Feeling angry. I don’t drink for a year, I don’t smoke for 6 months. I have plenty of money. I have / had a partner whom I love / loves me, with whom I have great sex and lots in common. So why, after all this, am I depressed, angry, isolated, alienated, unhappy? And have been feeling like this for months. Hating my neediness.
Starting to drink again didn’t help, or nor did smoking, but I honestly don't think they have made the situation any worse, and they at least provided a smidgen of relief from the unrelenting misery. Actually not misery – just constant, low grade pain / irritation, no joie de vivre. A few flashes of sunshine, sometimes brilliant. Hopelessness. Despair. Loss of gestalt, mojo (but actually not libido – the reverse if anything).
Maybe its Bonnevaux and the WCCM. Maybe it’s meditation!!! Or is it Wolfie? (fucking clever if it is him engineering all this just to get me to drink). Maybe it’s B.
B. Yesterday’s unbirthday present of a pair of scissors (Victorinox, but Made in Germany). What is she cutting? Or am I meant to cut? Give her my fossil stone. Will she give me paper in return?
What do scissors mean? Are they like a tin or paper anniversary? Or just a symbol of parting? Or letting ago? Or cutting out unnecessary stuff? Or castration?
Instrumentalising things. The exact opposite of not-doing, letting go. e.g. I shall sleep in my caravan if she doesn’t want to have sex (to punish her, declare my independence, make her miss me . . . ). Or, trying to solve the problem of my general unhappiness, as if it is some kind of brain teaser, and if I could just do the right set of things in the right order (talk to someone, read this or that book, meditate more, meditate less, go to Greece, drink, not drink, smoke, not smoke, give up everything . . . ) I would be able to fix it.
So I am just here. Not having sex with B. Half suspecting she’s ending our affair. Feeling angry / irritable about pretty much everything at Bonnevaux. Positively disliking Giovanni*, I now realise, and I suspect that’s reciprocated. Not drinking. Not working. Meditating unenthusiastically (which is probably the right way to meditate). Cutting my rock. I’ve turned it over and marked the centre of the base. Now I can cut away the outside.
I am at least writing this, and making an effort to stop drinking.
* I think he’s an airhead, and a fraud (sorry, actor, which Catherine said he was the other day, as well as an architect and rolfing yoga practitioner, for all of which bullshit may be a key ingredient).
Starting to drink again didn’t help, or nor did smoking, but I honestly don't think they have made the situation any worse, and they at least provided a smidgen of relief from the unrelenting misery. Actually not misery – just constant, low grade pain / irritation, no joie de vivre. A few flashes of sunshine, sometimes brilliant. Hopelessness. Despair. Loss of gestalt, mojo (but actually not libido – the reverse if anything).
Maybe its Bonnevaux and the WCCM. Maybe it’s meditation!!! Or is it Wolfie? (fucking clever if it is him engineering all this just to get me to drink). Maybe it’s B.
B. Yesterday’s unbirthday present of a pair of scissors (Victorinox, but Made in Germany). What is she cutting? Or am I meant to cut? Give her my fossil stone. Will she give me paper in return?
What do scissors mean? Are they like a tin or paper anniversary? Or just a symbol of parting? Or letting ago? Or cutting out unnecessary stuff? Or castration?
Instrumentalising things. The exact opposite of not-doing, letting go. e.g. I shall sleep in my caravan if she doesn’t want to have sex (to punish her, declare my independence, make her miss me . . . ). Or, trying to solve the problem of my general unhappiness, as if it is some kind of brain teaser, and if I could just do the right set of things in the right order (talk to someone, read this or that book, meditate more, meditate less, go to Greece, drink, not drink, smoke, not smoke, give up everything . . . ) I would be able to fix it.
So I am just here. Not having sex with B. Half suspecting she’s ending our affair. Feeling angry / irritable about pretty much everything at Bonnevaux. Positively disliking Giovanni*, I now realise, and I suspect that’s reciprocated. Not drinking. Not working. Meditating unenthusiastically (which is probably the right way to meditate). Cutting my rock. I’ve turned it over and marked the centre of the base. Now I can cut away the outside.
I am at least writing this, and making an effort to stop drinking.
* I think he’s an airhead, and a fraud (sorry, actor, which Catherine said he was the other day, as well as an architect and rolfing yoga practitioner, for all of which bullshit may be a key ingredient).
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Say anything you like. I do.