Some kind of mid life crisis

Drawing was my special talent as a child,  the only thing I believed I could do.

I also have a less desirable talent, which is the tendency to hoard these scribblings.

Since leaving home and becoming a parent I have managed to cull a huge amount of ridiculous writings, and equally demented drawings.

Yet still many remain, I’ve been unable to release them in to the wild netherworld of the recycling bag, their papery hands still clutching my heartstrings. Messing with my mind.

The smell of the yellowy crispy paper, the blotchy biro dreams of my former self, a lonely gap toothed kid, those pictures could take me back to the places I knew when I was young. Beckton, Stretford, Glasgow,  Nan’s loft, Aunty Kathy’s typewriter in the spare room…

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Second Time

Good evening all. I hope this finds you well. Do you have trouble writing, typing or concentrating in general when your hands are cold? Never realised until recently how much this affects me.

Apparently it is because the body is using up the energy it has, to keep itself warm, knocking writing down to the bottom of the list. That makes sense to me!  Thats why I’ve had to leave my latest course assignment and have a bath.

Another study says poignantly that people who take long hot baths and showers may be doing so to ward of lonliness and social isolation.

It instantly reminded me of when i started uni, how sadly I would comfort myself by laying in a hot bath for hours, refilling it again when it cooled down. I was desperately lonely, afraid to admit that fact even to myself. So far away in time now,  in a place which has changed so much, those feelings no longer torture me.

The First Post

“First post? The post that hurts the most.” – Mighty Boosh… (Though not quite in this context)

It’s been a weird couple of weeks so far.

The tidal waves of emotion have thrashed me upon the mental-health rocks, leaving me feeling broken and useless. Even the Excellent Citalopram lifeboat sprung a leak a few months back, so that’s wafted off in to the horizon, a limp hollow sack of nothing. I am like a fart in a colander.

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I’ve managed to be wide awake right through till sunrise, then fast asleep till mid day. It’s not cool when there’s so much to do.

But, I visited a good friend this afternoon who always gives good advice and who told me to focus on the positives. Which is what I am going to do.

Soon. Now, I mean, right now.

Hope my first page looks ok. Thats my drawing, that caravan up on the hill at night. I drew that about 13 years ago.

And, finally on the note of being positive, here are some wise words to savour:

I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” Kurt Vonnegut