Surviving

A lazy day. The laziest possible really. I woke briefly to feed Boy at half seven. That was mostly a sleepwalk task. The narrative of multiple dreams rattled on and I returned to them happily and let my body rest. Coughing is constant, but doesn’t wake me. A year of double pneumonia and lung collapse helps me know when a cough is surface, and this one isn’t worrying me yet. So I cough in my sleep and my worrybrain stays disengaged. Hey, maybe I was lucky to lose that year of school to double lung collapse fun. It stops me worrying, but it also means my coughs can go deep. This one hasn’t though, and I think my body has beaten it now. I didn’t come to full consciousness until half past two. I then suddenly woke from all the dreams, with Boy’s head in my armpit. He wasn’t too happy with me for sleeping half the day.

I probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere all day but for Frank, who deals with his mental health stuff differently from me. He’s a younger generation. He has meds while I drink wine and bang my head against things. “If you find the right meds then everything gets easy,” he insists. But he had run out and I could feel the anxiety building. Nothing I didn’t recognise from previous flatmates who have fixed it with scag, but never pleasant. Whatever his prescription is, it’s much better than that crap. I needed to go to Boots and grab. So I did. Got some Percy Pigs too over the road. And some grub.

Got home, cooked a load of food, spoke to Lou. Somehow it’s past 1am. I’ve just got out the bath. My biological clock is out of whack but tomorrow I’m off to play with root canals first thing so I’m gonna have to hit the hay post haste.

Maybe one day I’ll write something insightful again. These days it feels like I’m just surviving.