I have been throwing my diary around and attempting to stitch possibilities together. A large chunk came out of one of my molars, adding to the narrative that I’m gonna have to go to Turkey and get them to make my ivories less dead. It’d be nice to have a meal and not have to dig it back out of my face. But if all of that was working…
Well. I’m not your posterboy. I just spoke with Lou and she could tell immediately that my line is squiffy. I was sad and so I opened a bottle of wine that I had brought back from Binissalem in Majorca. It made me momentarily happy, but in the long run it just made me slow. Maybe the slowness is what people pay for? All I know is that my state was not welcomed and now I’m attempting this writing. Nobody pays for my writing. This blog is just noise. It might even have contributed to the imagination-fail that means I’m actively looking for work in March instead of being central to the operations of a forward thinking and brave company.
Who knows? I’m just here… just me being me forever, but … discreet forever. So I found the perfect dayjob match, but the world energies closed in to remind me why I’m actually here.
I’m off to bed and thankfully it’s early as I’m not really sure who I am right now. I can only really open one eye at a time. Still, being asleep before nine? Excellent. Tomorrow I’ll be cold calling a load of schools in Leeds. I think the wine happened when I thought about the difference between what I want to be doing and what I’m doing. Life, eh?
I’m ok. I’ll go as far as to say I’m happy. But bed and sleep is needed… I’ve had a lot of wine. It’s barely 9pm and yesterday without any chemical augmentation I slept at 8, woke at midnight and slept again at 3am. I might try a similar pattern. Apparently it was a thing back in the day when we lived by the sun…
AlBarclay 