After press night last night I’m really very hung over. My body has not allowed me to ingest solids all day. I got home last night and emptied my guts. But my mind! I needed to do the same with the contents of my head. I needed to shout all those mind-carrots into the porcelain phone. I honestly have no idea how my brain is able to conjure up such comprehensive feelings of malaise. I suppose it’s multiple things at once. Hangover plus end of a full on job. Back into the unknown again. Multiple weird school workshops scattered across the country. Learning business appointment software for my dyslexic friend in order to essentially pretend to be her Secretary while she’s on holiday for £20 an hour on the clock. Writing. Dreaming. Wondering where the next acting job is coming from. Trying to work out Joel and Ethan Coen’s number so I can drunk dial them and tell them I love them. Avoiding exercise.

I think exercise will help. Bumble keeps shouting at me from my iPad. I keep opening it, looking at people’s faces, not having a clue what they’re like, refusing to accept or dismiss them, closing it again.

I’ve started a deep clean of my flat. It will take time and I keep distracting myself. But Brian is away for the weekend so I can throw stuff around for a few days. I bleached the stinking kitchen bin on the fire escape while periodically swearing out loud to myself because it was so hot and I was still sweating beer. Yeah c’mon girls of Bumble, you’re missing a right catch here, mumbling and stinking as he empties a kettle into ancient gunk he should’ve dealt with months ago. But someone said “You’re a man and you live in a boy’s flat.” Good tactic, hats off. Imma gonna make it a man’s flat, oh yeah. Well as much of one as can be made out of a flat with a gargantuan telly rigged through a PlayStation with surround sound. But first I’m out again, into the evening sun, off to see a friend that helps me mend. A mend friend. We all need a few of those. I’m at her door. There are lions on the threshold.


Half an hour of chanting at her flat and a King Prawn Linguini at The Young Vic and I’m feeling considerably more human. I should stay away from free alcohol. But my friend and I were both feeling reasonably tender inside and out, so we helped each other a little by realising that the shape of things in our heads is not their true shape. Now I’m off back to the cat and the flat in order to carry on with this gradual process of eradicating ancient gunk and throwing away the things that are still clamped onto my energy. Movement is the thing now. Clear out my living space so I can rejig my habits so I can avoid these mindtraps and try my wings.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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