Ipswich Hospital, 9:30 waiting for my appointment about my dislocating jaw (which now of course seems to be fine) about to resume Metanoia where Sally is also visiting hospital.
La méthode belle - define what it means to me.
not wolfie, although the "British Wine" incident on reflection was very wolfie like. Funny/frightening how subtle he seemed to be, despite his weakness, just slipped in, quick as a flash, the top unscrewed without my even thinking about it. Only when I had a taste did I think, shit no. And not just fear of the slippery slope, and going back to Day 1, but also saying to everyone here, I've failed, relapsed, didn't make it to Day 100, and not wanting to go there. Some stinking thinking in there (my ego, my pride) but a reality check too. Now I have to figure out a way of using the "sherry" for the pie, and putting it away, treating it like someone else's bottle, Ingrid's cognac, Johnny's gin, Steve's whisky, not for me. I think I'll put it in Andrew's drinks cupboard, and tell him about it i.e. it's his, not mine (unless I need it for more cooking - pollo sarsa, or venison casserole).
treats, definitely. Choc ices, nice drinks, lots of limes and Schweppes Tonic and proper cranberry juice (whole fresh berries). Not being mean with food shopping. Hot baths whenever I feel like it (not just because I haven't had one for a month). Just being liberated, easy on myself.
projects - making things, writing Metanoia, writing this blog, editing Stuart's book, visiting / moving to Bonnevaux, sorting out my pensions, bitcoin, being creative
overwhelm - not letting things get too crazy - sensible sleeping, eat regular and good meals, don't beat myself up for not doing stuff, allowing myself to be lazy
meditating, twice a day, every day. mindfulness.
taking exercise
doing social things. keeping in touch with friends and family.
keep blogging, responding to Belle's emails, updating her
just looking after and being kind to myself, not getting sucked in to other people's dramas or letting them abuse me
staying focused on the road ahead, and the one priority - to stay sober
Attractive Hungarian woman doctor from Transylvania - could be Georgina Harding's twin, which is a funny coincidence given Georgina's Rumanian connections - brusque and businesslike, with a twinkle. I told her I hoped she'd be staying after Brexit. She said I was incurable and I needed more teeth.
Italians and tomatoes. Johnny googled it. My favourite story is bollox. How many people are going round believing the Italians did not eat tomatoes until 1850? It was the English who were suspicious apparently (tomatoes, potatoes, aubergines are all members of the solanum / nightshade family). I've been telling people this "fact" for years and everyone apparently believed me.
Dictated a sad little poem about death and our grimy secrets, inspired by Laura's sad tale of the young man and his caravan - he's run off, owing her money, leaving porn and stolen food and tools in the caravan. Laura was offering me his clothes, the caravan's been given away. He'd started gutting it (not very well). A younger version of me perhaps.
La méthode belle - define what it means to me.
not wolfie, although the "British Wine" incident on reflection was very wolfie like. Funny/frightening how subtle he seemed to be, despite his weakness, just slipped in, quick as a flash, the top unscrewed without my even thinking about it. Only when I had a taste did I think, shit no. And not just fear of the slippery slope, and going back to Day 1, but also saying to everyone here, I've failed, relapsed, didn't make it to Day 100, and not wanting to go there. Some stinking thinking in there (my ego, my pride) but a reality check too. Now I have to figure out a way of using the "sherry" for the pie, and putting it away, treating it like someone else's bottle, Ingrid's cognac, Johnny's gin, Steve's whisky, not for me. I think I'll put it in Andrew's drinks cupboard, and tell him about it i.e. it's his, not mine (unless I need it for more cooking - pollo sarsa, or venison casserole).
treats, definitely. Choc ices, nice drinks, lots of limes and Schweppes Tonic and proper cranberry juice (whole fresh berries). Not being mean with food shopping. Hot baths whenever I feel like it (not just because I haven't had one for a month). Just being liberated, easy on myself.
projects - making things, writing Metanoia, writing this blog, editing Stuart's book, visiting / moving to Bonnevaux, sorting out my pensions, bitcoin, being creative
overwhelm - not letting things get too crazy - sensible sleeping, eat regular and good meals, don't beat myself up for not doing stuff, allowing myself to be lazy
meditating, twice a day, every day. mindfulness.
taking exercise
doing social things. keeping in touch with friends and family.
keep blogging, responding to Belle's emails, updating her
just looking after and being kind to myself, not getting sucked in to other people's dramas or letting them abuse me
staying focused on the road ahead, and the one priority - to stay sober
Attractive Hungarian woman doctor from Transylvania - could be Georgina Harding's twin, which is a funny coincidence given Georgina's Rumanian connections - brusque and businesslike, with a twinkle. I told her I hoped she'd be staying after Brexit. She said I was incurable and I needed more teeth.
Italians and tomatoes. Johnny googled it. My favourite story is bollox. How many people are going round believing the Italians did not eat tomatoes until 1850? It was the English who were suspicious apparently (tomatoes, potatoes, aubergines are all members of the solanum / nightshade family). I've been telling people this "fact" for years and everyone apparently believed me.
Dictated a sad little poem about death and our grimy secrets, inspired by Laura's sad tale of the young man and his caravan - he's run off, owing her money, leaving porn and stolen food and tools in the caravan. Laura was offering me his clothes, the caravan's been given away. He'd started gutting it (not very well). A younger version of me perhaps.
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