20/06/2007

11:23
Have been up an hour.
Had an excellent sleep last night, after finding a comfortable position quite quickly.
I dreamt of funerals,
Not too disturbing, since I wasn’t the corpse.

When I went to bed last night the rain was “Hoying it down!”, very noisily.

Woke up to a blue sky; welcome change.
Looking at the garden, huge pool of water on the concrete near the front door; evidence of last night’s downpour.
Every Livingstone daisy trying its best to attract attention of any passers by.
Looking good.

I’d collected my mail and received confirmation of my broadband speed having been reverted to old speed, saving me some £7.00 per month.
News of my BT phone bill is to be cut, by a few pence.
E. Mail sorted, couple of practise tests for course section.

I awoke in a positive frame of mind, even considered going out for the day in the car, but soon realised any such plans would have to be shelved.

My lower back is solid!
Having no dope, or useful painkillers, to remedy the situation.
(I just now remember the painkillers I bought over the counter while on holiday,)
Will have to unpack soon.

I look at the weather forecast for the area and see that today is indeed the best day of the week.

Whilst sat in the porcelain smoking the remnants of the ashtray, I take the time to organise the week ahead.
I have to go into the village tomorrow; I need shopping, need some exercise.
I have numerous small jobs to do in the flat so I decide to complete those jobs and tackle the pain problem with a tried and tested solution.
A bottle of Jack D.
I now sit looking at the portion of blue sky which is viewable, look at the white clouds which look as if they could oh so easily turn into rain clouds, sip my JD and lemonade, and am in truth, relaxed.

I mention being in a positive mood, I had words with myself last night while laid in bed trying to get comfortable,
The upshot of the debate being that I have to get a grip on my life again and make more of an effort.

I feel so fucking useless when unable to do even the simplest of tasks, like hovering without paying a high price in terms of pain.
I look around the flat; lots of things I notice need doing.
I will just have to take my time.
Possible reward being a soak in the mini bath when tasks completed.

Having a disability, which isn’t obvious but none the less inflicts pain, is a twat.
Plans cannot be made with any degree of certainty and as often as not I am obliged to tailor each day around the circumstances present upon awakening.

Readers may think the answer is not to get stoned or mildly intoxicated with alcohol,
But when pain is present, any remedy is appreciated.
I did not buy the bottle with the intention of getting hammered, merely as a way of slowly relaxing the stranglehold which the pain now has on my lower back.
I have faith that within a little while I will be able to do some light housework and having achieved that will be rewarded with the satisfaction that once again I have refused to be beaten into submission.

I have concluded that a renewed effort must be made to cling on to some form of activity before realising that in the last few years my ability to lead a “normal” life has decreased dramatically.

For decades I’ve struggled against different levels of pain and done many things which I knew full well, at the time, I shouldn’t have even contemplated doing.
But now, the restriction imposed by the pain is different.
It is disabilitating, with little or no room for discussion.

I had a couple of hours on the Casio, yesterday and realised there is a lot of serious study to be done to fully understand the potential of the machine.
I do not mind that in the least. I played some tunes from the 30’s to the 70’s then concentrated upon the Saxophone voices, I have ideas in mind for utilising the P.C. with regards to music production.

The JD has warmed me through, leaving its distinctive taste in the mouth.
I look at the clouds; they have joined and look more ominous.
Perhaps I have been correct in choosing not to venture out.

Self respect,
Now there’s a phrase often mis-used.

I make an effort to steer away from the subject.

I see the neighbours, living off the sofa, surrounded by months of junk mail on the floor,
They are unwashed, unshaven, their abodes, unkept and neglected.
It is so fucking easy to slip into that kind of existence.
You either have little or no contact with the outside world, and therefore do not care.
Or, because of lifestyle you only meet people who are in the same frame of mind, they don’t give a shit so why should you?

The clouds have lost their white sheen and are now threateningly grey and solid in structure.
I pour myself another drink.
I answer the phone, and once again someone apologises for having dialled the wrong number.

I remember I received a call last night and arranged for them to call me back today at eleven,
I’m unable to check to see if such a call was received while I was at the shop because some berk has dialled the wrong number.
I hate bloody phones!

The blue of the sky has all but disappeared, a few shafts of sunlight still fall on the plant on the window sill which highlights the fact that it is still in need of repotting, a task I’ve ignored for over a week now.

This is what happens to the single gut living a solitary life,
Eventually, nothing holds a degree of urgency no more.
One doesn’t even have to think of a viable excuse,
Tasks are merely ignored.
And with that ignoring comes a disregard for personal self respect as esteem lowers progressively.

I decided the repotting of the plant will be my first job of the day,
If, and when I decide to start.
I will have another half hour of relaxing and then do an hour of toil.
May even have a shave, in readiness, for tomorrow’s jolly to the shops.
How fucking exciting is that?

My mind and body feel as if they could so easily just switch off,
I care for nothing and could simply turn my back on the daylight hours and return to sleep, seeking an answer for all that ails me.

The more disabled a person becomes the more desperate he or she becomes,
They need to feel that the hours following wakening have been filled with something useful, constructive possibly, but at the very least worthwhile.

We all need to feel alive, to have a reason d’etre, some lucky few get job satisfaction, others care for a family and see their responsibilities lie in ensuring their charges are guided safely through each day of their lives, giving whatever guidance or assistance as deemed necessary.
Some are led by reward others by the gratitude of others.

When life becomes no more than a trip along an emery roller coaster, each day shaving off more and more, it becomes merely an existence.
Until,
Life itself is pared down to the absolute minimum and becomes solely a regular fight to survive the drudgery of every day.

I am lucky, in as much as I do have options, keyboards, art, writing, getting stoned, drinking, and perhaps the odd session of masturbation.
I have information available to me; still possess the ability to learn new things and the intelligence(?) to consider options available.

I see myself running towards the “ reasons to be cheerful” pathway.
Cheers Ian.
Perhaps I need a good beating with a “rhythm stick.”

Many people have the excuse that their life is so because….
Of many outside influences.
My chosen life of almost total isolation can only supply one reason for any aspect of my life being unacceptable.
It is my fault, and mine alone.
As such it logically turns out that I am also the only person who can exercise any control over events.
And this, at times is a big responsibility.

I shrug the weight of despondency off my shoulders and take time out to do something,
Potting the plant, for a start.

Plant transferred to new home; will it survive?
Time will tell.
Possibly, like me it will need time to adjust or it may be too traumatised to cope.

My speaker system has just returned to what it should sound like after being slightly muffled for the last few days.

I really am in the mood to put a line through today and hope that tomorrow brings?
A different state of mind.
Because people with disabilities tend to be less active do not make the mistake that we no longer think of things which need doing,
Even though we may not be capable of doing same.

The JD has settled in my stomach and I once again feel hungry, yet am reluctant to eat, trying as I am to lose some weight.

I pour myself another drink and try a touch of concentrated orange, unfortunately the bottle tips, and too much orange ends up in the mix.
Drink spoilt, I tell myself off for being too idle to go to the fridge for ice and make do with what I have got.

The last sentence has summed up what I and millions of others do every day.
Make do with what we have got.
The time is approaching 2 and the lads in the club will be thinking about “boxing” the doms.
(50 pence each in and last double claims the lot.)
That is their choice, they choose to try and organise a couple of hours each day to play a game, followed by a further couple of hours drinking and then home to food and sleep, thus giving them a feeling of completing something that day.

Obviously health problems and being on a low income does limit one’s expectations but some do retain the right to dream wish or even realistically consider any possibilities which may allow greater freedom.

I am alive and therefore should be glad?
On certain days depression tends to blur the obvious and the gift of life can often be a burden.

That is as low as I will allow myself to go,
I know full well the dangers of succumbing to depressive thoughts and have learnt to realise the signals and steer away from any such routes.

True there are numerous small tasks, which, in my opinion need to be done,
But all of these tasks will inevitably only provide satisfaction a dn indeed only be known to one person and that is myself.
I care not that music books can be seen on top of the keyboards, they would undoubtedly look neater if hidden from view be that mine or anyone who may surprise me with a visit, why should I be bothered.

The number one task today would be the alleviation of pain and general pulling up of the boots to escape from what is commonly described in simple terms as the doldrums.
And, I blame the English climate for this recent bout of doldrums,
Having waited all winter I’m now treated to the occasional glimpse of sunlight.
How I would love to spend a month or two in some sunnier clime!
But like the kids from South park so eloquently stated.
“If you are not rooting for your team, then get the fuck out of the ballpark.”

I have reached the level of the label on the bottle, look at the clock and decide a couple of more swift drinks before the hour is up and then possibly return to bed.
If I was abroad that would be a natural idea.

At times life can be so fucking boringly repetitive that you just decide; enough is enough.
Then I presume is when being bi-polar comes into it’s own.
One can escape by immersing the brain into another an alternative dimension.

I have tended to “harp on” a lot about practising control over one’s mind, but to keep hold of the thin straps of sanity I have practised virtual living in several different mind states.

I feel this is not the time to delve further into that subject, save for saying that often as not the ability to change ones perception of the situation and surroundings allows some degree of escapism.
I do not want to go too deep; for example, if pissed off with what surrounds you, take a photo and view it on your monitor and see it from what apparently seems to be a different angle and perspective.
I am not advocating anyone to compare their lives to that of their neighbours but to simply see what is definitely there in a new light.

I look at the price label on the bottle and remember the shops that sell sour mash at less than half the price of JD and remember the harshness of taste and somewhat unpredictable outcome of a session on same.

I, at one time, fantasised about being looked over by an angel, a PC angel looking after the welfare of myself and my machine.
How I would love one now.
See, it doesn’t matter how far the mind strays from the straight and narrow the memories if strong enough, will abide.


What would be the ideal outcome for me, what would make me content ?
Simply to meet a woman who is self-sufficient and has a mind of her own.
Hell I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t spend some of their waking life thinking about income, appearance, or self worth.
And the chances are I never will.
Fact; I never will in the circles which exist hereabouts.
So therefore I am obliged rather than forced to accept my lot and make the most out of it,
And one can only do that by being extremely selfish.
Satisfy one’s own ego trips, need for gratification etc.

I asked a woman one day what she would like for Xmas,
She replied, “enough money to spare to treat her grandkids to a meal in a local supermarket café.”
I gave her some money and was fortunate to actually witness the event, by pure chance after seeking somewhere, for a sit down.
Of all the notes which have passed from wallet to hand that must be the most rewarding.

When one is in a mood like this, uncertainty rules.
You can never be aware of the causes and similarly are unsure as to what may.
Provide relief, if indeed relief is necessary.

Do something new, frightening and challenging every day.
I do, I wake up.

It may seem a cynical thing to say but often the prospect of the envitable “ big sleep” seems to be a welcome option.

I have been adopted by a new pet,
The larger than normal bluebottle is busy surveying it’s new home.
Is it looking for a way out? Or simply viewing the possibility of what life could have been if it had been delivered from the warmth of a womb instead of the insides of a pupa.

I return to the latest comment about my site, stating it was shite and my doctrines unacceptable.
Doctrines?
Hell, I don’t preach, just log the passing hours.

We all seek camouflage; we mingle with like-minded souls and keep away from circles which may see us for what we really are.
Some are strong enough to live in solitude in their own comfortable worlds.
Others, like me will trip from one to the other, looking all the while for a chance to link up with someone searching for a mate to share their world, be it socially or hidden behind whatever they have constructed.

The mind is capable of building walls and barriers as good as any tradesman.
Computer security is far inferior to the systems set up by people who no longer want to the play the game.

The mind is ever so powerful, yet so many people fail to recognise the fact;
I’m not talking intelligence or ability to control body functions.
I mean the mind as a tool.
As with any other tool it has to be cared for, honed, respected, and kept safe.

Are you a spider or a robot?
Good question.
What will you become? A spider or a robot.
Equally good question.

What’s yours?
My favourite question.

I sense that jack and I may have spent sufficient time together and the next drink will be the last before we part.
Am I drunk? No way! Have I relaxed? Yes.
Did I make the right decision this morning upon waking?
I think so.

The sky is now full of lines of heavy grey cloud, the temperature has dropped, and it looks like we will be treated to another night of rain.
Which will please some people no doubt.

I have just received a phone call from the people who took over the care insurance policy when the suppliers of my Plasma went out of business.
I explained that £13.00 per month is way too much to be charged for the privilege of talking to some Indian who basically hasn’t got a clue,
Technically.
Knowing my luck the set will probably break down quite soon.
Should I be surprised, should anyone, knowing that the expected life span is as low as 18 months.
I kid you not.

I use the set, primarily as a monitor and as such it is ace.

I hate insurance deals, often offered as part of sales of computer and digital equipment.
Nothing lasts forever, ask Ollie,
Oh by the way that was the funeral I was attending,
Ollie’s.
Cannot remember his second name but I’m sure you will well, if I mention hell raiser and big drinker.

Another month or so I will have finished my project of writing for a year, thus freeing up valuable hyperspace for more deserving written articles.
I will also have finished the course work by then and have yet another useless qualification to add to the collection.

As a child I was told pieces of paper were important,
As a rebellious young lout I deemed them not to be so,
The person is important.
Anyone can spew out read material on demand.
Hell, just look at the number of “writers” re hashing old books.

I steer away from being cynical and head for an open road.

Where next? As my father would ask , after safely entombing my mother and myself into the confines of the car.
Wherever next?
I wonder.

Some of you may read this tripe and wonder why this guy doesn’t seek help,
Perhaps the mental care authorities have the ability to provide alternatives for passing the time away.
In truth , they have, but there’s only so much potato printing, lino printing and whatever that stupid past time of putting numbers into squares is called.

I believe that the way to recover from any mental illness is to be allowed the freedom to be on one’s own and take the time to slowly think things through.
Past and present, both have to be assessed.