On meditation. How much it helps, especially being a bit more disciplined about it. And really, not having any expectations of any kind. Not doing it to feel calmer, to "realise God", to become "enlightened", to experience loss of self / ego. Just doing it. Sitting, following the breath (in half an hour, for a few seconds or minutes, if that), accepting whatever is arising. And whatever arises, feeling so much better after half an hour; quieter, calmer, deeper. They say it takes 10,000 hours. However I figure it, I can't think I've spent even half that in meditation. I don't think mindful activity counts, although it doesn't hurt. Barbara's mindfulness course was a real help; it got rid of a lot of crap (mostly metaphysics and mysticism - head stuff).
On death and Robert McCrum's "Every Third Thought" (Prospero in the Tempest on his retirement to Milan at the end). Not so much about death, as the process of ageing; what we lose, as we grow frailer. And depressing / challenging stuff about dementia and Alzheimers. Is there more of it about, or is just that more of us are surviving to the point where it kicks in? I used to think that my drinking was actually a way of committing suicide, slowly and sort of cowardly. Maybe it has also been a way of denying ageing (my teenage rebellion after leaving Pol and going to Naxos) or returning to my youth, or a youth I never really had - always too scared to really kick over the traces when I was young. After Pol, I felt I had nothing left to lose. Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish . . .
On racing brain syndrome. Should I ask the doc for drugs? Why would they be better than dope or alcohol or ketamine?
On ageing. I got up in the night for a pee. I never turn the light on because I think it just wakes me up more. Back to bed, turned round to sit down on the edge of my bed, only the edge was 3 feet away. Banged my left forearm and scraped my lower back on the bed frame. This pisses me off - I am not drunk, this should not happen. (note to self, turn the light on in future). Decades ago, I'd just laugh and think no more about it. Now I know my bruised arm and back will hurt for days. In a way I've been hiding my ageing behind my boozing - if I hurt myself or felt bad, it was because I was drunk or hungover; now, I no longer have that cover. Same goes for my BPD issues - I have successfully (?) self medicated my highs and lows with alcohol for years, but without the anaesthetic, I'm going to have to find a way to deal with that. The manic phase (i.e. what I'm experiencing now) is sort of tolerable, if a bit tiring. Not at all sure how I'll manage if get into a real downer - it's been a very long time since I last had a real low (that I noticed, at any rate). Jump that fence, or ditch, when I get to it, and maybe I won't. Maybe the mania is just like my sense of physical well being, a natural response to not drinking for 3 weeks.
B has taken the weekend off. How dare my sober penpal go awol? What will I do?
As I have Johnny and Ingrid's car and they don't need it back until I go over to lunch with them tomorrow, I thought I might go and explore Tunstall Forest - I've been meaning to for 3 years. And it would give me some exercise.
Much colder last night and today. Winter is coming.
On death and Robert McCrum's "Every Third Thought" (Prospero in the Tempest on his retirement to Milan at the end). Not so much about death, as the process of ageing; what we lose, as we grow frailer. And depressing / challenging stuff about dementia and Alzheimers. Is there more of it about, or is just that more of us are surviving to the point where it kicks in? I used to think that my drinking was actually a way of committing suicide, slowly and sort of cowardly. Maybe it has also been a way of denying ageing (my teenage rebellion after leaving Pol and going to Naxos) or returning to my youth, or a youth I never really had - always too scared to really kick over the traces when I was young. After Pol, I felt I had nothing left to lose. Goodbye, and thanks for all the fish . . .
On racing brain syndrome. Should I ask the doc for drugs? Why would they be better than dope or alcohol or ketamine?
On ageing. I got up in the night for a pee. I never turn the light on because I think it just wakes me up more. Back to bed, turned round to sit down on the edge of my bed, only the edge was 3 feet away. Banged my left forearm and scraped my lower back on the bed frame. This pisses me off - I am not drunk, this should not happen. (note to self, turn the light on in future). Decades ago, I'd just laugh and think no more about it. Now I know my bruised arm and back will hurt for days. In a way I've been hiding my ageing behind my boozing - if I hurt myself or felt bad, it was because I was drunk or hungover; now, I no longer have that cover. Same goes for my BPD issues - I have successfully (?) self medicated my highs and lows with alcohol for years, but without the anaesthetic, I'm going to have to find a way to deal with that. The manic phase (i.e. what I'm experiencing now) is sort of tolerable, if a bit tiring. Not at all sure how I'll manage if get into a real downer - it's been a very long time since I last had a real low (that I noticed, at any rate). Jump that fence, or ditch, when I get to it, and maybe I won't. Maybe the mania is just like my sense of physical well being, a natural response to not drinking for 3 weeks.
B has taken the weekend off. How dare my sober penpal go awol? What will I do?
As I have Johnny and Ingrid's car and they don't need it back until I go over to lunch with them tomorrow, I thought I might go and explore Tunstall Forest - I've been meaning to for 3 years. And it would give me some exercise.
Much colder last night and today. Winter is coming.
No emails. No Fkbook. No blogs (apart from this one). No news feeds. Oh no, I'll have to open up the last chapter arggh. Porridge in the oven. Meditate. Breakfast. 1 or 2 hours max on the book. Then walk in Tunstall Forest.
I think loneliness might be part of the problem. I keep getting twinges, wanting to ring someone, go out and see someone, make a Zoosk date (not really, and B doesn't think that's a very good idea). And each one is followed by an immediate urge to have a drink. Have I been drinking a) to cover that up and b) oddly, and oppositely (is that a thing?), to isolate myself?
It's surprisingly hard to stop myself from constantly checking my emails (see above re loneliness). Another kind of addiction.
I've started on Metanoia's final chapter. It's only taken me a year and two months to pick up where I left off. Someone out there is going to have to read it. Wait! Don't run away!
Slowly going through cleaning up the last chapter - note to self - if you're going to use Google's dictation function, correct as you go. A lot is indecipherable now. Off to Tunstall Forest for an explore before dark.
The day punctuated by little bat-squeaks of "time for a drink" which quickly faded. Rewards required / expected for all my "work" on Chapter 27, and it's Saturday.
In the end I set off for Tunstall Forest about 4pm. I didn't get out to walk, just drove round it. It's quite big (about 12 square kms, I estimate) and there's a forest.co.uk wood for sale at the southern end near Sudbourne. I'd like to spend a couple of days here, and hide / camp out in the woods. Mainly Scots pine and birch, with some open heath. Then I went down to Orford (never been there before either, in all my years in East Anglia) and walked around Henry II's rather pretty and impressive little castle - just a keep really with what looks like the remains of a ditch and rampart / palisade around the outside.
Funny Romanesque windows in the walls, as well as arrow slits. I then walked down to the Quay, and the Ore, boats of the Orford Sailing Club parked on the hard, and other boats moored in the Ore. I fantasised about joing the club and buying a small boat, and sailing off to Greece along the coasts. Saw a lovely wooden open gaff rig boat in beautiful trim, strangely without a cover. Took some nice photos (or they would be if I had a nice phone) and retired in the dark to The Jolly Sailor for a pint of Adnams Sole Bay and a packet of scratchings. Technically breaking my vow not to drink LA/NA beer, but it was my treat, and very nice. Then home in the dark, for supper. Another nice day, and much less speedy - maybe working on Metanoia (and it was quite hard, a lot to correct and rewrite) soaked up some of my spare energy. And quite a lot of walking around Orford, so exercise requirement satisfied. Orford is a very pretty little place (and holiday lets don't seem quite as pricey as Southwold). It's 11 miles from here, so the Sailing Club / little sailboat isn't a totally unrealistic idea. And even less so if I'm living in the wood.
Sort of itching to get back to Metanoia. Wonder how I'll typeset it all, really need a PC - the Chrome is a bit flaky just editing the document, never mind preparing a decent pdf.
Now Day 23 (00:20 on Sunday). So tired I can hardly think. Seeking perfection is a trap - today wasn't perfect, but it was great in so many ways, but particularly so because at long last I've restarted and hopefully this time will actually finish Metanoia. Time for bed. I've got to p273 25 Jan 2012 of B's first year sober blog.
It's nice how every day starts as a challenge and ends as a kind of victory. Very good for my ego / self-esteem / general attitude to life the universe and everything. As someone commented somewhere today (they didn't, but I read it today) my dreams may be fantasies, but being sober means I don't need to take any of them too seriously - they are something to play with - but I also might just realise one of them, if I so choose.
I think loneliness might be part of the problem. I keep getting twinges, wanting to ring someone, go out and see someone, make a Zoosk date (not really, and B doesn't think that's a very good idea). And each one is followed by an immediate urge to have a drink. Have I been drinking a) to cover that up and b) oddly, and oppositely (is that a thing?), to isolate myself?
It's surprisingly hard to stop myself from constantly checking my emails (see above re loneliness). Another kind of addiction.
I've started on Metanoia's final chapter. It's only taken me a year and two months to pick up where I left off. Someone out there is going to have to read it. Wait! Don't run away!
Slowly going through cleaning up the last chapter - note to self - if you're going to use Google's dictation function, correct as you go. A lot is indecipherable now. Off to Tunstall Forest for an explore before dark.
The day punctuated by little bat-squeaks of "time for a drink" which quickly faded. Rewards required / expected for all my "work" on Chapter 27, and it's Saturday.
In the end I set off for Tunstall Forest about 4pm. I didn't get out to walk, just drove round it. It's quite big (about 12 square kms, I estimate) and there's a forest.co.uk wood for sale at the southern end near Sudbourne. I'd like to spend a couple of days here, and hide / camp out in the woods. Mainly Scots pine and birch, with some open heath. Then I went down to Orford (never been there before either, in all my years in East Anglia) and walked around Henry II's rather pretty and impressive little castle - just a keep really with what looks like the remains of a ditch and rampart / palisade around the outside.
Funny Romanesque windows in the walls, as well as arrow slits. I then walked down to the Quay, and the Ore, boats of the Orford Sailing Club parked on the hard, and other boats moored in the Ore. I fantasised about joing the club and buying a small boat, and sailing off to Greece along the coasts. Saw a lovely wooden open gaff rig boat in beautiful trim, strangely without a cover. Took some nice photos (or they would be if I had a nice phone) and retired in the dark to The Jolly Sailor for a pint of Adnams Sole Bay and a packet of scratchings. Technically breaking my vow not to drink LA/NA beer, but it was my treat, and very nice. Then home in the dark, for supper. Another nice day, and much less speedy - maybe working on Metanoia (and it was quite hard, a lot to correct and rewrite) soaked up some of my spare energy. And quite a lot of walking around Orford, so exercise requirement satisfied. Orford is a very pretty little place (and holiday lets don't seem quite as pricey as Southwold). It's 11 miles from here, so the Sailing Club / little sailboat isn't a totally unrealistic idea. And even less so if I'm living in the wood.
Sort of itching to get back to Metanoia. Wonder how I'll typeset it all, really need a PC - the Chrome is a bit flaky just editing the document, never mind preparing a decent pdf.
Now Day 23 (00:20 on Sunday). So tired I can hardly think. Seeking perfection is a trap - today wasn't perfect, but it was great in so many ways, but particularly so because at long last I've restarted and hopefully this time will actually finish Metanoia. Time for bed. I've got to p273 25 Jan 2012 of B's first year sober blog.
It's nice how every day starts as a challenge and ends as a kind of victory. Very good for my ego / self-esteem / general attitude to life the universe and everything. As someone commented somewhere today (they didn't, but I read it today) my dreams may be fantasies, but being sober means I don't need to take any of them too seriously - they are something to play with - but I also might just realise one of them, if I so choose.
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