Attack of the zombies

I have several years’ experience of taking slow-release vitamin B supplements and I have come to observe numerous times that if I take it late at night, I don’t sleep, and indeed have a very similar experience to when I have caffeine, and similar to those times I don’t sleep after beer. This was in the back of my mind yesterday when I took such a slow-release multi-vitamin with vitamin B late yesterday. Worse, perhaps, I swilled it down with Spirulina, which I have not been taking recently but which I found to have a real beneficial effect when I first tried it around the same time as I started taking vitamin B those years ago.

I had been sleeping well in my new bed. With no students around I was at home all the time, of course, and the double bed  they had left was an improvement on the fold-out sofa bed we had been sleeping on at my folks. In fact, in however many weeks we have been there - two, I think - this was my first poor night’s sleep.

I was spiked, like I am after coffee, that is, alert, and yet very tired. My thoughts weren’t racing, and I drifted in and out of sleep, but it was shallow sleep.

Often in this condition I remember my dreams better than usual. This time I did so as much from getting up to go to the toilet as anything else, but my sleeping pattern was definitely disrupted, and I have been feeling the effects since around three o’clock when I’ve been feeling zombified.

I suspect it is a kind of lucid dreaming. I have felt that many times, that I am aware of myself dreaming. This time I was in a recording studio listening to the producer, who I could not see through the widow, talking to the black hip hop-style performer as I was setting up equipment or some such. They were talking about children, family, a fairly deep, mature conversation, and then a little more polite perhaps, the singer talking about how he didn’t know so many producers in America since there are so few of them, more in Britain. I don’t now remember it well.

It was years ago I first started taking vitamin B and though it made my piss resemble a cantonese duck marinade, and abslutely stink (I am pretty paranoid about the smell, which is what I imagine urine might smell like were you to reduce it in a pan for a while, wiping my old man countless times while at home, and shaking and squeezing the fella at urinals), it seemed to make me concentrate better. At least, I felt so at the time - it gave me extra confidence.

Back then I was working in a hardware store, and doing a pretty cackhanded job of it, invariably forgetting several items of a short list of jobs to do given by the infinitely genial and forgiving boss everyday. Often, in giving me verbal instructions, he would report that I had assumed my glassy-eyed look. This was a look that came over me involuntarily when I wasn’t interested, and however much I wanted this time to just see out those few instructions, it wouldn’t happen. Fortunately, there was another guy there who was similarly afflicted, who would himself muddle up the simplest things, and we became a right double act. He wasn’t ADD, though he was dyslexic and says this affected his memory, but he was the kind of character who can really make a place worthwhile, and when I had come back to the Black Country after uni, when I had gone to uni to escape this place, he was somebody who helped me cope with the place. He was the first person, really, I opened up to about my writing when before, it had been a guilty secret tangled up with my illness.

For a while I had been worried about the exclusion diet and whether I would be able to continue taking multivitamins, before from the leaflet I was given it wasn’t all too clear. I don’t want to be quite so laissez faire with fruit as it says, since I do think fruit can be a trigger itself - the amount of bananas I have eaten over the years has always been excessive, for a start, and then there’s the smoothies and dried fruits and the rest of it. It may be that I would not get enough vitamins and minerals on the diet to compensate for a deficiency in my processing of vitamins - one that the sores in the corners of my mouth, for instance, would seem to indicate. If this were the case, then presumeably, I wouldn’t necessarily see any benefit in symptoms from the exclusion and the diet would not be as useful as it should be. But from fretting about the vitamins, I begain to wonder whether the supplementation regimen I have settled upon bares any relation to what I need. How would I know? I mean, presumeably, it is possible that I might feel some extra security from these pills, and gain some confidence as I did those years ago, without actually seeing any real benefit. I decided for that reason to cease some of the supplements yesterday. I didn’t take anything in the morning, and certainly didn’t feel bad for it, indeed I found I could concentrate better than I often can (though it is always difficult to judge, and it is true that I was listening to audiobooks rather than trying to read for most of the morning, and this may make a difference). But I didn’t hold my nerve. Later, I started to drift a little. I wasn’t concentrating and it was my last day off, and my last day without interruption and without M____, so that’s when I took a multivitamin and washed it down with spirulina.

I some kind of a build up in my head. Now, I was working on a pretty tough passage, trying to introduce Darren, and I was getting into real philosophy, with Godwin’s Treatise on Political Justice in front of me, but this was something other than mental strain. It was a kind of build up I had to wait to pass.

So the question is still unsettled. I will have to exclude vitamin supplements sometime, but there is as much a problem in weaning myself off them than there is even with alcohol and cheese because of the security blanket phenomenon. It’s clear that vitamins can have their negative effects, stopping me from sleeping and the positive effects are more or less presumed for much of the time.

That’s something I will have to tackle some more before further taking on this diet. Once I have had a good night’s sleep, of course.

Oh, and the first real slip since the transition phase of this new diet ( though the only real thing now I haven’t excluded to be on the diet for real is lemon juice): I had a cup of black decaf coffee around three o’clock, because that can’t hurt, can it!

Trip

I’ve been on another trip with students, and I’ve come back much more settled, and looking forward to my move to new accomodation. I’ve been jokey with M____ again, playing around, and she has sensed that I am looking forward to the move. This could perhaps be taken as proof conclusive of how I am sensitive to changes in my routine.

By and large I was ok there. I took a lot of food with me and for the first time really anticipated the difficulties I would have with food and compliance to my diet. After all, I am away a lot, and came to feel that I was using trips and birthdays and celebrations and the like as excuses for non-compliance. Especially a problem, I am coming to see, was that I was using non-compliance in one often less avoidable sense as an excuse for non-compliance elsewhere, particularly with smoking and caffeine: I am tired from not sleeping from eating cheese and drinking beer, so I need nicotine or caffeine to perk myself up. This despite having proved this logic flawed again and again.

I did have a little caffeine over there, but not as much as I have elsewhere. I had batter with fish, and black pudding which contained oats and wheat flour. And I had flapjacks most days. But otherwise I did better than I often do, and didn’t feel myself drifting off quite so much as I have in the past.

I have been back a couple of days now and I have fallen into the old rationalisations. Yesterday I had a decaf coffee, telling myself I fancied the taste. I had it with sugar, because I had sugar a couple of times in Wales and didn’t feel any real ill-effects (before I have noticed that the effects of sugar are cumulative). I then had another, unconsciously (as I admitted to myself once or twice before repressing it) wanting the caffeine.  This morning I woke very tired, as I tend to do once this caffeine vicious spiral has taken off, and eventualy succumbed to a full-strength coffee with sugar. Soon after (and no less tired) I began to feel that I was drifting while reading Bleak House, I can’t recall the reveries, but they were there.

I have wondered whether I should ditch the idea of full food diaries and simply record days of compliance. Ie. caffeine - 3 days, gluten 4, dairy, 7, beer 3, spirits 5, nicotine 24. This would then simplify the record and all slips would be regarded as such with neither decaf coffee nor flapjacks regarded as somehow borderline cases. It would also help me in interpreting the evidence since I rarely/never look over old diaries and am only able, therefore, to interpret a single day’s reactions. I am sure there could be a good calculation too to record the resultant mood and concentration, perhaps involving the day’s results plus some fraction of the preceeding days. Some months ago I became possessed with the idea of trying to input into Microsoft [reveries of playing guitar for everyone at work, triggered by Blind Melon’s No Rain, but continuing from regular soundchecking reverie] Excel. I couldn’t manage it, and it became just one of the many hundreds of structures I have attempted to impose on my life that have fallen by the wayside, along with the transparencies I was hoping to draw graphs and pictagrams on and all the rest of it. This blog is the most successful so far!

One thing I noticed from Wales was that the sores in the corners of my mouth completely cleared up.

But I’m still rather out of it. I’ve just been reading an interesting article on M.E. and food intolerance http://www.ldmeg.org.uk/jb/food.htm which I found after looking up caffeine intolerance, wondering how much of my problems may stem from this. I intend to follow the writer’s advice regarding sprouted seeds, indeed I’ve just ordered a book she suggests, The Sprouters Handbook by Edward Cairney from E-Bay and I may go and buy a couple of things in a health food shop later when I’ll be dragged to Mardy Hell by M____. Now though, I think I should go and write an article in my other blog that I’ve been meaning o write for a while.

Oh, one piece of news: I have decided to go for a position at work which I’m led to believe would involve cooking with students.

Decaf? You’re having a laugh!

I’ve been sleeping much better of late but today I’m “spiked,” my word for being unable to switch off. And having been very careful today, it looks like decaf coffee is again to blame. Now, I didn’t have any of the reveries I was subject to the other day following my half nescafe, half decaf mix, but still I cannot sleep, and I’m just lying there cuddling up to my life size doggie having sexual fantasies of secretaries in publishing houses and cellists (which I must, incidentally, write up one day).

The rationalisation? That it was something I enjoyed. Fair enough, except that this rationalisation came at the exact time that I was tired, meaning that it related not to the taste at all but to the effects of the little caffeine that remains in decaf coffee (if you have two or three cups it is the same as one ordinary strength coffee, making decaf, in effect, far stronger relatively, than non-alcoholic beer is to the ordinary stuff, and for this reason in many ways quite misleading). I admitted this to myself briefly before repressing the fact. And besides, even though it is important for me to enjoy my food, in and of itself, and because this aids conformity to the diet, which as I have proved again and again is very important for my health and wellbeing, I know that  caffeine, whether it is decaf or not is bad for me and so, should avoid it.

Just as with the struggle to give up smoking, I find that conforming to this diet is as much an intellectual struggle as a battle of will power. Only in anticipating, catching and arguing against these rationalisations can we make it. And of course, with problems such as ADD, this struggle is made much more difficult because of the tendency to impulsivity and obsession; but the more you conform, the more easy it is to conform, not only because you gain habits and knowledge, but because this impulsivity starts to recede.

Still, there will be slips, and through them we learn. Important too, though, not to punish ourselves for them.

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.

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

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.

More

Abstract anger

Coffee, oats, cigarette, green tea, orange juice (?), sugar. I couldn’t be allergic to corn? Surely not, but I’ve been having a lot of polenta.

I don’t know what it is that’s causing it but I’m angry. More