I don't know what to do, not because I'm stupid or lazy, but because I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Of course, I never really know, but I'm happy if I have a good gestalt, a nice clear focus and narrative, 'this is what's happening, and this is what I need to do about it'. Although it turns out that when I do have a clear focus, it's often on the wrong thing, and whatever I'm doing is a kind of distraction, meanwhile whatever is actually happening, happens anyway.
Without an overarching view, a narrative, everything is a problem. My bike, my pot plants, my pictures, the clutter in my room, my food cupboard. Today I can sort out my caravan lights, but I'm really not sure there's any point. Or look for a car, but is that just throwing more of my money down a pit (and was that the case with the wood burner and the solar power kit too?). So why not snuggle down under my duvet and read a good book.
So I have spent my day planning my escape. Finding and buying a car. Checking ferry fares, mileages, leaving a request on Naxos for sale or rent for some land. Talking to Stuart. My happy afternoon, sitting again in my caravan, feeling like it's home, and this room is just what it is - a waiting room. Early start tomorrow, off to Sheppey to meet Charlie and collect the Astra van, my preferred escape vehicle. I emailed Bob Snell re my disgusting treatment at the hands of the Mills Charity. I don't expect a reply, and I don't really care.
Collateral (BBC2, I think). "If you leave a job without bitterness, you have won." Which I did, and I have. But it must have been the CoOp, and it was probably Andrew Kerry who did for me and the Alms House. I wonder if he just ended up doing me the most enormous favour. Naxos, or getting the car at least, feels right. Mind you, the alms house felt right for a day or two, but always underneath there was something about it all that made me feel uncomfortable. The other possibility is that I'm mad. H said I was having a psychotic episode the last time I ran away to Naxos, but this is a bit more deliberate. I have a plan, or a dream at least, and the means and the capacity to carry it out.
Or is it all a very elaborate ruse to have another drink?
Stuart says Christos is feeling very unwell (not sleeping, digestion fucked) - he's given up booze for the winter. I said he's getting old (but Stuart mustn't tell him that, I think C worries about growing old).
Without an overarching view, a narrative, everything is a problem. My bike, my pot plants, my pictures, the clutter in my room, my food cupboard. Today I can sort out my caravan lights, but I'm really not sure there's any point. Or look for a car, but is that just throwing more of my money down a pit (and was that the case with the wood burner and the solar power kit too?). So why not snuggle down under my duvet and read a good book.
So I have spent my day planning my escape. Finding and buying a car. Checking ferry fares, mileages, leaving a request on Naxos for sale or rent for some land. Talking to Stuart. My happy afternoon, sitting again in my caravan, feeling like it's home, and this room is just what it is - a waiting room. Early start tomorrow, off to Sheppey to meet Charlie and collect the Astra van, my preferred escape vehicle. I emailed Bob Snell re my disgusting treatment at the hands of the Mills Charity. I don't expect a reply, and I don't really care.
Collateral (BBC2, I think). "If you leave a job without bitterness, you have won." Which I did, and I have. But it must have been the CoOp, and it was probably Andrew Kerry who did for me and the Alms House. I wonder if he just ended up doing me the most enormous favour. Naxos, or getting the car at least, feels right. Mind you, the alms house felt right for a day or two, but always underneath there was something about it all that made me feel uncomfortable. The other possibility is that I'm mad. H said I was having a psychotic episode the last time I ran away to Naxos, but this is a bit more deliberate. I have a plan, or a dream at least, and the means and the capacity to carry it out.
Or is it all a very elaborate ruse to have another drink?
Stuart says Christos is feeling very unwell (not sleeping, digestion fucked) - he's given up booze for the winter. I said he's getting old (but Stuart mustn't tell him that, I think C worries about growing old).
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