Such fun. I am writing a beastly letter to the taxman objecting to him asking me for money. Amazing that throughout my drunken period I have managed to keep relatively complete records. I have now I think sorted all my paperwork for the last 5 years neatly into separate carrier bags. A flinging system. It's an anagram. Or a spoonerism.
Going in to Fram to do some shopping and order the glass top for my table. Listening to sirtaki and bouzouki music I recorded on Corfu in the Villa Magdalena. 4 years ago. A lifetime.
Laura likes her Hairy Fairy.
Fram DIY cut my glass top for £11. The library gave me the new Philip Pullman book ("Dust"). Metanoia is doomed.
Meditation - can't seem to get off the horse. I've been using an image in meditation (I write about this at length elsewhere) of riding a horse across an empty prairie. The horse is me, my mind, my self. And when I'm meditating and paying attention, I've got down from the horse and I'm just wandering across this vast empty sea of grass, with just the huge sky above, and the black stallion is galloping away, or just quietly cropping the grass, the reins loose in my hand . . . and then suddenly I wake up, and I'm back in the saddle, galloping off somewhere, or the horse is just bolting . . . and then I get down from the horse again, and wander over the plain for a few moments before, hey presto, I'm back in the saddle again. Trouble with images like this is that after a while they sort of fade or stop working, and the last two or three days, I seem to be very firmly stuck in the saddle, and wondering how I get from there to the ground, or am I in some sense on the ground anyway, just not feeling like it. And of course, I am on the ground, really, since I'm on the horse, and the horse is on the ground, which sort of works, but is not quite as peaceful and comforting as actually just walking, or standing, on the grassy plain.
Clumsiness and mal-coordination. Keep being surprised by this (as in, dropping or mishandling something, or not being able to work out how to saw a funny angle on a piece of wood) - I thought that this was always caused by alcohol or a hangover. It's like finding it difficult to read, to concentrate long enough to get to the end of a sentence - the longer I'm sober, the odder this seems to be. I sometimes suspected that I might have ADHD or something like it, and perhaps I was using alcohol to calm that down.
It's like I'm in a cage with a tiger (sometimes) or a very demanding parent, or just a fucking grumpy irritating other who is never satisfied. And I have to keep trying to pacify it by doing stuff, scoring brownie points, or knock it out with alcohol, freecell, mindless telly. The underlying anxiety - what the fuck does it want / expect me to do now? My relationships just end up as projections - what do they want or expect from me? why can't they leave me alone? so I snarl, and rage, or disappear into a cloud of depression and self pity, for months, filled with feelings of inadequacy, never being able to come up to spec, always being a disappointment. And the poor things, it's not them out there, it's this monster inside me who won't ever say OK, I'm happy, I have enough, you can take a break. The real releases - falling and being ecstatically in love, babies and children, gliding, skiing, climbing, and meditating. And cycling - I just get very righteously angry with people in cars. And getting quietly, comfortably stoned or drunk. This thing is Wolfie. Wolfie doesn't make me drink. I drink because I want Wolfie to fuck off. I'd like to kill Wolfie (with alcohol if necessary, trouble is that kills me too). (Sent this to Belle, but she's off for the weekend, only she isn't, she's talking at me on her live broadcast right now).
There's someone else in Suffolk with a drinking problem (she greeted me excitedly when I said goodnight from Suffolk to Belle. Belle got quite excited too.) So that's two of us then. Well, three if we count hattrick. Getting positively crowded.
I abandoned "Regarding Henry" to listen to Belle's live broadcast, which was a pity as I was rather enjoying it but I can watch it on youtube apparently. I have a thing about Harrison Ford and Annette Bening. Then I watched the end on youtube and it made me cry. Worth every penny of the £2.49 it cost.
It's not that I've had a shit life, quite the reverse, it's been glorious and lovely, as well as a bit of a struggle at times, and I have hurt people along the way whom I love, and it's a bit frustrating that knowing what I think I know now, I can't go back and have another go, and make it better. But I think things are fine as they are.
Going in to Fram to do some shopping and order the glass top for my table. Listening to sirtaki and bouzouki music I recorded on Corfu in the Villa Magdalena. 4 years ago. A lifetime.
Laura likes her Hairy Fairy.
Fram DIY cut my glass top for £11. The library gave me the new Philip Pullman book ("Dust"). Metanoia is doomed.
Meditation - can't seem to get off the horse. I've been using an image in meditation (I write about this at length elsewhere) of riding a horse across an empty prairie. The horse is me, my mind, my self. And when I'm meditating and paying attention, I've got down from the horse and I'm just wandering across this vast empty sea of grass, with just the huge sky above, and the black stallion is galloping away, or just quietly cropping the grass, the reins loose in my hand . . . and then suddenly I wake up, and I'm back in the saddle, galloping off somewhere, or the horse is just bolting . . . and then I get down from the horse again, and wander over the plain for a few moments before, hey presto, I'm back in the saddle again. Trouble with images like this is that after a while they sort of fade or stop working, and the last two or three days, I seem to be very firmly stuck in the saddle, and wondering how I get from there to the ground, or am I in some sense on the ground anyway, just not feeling like it. And of course, I am on the ground, really, since I'm on the horse, and the horse is on the ground, which sort of works, but is not quite as peaceful and comforting as actually just walking, or standing, on the grassy plain.
Clumsiness and mal-coordination. Keep being surprised by this (as in, dropping or mishandling something, or not being able to work out how to saw a funny angle on a piece of wood) - I thought that this was always caused by alcohol or a hangover. It's like finding it difficult to read, to concentrate long enough to get to the end of a sentence - the longer I'm sober, the odder this seems to be. I sometimes suspected that I might have ADHD or something like it, and perhaps I was using alcohol to calm that down.
It's like I'm in a cage with a tiger (sometimes) or a very demanding parent, or just a fucking grumpy irritating other who is never satisfied. And I have to keep trying to pacify it by doing stuff, scoring brownie points, or knock it out with alcohol, freecell, mindless telly. The underlying anxiety - what the fuck does it want / expect me to do now? My relationships just end up as projections - what do they want or expect from me? why can't they leave me alone? so I snarl, and rage, or disappear into a cloud of depression and self pity, for months, filled with feelings of inadequacy, never being able to come up to spec, always being a disappointment. And the poor things, it's not them out there, it's this monster inside me who won't ever say OK, I'm happy, I have enough, you can take a break. The real releases - falling and being ecstatically in love, babies and children, gliding, skiing, climbing, and meditating. And cycling - I just get very righteously angry with people in cars. And getting quietly, comfortably stoned or drunk. This thing is Wolfie. Wolfie doesn't make me drink. I drink because I want Wolfie to fuck off. I'd like to kill Wolfie (with alcohol if necessary, trouble is that kills me too). (Sent this to Belle, but she's off for the weekend, only she isn't, she's talking at me on her live broadcast right now).
There's someone else in Suffolk with a drinking problem (she greeted me excitedly when I said goodnight from Suffolk to Belle. Belle got quite excited too.) So that's two of us then. Well, three if we count hattrick. Getting positively crowded.
I abandoned "Regarding Henry" to listen to Belle's live broadcast, which was a pity as I was rather enjoying it but I can watch it on youtube apparently. I have a thing about Harrison Ford and Annette Bening. Then I watched the end on youtube and it made me cry. Worth every penny of the £2.49 it cost.
It's not that I've had a shit life, quite the reverse, it's been glorious and lovely, as well as a bit of a struggle at times, and I have hurt people along the way whom I love, and it's a bit frustrating that knowing what I think I know now, I can't go back and have another go, and make it better. But I think things are fine as they are.
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