Listening to De Dutch and Aden's songs, remembering where and in what state I was, when I listened to them in my shed at Wefan and in my little flat in Miloi. A lifetime ago. Still brilliant, still beautiful, {link to Soundcloud here }, but they don't hurt in quite the way they did.
yoga - mindfulness session last night made me realise how much my body doesn't like sitting around all day. Make a lectern so I can write Metanoia standing up.
Get a pot and compost for my sick looking canna lily
Did some route finding for tomorrow - St Martins in the Fields, Chris Beetles Gallery, Muswell Hill. Muswell Hill is only 10 miles from Liverpool Street. It's funny how far away it feels travelling on the tube, or by car, yet it's closer than Eye, or Ipswich.
Losses - the taste (not the effect), of wine, Naxou krasi, whisky, raki; maybe not ouzo. I've been more truly drunk, sober, than I ever was when actually drunk. Which is magical. Like listening to Aden's music, now, somehow feeling it more intensely, truly, than I ever really did when drinking and stoned. The emotions then were crude, muddy, OTT, self pity and hideous nostalgia. Now, somehow, it's just the music itself - it's not about me.
It's funny-strange how much anger and negativity is coming out in me about Pol; as if I'd been hiding it from myself, using booze to cover it up, and now I'm suddenly saying and feeling things about her (not past resentments - there aren't any, really) but present realities. Just not prepared to gloss over or ignore things any more.
And my reaction to Diana today (she made some snotty remark about me breaking the dishwasher) and I just said in a very quiet, but not very nice, tone of voice, that no, I was fixing it. Most unlike me. She went very quiet. Bumped into her in The Crown looking very nicely scrubbed up, with another Zoosk date I assume. She gave me a radiant smile; maybe she wanted rescuing. I didn't. Sat out back in the cold drinking a Becks Blue and smoking and thought fuck it, I'd rather be sitting in Johnny's nice warm car in Market Square, so I did. Contemplated not returning the glass; how they have the nerve to charge £5.50 for a pint of 0% alcohol lager when I could get a pint of strong beer for £3.50. There should be a law against it. No wonder people drink. I wonder how much they'd charge me for a cranberry and tonic.
I watched the last half of The Boy with the Topknot {click to watch}. I'm glad I waited. Very weepy, and powerful. I wish I had had his courage, when I needed it, to tell the truth about myself, to myself, and to those I really love. It is too late now to change anything, and I really don't believe in regrets, but I hope I have the courage to stick with this, for its own sake, for my sake, for the sake of those I love. I think you know who you are.
yoga - mindfulness session last night made me realise how much my body doesn't like sitting around all day. Make a lectern so I can write Metanoia standing up.
Get a pot and compost for my sick looking canna lily
Did some route finding for tomorrow - St Martins in the Fields, Chris Beetles Gallery, Muswell Hill. Muswell Hill is only 10 miles from Liverpool Street. It's funny how far away it feels travelling on the tube, or by car, yet it's closer than Eye, or Ipswich.
Losses - the taste (not the effect), of wine, Naxou krasi, whisky, raki; maybe not ouzo. I've been more truly drunk, sober, than I ever was when actually drunk. Which is magical. Like listening to Aden's music, now, somehow feeling it more intensely, truly, than I ever really did when drinking and stoned. The emotions then were crude, muddy, OTT, self pity and hideous nostalgia. Now, somehow, it's just the music itself - it's not about me.
It's funny-strange how much anger and negativity is coming out in me about Pol; as if I'd been hiding it from myself, using booze to cover it up, and now I'm suddenly saying and feeling things about her (not past resentments - there aren't any, really) but present realities. Just not prepared to gloss over or ignore things any more.
And my reaction to Diana today (she made some snotty remark about me breaking the dishwasher) and I just said in a very quiet, but not very nice, tone of voice, that no, I was fixing it. Most unlike me. She went very quiet. Bumped into her in The Crown looking very nicely scrubbed up, with another Zoosk date I assume. She gave me a radiant smile; maybe she wanted rescuing. I didn't. Sat out back in the cold drinking a Becks Blue and smoking and thought fuck it, I'd rather be sitting in Johnny's nice warm car in Market Square, so I did. Contemplated not returning the glass; how they have the nerve to charge £5.50 for a pint of 0% alcohol lager when I could get a pint of strong beer for £3.50. There should be a law against it. No wonder people drink. I wonder how much they'd charge me for a cranberry and tonic.
I watched the last half of The Boy with the Topknot {click to watch}. I'm glad I waited. Very weepy, and powerful. I wish I had had his courage, when I needed it, to tell the truth about myself, to myself, and to those I really love. It is too late now to change anything, and I really don't believe in regrets, but I hope I have the courage to stick with this, for its own sake, for my sake, for the sake of those I love. I think you know who you are.
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