove, got everything they needed, pretty much, and drove back to Sweet Child of Mine blasting out as load as my speakers could take. I parked up, and then sat and listened until the song was over, switching the engine off to reveries of having a discussion about heavy metal being cathartic as we once had in one meeting, discussing the students taste in music, its place and importance in their lives and our policy towards it.
I walked back along the canal and sat and watched some moorhen chicks barely the height of my thumb, until a couple of students came walking by, at which point I stood up and walked back. I was hoping to be missed. To have people realise the state I was in. I was feeling I was going to crack. That I needed to talk to the nurse.

Things got moving then, and more students were around and I got to feeling a lot better. I got through the day. And got through it with no coffee.

It was the last day and we went for a beer after work. I had one, and then had to shoot off to give my dad a lift to the garage where he had left his car to be MOTed, extortionately as it turns out.

I came back, had some food, and then a tiredness came over me so I had to lie down. This tiredness, and the rest of lying down was intermingled with the anger and frustration of not being able to write, and the fear of what it means to not write, this creeping responsibility and even family I feel from time to time.

It was a kind of tiredness that was all over, but in particular in my legs, completely out of proportion to any exercise I had done. It was similar to when I felt what I came to think of as candida “die-off” when I was taking Caprylic acid every day for a few months. This heaviness in my legs, like the aches of flu.

I lay down and slept a while. Now, I’m tired again.

07:15 no coffee, tagine, vit b6, zinc

13:00 chicken drumstick, coleslaw, waldorf salad

16:30 beer

18:30 toasted GF bread with peanut butter, three slices. tagine, with rice

23:15 no hunger!

ps. I managed little conversation over the beer, just more of my slapstick efforts.

Caffeine - edgy

I’m coping with everything so very very badly today and I’m surprised I haven’t broken the computer. I’ve been sat here grunting at it for the last half an hour or so.

I came back today and had a coffee at around five o’clock. I was so tired. I can’t stand being tired in the little free time I have. I had a stick of nicotine gum a couple of days back so I could wake up to read over something I had written a few years ago. [I am so angry, sitting here swearing and wanting to throw things around. Angry at myself for being so bottled up and unable to express this immense anger inside of myself. I have had a lot of reveries over the last few months, if not years, of how I am angry inside myself, being compared, and comparing myself to a biker at work who is anger down to the bone; I am so constantly frustrated at my own inability to sound off, to get it off my chest.] Yesterday too, possibly from the sunburn I have just posted about, I was tired throughout the day and fell asleep in the new house after taking a few things over, unable to focus for a second on the book I had picked out Self-Editing for writers or some such, in order to reap something from the day.

The rationalisation required to fire me off on a slip that might send me reeling for several hours, if not days, might need to last only a few seconds, and that indeed was what it was. I know caffeine is bad for me and reading this those of you who do not suffer from ADHD must be so frustrated at me and what must seem to be an unbelievable lack of will power. You wouldn’t believe the undercurrents in an ADHD mind! Everything changes in a matter of days. As little as that.

God, I despair to think of how many different projects I have had in the time I’ve been back in England. How each of them has taken possession of me, and then dropped me again. This has happened since going away to stay with M____’s parents. I was taken by a project I last thought of whilst over there, carried it around with me and then was dropped by it again.

I came in from work and settled down to watch a DVD. It was a DVD about Moog synthesizers I got from a mail order DVD scheme. (I tried to cancel my account with this scheme the other day but that I had to ring, and couldn’t spare the time to do so.) These DVDs have been a problem since they are another demand on my time. For a while I would watch a part of a DVD in the morning before going to work, but this didn’t last long. I figured it could be something I would do with M_____ but I kept on making lists of DVDs I want to see and didn’t manage to think of her at all so we always ended up having one DVD from the scheme and then going out to get another from the DVD rental place.

Anyway, I watched it for a while, but then thought of how I had told myself a while back that I should play/practise guitar when I am tired, since it doesn’t require so much mental effort, so I went in and turned on the computer. I had already taken the amp over to the new house so this wasn’t as tempting as it often was. Anyway I settled down for a while watching the documentary and the terrible music that ensued from these machines. I forgot about the computer for a while but then went in and remembered a million things I had to do. Yesterday I was getting incredibly angry with the computer because I had remembered that I had, in addition to Love Film, an account with Audible, a company that deals with audiobooks. I bought a couple of them and then they disappeared somewhere in my system. I had come back yesterday and done a bit of cooking. I have done none for a long while. I have been getting progressively more stressed about the idea of moving into a new house, and having to cook all the time (M____ can’t cook) and so I had bought a lot of stuff the other day trying to turn it all into a positive, that I will cook, and I will learn lots of new recipes for gluten and dairy free cooking and will use cooking as a kind of catharsis. [long series of reveries, some including performing the repetitive gestures and fidgets I found myself performing in front of the screen, and then storming out of a particularly galling meeting smashing doors.] And yesterday I came back and found my MP3 player and started listening to the first audiobook I had downloaded from Audible while I was cooking, enjoying the two things. And ok, so I later felt that I was feeling the tiredness of not having come in and sat down (on reflecting I think it was more likely to be from the sun), but I was starting to think I might actually be able to cope with this new routine I was dreading so much. Audiobooks, I figured would be the way forward, since I have wasted so much time reading what became palimpsests, that is, reading books and drifting off thinking of something else throughout the whole thing. But on trying to download a book or two I felt all the positivity of that hour or so cooking (a positivity in any case tempered by the fact this was a dish I had made already a couple of times) draining away. I became so quickly very angry. Today was a repeat performance. I spent a little time trying to sort out the problem with Audible, getting irate. I then went about trying to sort a present for my brother, something I felt as an additional imposition on the little free time I have - the less I have, the quicker I am to anger when something goes wrong or there is an additional demand on my time. I looked for subscriptions to The Economist, but these were complicated and involved filling in too many on-line forms so I typed in amazon.co.uk and ordered a couple of things he has said he would like. I tracked down Mum for his address, went for a shit when she didn’t come to my aid straight away, typed it in, and then swore angrily when amazon defaulted to the New Card option with amazonmastercard filled in, this all defeating what is usually there, my own default card. Consequently, I almost knocked Mum out storming into the lounge and swinging open the door as she was coming out, going to look for my wallet which I had put there somewhere having found it with a few Fucks thrown in in order to ring my bank and pay off my credit card - my mum, you see, had pointed out the letter she assumed, rightly, to be from Sainsbury’s credit card, telling me to sort it out, a letter that detailed the £12 penalty for late payment, and I had tried to enact the once only rule for correspondence I read in the one third of the ADHD organisation book I had managed to read by ringing my bank and paying off the money. All this, by the way, after I had been all over the house trying to find my cheque book to pay off my dad who had loaned me two hundred pounds cash so I could have some sterling to change in Poland - my tenth debit card, you see, had ceased to work after a mere few months, probably because I always keep it loose in my jeans pocket (where I regularly lose it, of course) and I couldn’t get a new one in the time before I was due to leave.

At some point I gave up on all this and went up to try to read over old versions of a story, provisionally entitled Checkmate that I began working on years and years ago. A good story. A very good story. This story has perhaps now split into two and introduces a character, Hippie, who features in Family Fortunes. I found a little on my laptop, the laptop I brought to Poland when I was first there, and which I replaced by an old G4 after I bought voice recognition software which can only run on a G4 or higher with OS X. But I was very distractable. I wanted to go for a walk and think over structure. And then I wanted to sit down and write. I picked out an A4 jotter and went to our room to write. I wrote a little, not writing but expressions of the various dilemmas I feel that I face in terms of structure and the like before jumping up to find short stories, determining that I do not read enough short stories (because, understand, every single impetuous shift of focus introduces an entire shift of philosophy, purpose and priority, so that this will then entail the dropping of the complicated essays analysing form, the necessity of reading so many novels, and will instead mean reading two short stories a day from a variety of writers; another shift might entail reading no novels, nor indeed any literature at all in English, but everything in Polish, getting up to a standard where I could read any literature in Polish; another would entail dropping the novel I am writing for a play, another for a website, another…) I picked up Dubliners, after all I have a York Notes on Dubliners which I bought from E-bay - I bought a couple, bidding on one and forgetting about it so that I was in Poland for a week and overlooked it in my e-mails before that so that I came back to irate e-mails threatening strikes against me on E-bay etc., all this based on an idea I had that I could write a Yorrick Notes for Family Fortunes in lieu of a synopsis, another idea that changed everything in my life. Dubliners, besides, could, quite apart from being a set of short stories, form as a kind of template for Labour in Vain, a set of stories based around a pub in Blair’s Britain I have been toying with which came up again today on thinking of Checkmate in much the same way that Bleak House and Anna Karenina were to be templates of a kind for Family Fortunes.

I read a page and a half of the first story of Dubliners before I worked out that I had already failed to follow it. I slammed the book down. That made me angry. It was already late. I had done nothing but flit from one thing to another and I could see in front of me so many such days. Tomorrow drinks with work, then soon anther week-long trip with work that I’m dreading. [numerous reveries, some very angry; going back to one, for example, of explaining the difference between the wiring of neurotypicals and aspergics in one of our meetings, talking about how their way of working is adding to the societal pressures aspergics face by making them feel they ought always to want to be sociable in socially acceptable ways rather than allowing them sometimes to embrace their own difference.] I came down. Perhaps I wanted to go on the computer. I looked into the computer room. Mum was on the thing. She felt me lurking and said she would be finished soon. I slumped into the seat in the lounge doing something. Maybe just sitting angrily, I forget now. Dad came in and started talking to Mum, and perhaps trying to talk to me outside the lounge door. This angered me.

Soon, I took to the computer and starting writing this.

I’ve been to get M____ from work, and she’s been talking to Mum and Dad. I just came back and went straight back to the computer where I’ve been typing more or less constantly, give or take drifting off here and there.

I still feel spiked. Angry. Alert. And all this no doubt from one coffee, half decaf, half full-caffeine.

Perhaps my encounter with the doctor yesterday hasn’t helped and maybe that’s all bubbling underneath. But it looks like a bad night’s sleep ahead of me.

Anyway, here we go:

7:15 1 green tea, tagine with rice

11:00 two flapjacks, one with chocolate! I am going for these now more or less every day. A bad habit.

13:00 ratatouille with rice and salad.

17:00 coffee with half spoon decaf, half full strength, with half a spoon of sugar

19:00 Morroccan Tagine with rice, and starting to get edgy

Already not coping

Close to tears. I’ve just come back from Mardy Hell, the huge shopping centre near here built on an old steel works. Ate in Burger King(!) having had little all day, and I’m on a real come-down from a social binge yesterday.

I had a lovely week in Poland with M____’s parents and lots of old friends. Drank a lot and had a good time. I daydreamed a lot, but not as much as I might have. I even started to think again, as in Italy, that perhaps much of my problems have gone away having taken a tablet a month or so, or more, back that time I was searching around for ADHD remedies on the internet. It was an anti-fungal preparation designed to eradicate thrush in women and their partners. Certainly, several times I slept better than I had after beer before, though I had some pretty unpleasant nightmares (one involved a doodlebug-style bomb flying overhead of me and a girl at work I am often most gauche and apergic with, its engine cutting out and then exploding nearby). I didn’t sleep after cheese (or wine, which coincided with eating the cheese and white-bread toast at the wine bar).

Back now I can’t deal with not having time for writing, and with the worry of now moving into this house so imminently where I will have so many more responsibilities, and so much less time for writing. I have also had too little sleep, and, having been invited for a few beers after work yesterday, and then drinking through to one in the morning, haven’t been following my diet well at all. Today I can’t concentrate. M_____ sat with me in Burger King and saw that I was down. I had been a little fractious, taking exception to something she said I believed to be wrong (that Temple Grandin is profoundly autistic as opposed to aspergic, and then drifting off into my own world. She asked me, as she sometimes does, to tell her something, and I couldn’t. I have been back a mere day and we have seen each other for a very short period of time and she said at one point that I already can’t stand to be with her.

I have had no time for myself today and already at one, two o’clock with a friend still here - a guy I call my best friend who I have seen so seldom since coming back from teaching in Poland - I was feeling the weekend slipping away.

Add to that the fact that this stupid blog is becoming another huge distraction in my life. So far zero readers and yet it is, like learning Polish before it, a huge inelastic demand on my time and energy (inelastic because, like Polish, writing it off would mean another completely failed project, something that would depress me hugely).

I will have a large garden in the new house, and I will have to cook in a lovely kitchen. I will have a room of one’s own, but no time to be in it.

I have just logged on to the computer to see my e-mails. An old friend has written to me on Facebook. I haven’t seen her for years, but I resent so much the demand on my time. It may depress me now that I am writing all this pointless crap - this food diary that is supposed to focus a little of my attention on food so that I may stabilise my life and write, but which is taking so much away from that very end, but as a travesty - but once people start writing and demanding my time I’m only going to feel the worse. That’s the paradox of relationships for people like me - and I count Kafka as one of them - we demand love, need love, to be loved and even to love, but feel so often, perhaps for the most part of the time but when we are feeling most wounded, that the best way of expressing this love is to be left alone, forgiven, yes, understood, yes, but left the hell alone.

Yesterday: lots of beer, a little fishpie, coffee with sugar

Morning: a pear, underripe, bananarice milkshake with spirulina, orange juice and water

early afternoon: corn bread with peanut butter

coffee x 2, strong, with sugar

Burger King “Angus meal” with chips and orange juice*

Reveries, impatient, depressed!

*interestingly, one of the house parents who is not usually into the nutritional side of things thinks that orange juice sets off one of his students who also is set off by milk and, as he remembered the other day while I was eating with him, gluten.

Solecisms

It was perhaps six, seven years ago that I settled down to my computer to try and write an article about what I called my solecisms, these slips of social etiquette, real clumsy encounters, which left me reeling for weeks or months. At the time I believed myself manic depressive, and there was much evidence to suggest that I was right. The solecisms in question would be such that avoiding people was not a question of paranoia or overwraught embarrassment of the kind found in the advice columns of magazines for young girls, they were such that people wrote you off, saw you from that moment as not only strange, tactless or gauche, but mentally ill, or unforgivably malicious; and people wouldn’t just ignore you, but talk about you, warn others off from you. One such could turn a close knit community, such as a university, or a university department can be, against you, more than one would certainly ramp up the stress and ensure that the symptoms of any mentall illness, whatever it might be, would be exacerbated to such a degree that the social elements of it, and people’s reaction would become far worse than any of the symptoms themselves (this I believe to be the case with most such illnesses).

Today I was walking back from dropping off my plate. I managed to leave it on the side, scrape it, possibly say thank you, and then begin to walk back without any problems. I then stopped. Somebody was coming the other way and I wanted to let them through, but I didn’t glance at them - I find this difficult still at certain moments. She was trying to let me through, and said “come on, or are you going to wait there all day.” I got moving, muttering something about yeah, how I was just loitering, this, thinking about it, being one of the to-hand phrases I use with more regularity than I would like to admit.

Yesterday I had given a student an old-fashioned broom to clean up after himself. A guy came along, a bit of a joker, and coming up close, said do you reckon we ought to get this back to ___, a woman sometimes seen as a bit of a battleaxe. I asked him to repeat it twice before getting the joke, that he was comparing her to a witch.

It’s things like this. Eye contact. Conversation, and especially small talk. I was glad to read recently a quote about Dr Johnson, that he could talk on any subject but would never initiate any. I am much the same. I wait for others to start. Jokes I sometimes hate too, because though I can find them funny, I sometimes feel I can’t emulate the facial expression. I have never understood anyone describing a book as laugh out loud funny, because such a response would never come to me when I am on my own, I have to force it, though the laughter, internally, is there. And often too I don’t see the joke, I have to click on into it.

Still, as solecisms go, these take seconds, minutes, at most hours to shrug off. I had to write this up today to ensure I didn’t forget about it. Those years ago, they took months, even years. I remember, I escaped to Prague and still had on my mind something that happened a couple of years before. And it certainly wasn’t because I was thin-skinned. No, I once compared myself to a man in Turgeniev’s Diary of a Nobody who carried around a fox in his tunic as it eat out his guts to disguise the shame (I can no longer recall the context). At college I had to teach myself to survive, to see out all manner of hatred, suspicion and revilement so I could get somewhere. This is the purpose of the diet, and there is such a difference from even a year ago. It really puts in perspective the irritation of the fact that nobody understands what I am trying to do and the motivations of my diet and the fact, again, that the majority of people believe the exact inversion of the truth, that I am fussy or precious, or a killjoy.

However silly it is, the natural response to such a situation as occurred today, or yesterday, is to beat oneself up about it. I was glad that didn’t happen. I remembered how far I had come.

No Coffee! No Tea! No alcohol.

Breakfast: Tabouleh

Vitamin B6, Zinc

11:00 two flapjacks!!

Lunch: Veg chile, with white rice

13:00 two flapjacks

Dinner: Chicken breast with cabbage, leak and potatoes

Farting still but no ill effects.

ps. Just noticed I have been taking for granted that I have not been drinking. Of course, that has done me immeasurable good.

Chocolate

Almost slipped and had coffee today. I had had quite a few cups on our jaunt away - when I cannot conform to the diet in one way I often just write it off and enjoy myself - and on coming back stepped down my intake gradually, and did so by buying some nice coffee grounds. My brother was up today still and made some nice coffee. I managed to say no, that I didn’t want any, but seeing some left in the percolator pot, later warmed it up by switching the percolator on. Fortunately it wasn’t particularly warm, and didn’t taste particularly nice with rice milk, so I chucked it after a single sip instead of warming it up further in the microwave (unfortunately, of course you find over and over again that there will be numerous steps involved, just like this, in denying yourself something you enjoy but know to be bad for you). More

Flatulance and frustration

After a busy few days at work - we’re a few men down having reformed so we’ve each had a few extra students to handle and a few more hours to work - I woke up today utterly knackered, aching all over. Still I got up and sat in front of a DVD on the Nazis eating my breakfast, and then in front of a programme on lizards and snakes in the desert in the US before by brother and his girlfriend turned up having travelled up from London. Time to be sociable.

I lasted through a light lunch and sat round the table only moderately restless until I had to run for the wah wah pedal I haven’t dug out for a while and started playing the guitar.

After lunch we went for a walk in a park about half an hour away by car. It was my mum’s idea and when M____ got back from work I tried to persuade her we could opt out, but she said it would be rude. I suggested staying back and cooking but M____ said I would go.

We walked around a large lake and for a while I managed to control myself, watching the ducks and the remote-controlled boats on the lake, trying to find stones for skimming (there were none), walking on the walls and balance on the pointed little fences set a few feet off the floor, and running after my brother with burdock or whatever it is that those sticky plants are that you can stick on people’s clothing, but then, I was bored and nervous, and not at all happy when on getting back to the car, and climbing away from the group on one of these little walls, I was asked if I wanted to stay and walk around. I said no, but M____, not understanding what the options were, said we would stay in the cafe and wait for my brother and his girlfriend to walk around a bit.

I wasn’t happy at this. I wanted to get back to my guitar - I had started to learn fingerstyle guitar from www.justinguitar.com and needed to get something from this day. Momentarily it seemed ok, because my bro said something about them having pitch and putt and I understood this as meaning Crazy Golf, which would at least have passed some time in some activity, but it wasn’t to be.

I had a flapjack and some water and we sat down. The cafe wasn’t the nicest and after twenty minutes or so, M____ finishing a hot chocolate she was far from happy with - it was simply made with water and not hot milk - we went to sit on a bench.

I sat and started rocking back and forwards and bashing my empty bottle against the seat, and then curled up and lay on M____’s lap. Likely lads in BMWs rolled by, a pitbull-ish dog ran up and jumped straight up on the bench seconds after being unleashed to lick my face, a Dodge (was it?) truck done up as an exact replica of the A-Team truck rolled by, but still I was completely unable to relax, and was making M_____ nervous herself. Finally they came.

It’s not so much food, I don’t think, though the banana smoothies I have taken to having with Spirulina (it doesn’t mix easily with drinks otherwise) may be too high GI for me, and I have had a lot of flapjacks over the last week. I think I will always struggle with unstructured, unproductive time.

Still, I have come to realise that the fart I unleashed in the car in the way back - a pretty small one I thought would be safe to squeeze out - was the result of these flapjacks I have taken too so much.

So, I stop coffee finally and then let something else in. C’est la vie.

Gone to Ground

So, I have been MIA for a couple of weeks or so, not that anyone out there would have noticed. The reason being that the whole routemaster convoy project is so radical that some elements of “the establishment” view us as subversive and dangerous, whilst others are encouraging us as far as possible - usually of course with one eye to the cameras. Occasionally, as our supreme leader explained to me as he bundled me onto his own bus, it proves necessary to break up the whole outfit and pack it off in different directions, and to different ends of the country, or even to different countries entirely, and curtailing usual educational methods and redirecting it all into subsisting together in completely arbitrary groups; and in this I do not exagerate, since SL’s educational hero considered the best grouping of students, or even human beings as a whole to be attained by the writing down of names and pulling them out of a hat.

More

Valerian rage

morning: green tea, shepherd’s pie

Lunch: green tea sausages, mash

snack: 2 x flapjack!!

dinner: tagine with polenta

late supper: tagine with polenta, valerian

This is one of those reactions I have had before and forgotten about. I have had valerian before and remember only the good effects, but I’ve just had it and it is making me jumpy and angry. Tired, it has woke me up, making me spiked. I am still mentally exhausted, but angry, and physically it is having an effect on me I am finding hard to describe. When falling asleep I keep on having snatches in my leg that wake me, restless leg syndrome, but also elsewhere. It is as if I can’t get comfortable no matter what I do. I was really irritating M____ by snatching at this and that, tossing and turning.

I can’t take any more of this! I seem to be having reactions to everything right now. My morale is very low and I am consistently angry. I have been thinking about my novel again, too, and puzzling over the pros and cons of a multiple-narrator approach. I thought of away of taking this on today which made the novel pretty baroque. It was attractive though. I had been puzzling it over and unable to think of anything else or shut down. This may have been a factor in my taking valerian.

I have been reading up on the herb now. Nothing much, though I have found the following:
“One study found that valerian tends to sedate the agitated person and stimulate the fatigued person, bringing about a balancing effect on the system.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valerian_%28herb%29

Blog rage

I am feeling furious and unfulfilled.

All day I have been absolutely exhausted. I got up late having eaten Weetabix last night and slept very shallowly. I have been feeling completely exhausted, like I do sometimes, with a heavy, tingly tiredness in my legs that feels like I have run a marathon. I get this sometimes. A feeling completely disproportionate to the amount of exercise I have been doing.

I have been able to do nothing since I got back from work. I read a little, but barely a chapter or so, and managed to write no more than a paragraph. I am angry with the amount of time I get for writing. I can’t deal with it. And now for the last hour or so I have been on the computer, writing a little of my blog, which is still consigned to Bebo. I have been trying to rectify that, by looking into why on earth a second domain has disappeared on my host, but I am completely lost in the system, unable to make head nor tale of the control panel system, and getting lost with submitted requests for help having disappeared in the system now irretrievable, and unanswered. I cannot install Wordpress on the second domain I hope to put my blog on with some drafts of short stories and the like. I have forgotten my password to one of the log-ins and it is none of my normal ones. That or it doesn’t tally with the log-in name I am using perhaps in error. This kind of problem should be easily rectified in the system but it isn’t.

Anyway, the main thing to report is my absolute bloody tiredness. I’m fed up with it.

Morning: green tea and Weetabix again, because I got up so late, having left my mobile phone downstairs last night (in part I think I wanted to do some writing,  though I can’t remember what I was doing, but then I got tied into some porn because I had been having many many sexual fantasies and thought it would contribute to my not sleeping. I was up for another half hour or so then finding porn and looking again for ADDerall.)

So, yes, my morale is pretty low and I know I will find little time for cooking. My priorities have cycled round again. I come back home to play guitar, and to write. And I am still dreading moving into this house. I Am feeling like I need complete freedom from everything right now. I need shot of all responsibilities.

Binge

Took the chance today and yesterday to work with Jaffa down his pet project, a community based on woodlands not too far away from where we’ve been set up for the last couple of weeks. Now I’ve barely spoken to the guy and though I like him, I always figured he had me down as one who hasn’t paid his dues - an easy enough assumption to make when I cover up so much about my past and had to adopt this neutral, non-suspicious persona for so long. Anyway, it turns out Dasha has been speaking to him, letting him know I’m one of her trusted few, so he comes over and tells me about the place. He’s one who has to be won over like that, one way or another. Offers to take me down for a bit of wood chopping and such. Offered, too, at a time the police were turning up to give us grief so it was perfect timing. I think he knew it.

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