An overdue meltdown

So two competent and very lovely men from the council just turned up to do something about the flood on my balcony. Not the leak into downstairs, mind you, the actual cause of the leak. Trying to get the repairs department to think logically like that is a mammoth task. Anyway, apparently, the flat horizontally next door to mine has blocked their balcony drain up with bin bags and old newspapers etc., which is what’s causing the flood on my balcony. It’s not even my fault! I’m very pleased. Apparently there’s nothing repairs can physically do, so they’re going to have to get in touch with the general housing department and get somebody knocking on my neighbour’s door to clear their balcony. While I will probably need to do some bucketing before that ever happens, I’m just glad somebody official has looked at the problem and is taking action to resolve it. I’ve been in a state of guilt over things leaking into downstairs for weeks now. Possibly even months. I guess there’s even a life-threatening aspect to the situation because, well, water’s really fucking heavy, so it could weaken the structure of the balcony and cause a collapse. Check this space!

To be honest with you, I needed that “win”. I’ve felt worse than I’ve ever felt since yesterday afternoon. While the parcel company’s text stated whatever-it-was would be arriving between 3 pm and 4 pm, the guy didn’t turn up until 7 pm. I’m not usually petty about that sort of thing, but they are usually really accurate about delivery estimate windows, plus the value of what they were possibly delivering meant a delivery to the wrong address would be catastrophic. Well, when the guy finally arrived and brought the item up to my flat, he proceeded to complain that coming into the building and walking three flights upstairs to my property was “against all regulations” in his company, Why I would know about that, or even care, is quite beyond me. He then complained that he’d driven all the way from York just for my delivery. Again, why I would know about that, or even care, is quite beyond me. So he finally buggered off and left me with the mystery parcel which, I’m very relieved to say, was the electric guitar that I’ve been waiting for, erm, for about five months. Did I need that second “for”? Oh I dunno.

What happened next is what contributed to my spiralling mood.

I was already stressed about my balcony, stressed about the lateness of the delivery and stressed about the obnoxious delivery guy, so I thought I’d have a lie down and forget about the day. I messaged my guitar Yoda to inform him/gloat that the guitar had arrived, but that’d I’d not be opening it until the following day when I was, hopefully, in a better mood. He replied saying it might help cheer me up to open it and have a play, so I did. I then, somehow, summoned the energy to make a quick video of the guitar and upload it to YouTube. Nearly the second after it’d uploaded, my guitar Yoda messaged me to tell me that you could see my genitalia in a reflection of the guitar’s metal hardware (I don’t wear much around the house, in fact I’m completely naked now). I freaked out and deleted the video instantly, being concerned about getting into trouble for such a thing. That was embarrassing enough, and enough to pile on my stress levels. The “straw that broke the camels back”, if you will. After a bite of my Chinese takeaway… oh, I forgot to mention, my takeaway arrived a coupe of minutes after the guitar… I tried making another video, this time with me actually in the shot, fully clothed, and playing. Because I was already feeling rather self-conscious by this point, I got very upset at seeing how overweight I was in general. The low angle and harsh evening lighting probably didn’t help… but still. So I abandoned everything, watched a couple of episodes of Arrested Development in an attempt to cheer me up, then went to bed.

With my head swirling with stress and MSG, I vowed never to leave my bed again, not for food, not for water, not for medication, not even for the workmen who may or may not be turning up in the morning.

Darkness warshed over the Jim - darker'n a black steer's tookus on a moonless prairie night. There was no bottom.

This buzzing feeling of stress and self-loathing continued until the morning, when I initially awoke at 8 am. There I remained, with the Mysterious Cities of Gold (I never realised they actually find the first city of gold where the Golden Condor is, I thought it wasn’t until the end of the series, which must actually be the second city) playing in the background, until I fell asleep until 1 pm. The workmen had been due between 10 am and 12 pm, so I just rolled my eyes and assumed that either a) they hadn’t turned up or b) I slept through them gently knocking at my door, as they do. So I got up, miraculously, and sat playing a video game for a while until - shock horror! - the workmen finally buzzed my intercom two hours late, just like the delivery arsehole the night before.

Which leads me to sitting here telling you this tale.

You see, this is how depression gets you. Nothing that bad has happened in the past twenty-four hours, but I ended up lying in bed deciding to kill myself through hunger and thirst. I think I’ll miss a few antidepressants on purpose, just to try jump-starting their effect. That usually works.

The positive cheeriness of the workmen helped put me in a better rmood, which is the opposite effect workmen usually have on me. So, what now? Well, I still have that second guitar demo video on my phone, but I think I’ll leave off posting it until tomorrow when I’m in the pub. I care less of a fuck about how I look after a few pints, believe it or not. There’s nothing technically wrong with the video, or my playing, it’s just how I look in it. There’s a reason why I don’t have a single mirror anywhere in this flat.

Right, so I best go pick my life up where I left it off. I have loads of cardboard to take down to the wheelie bins (I still haven’t got rid of the stuff from my last guitar delivery) and possibly take a shower. We shall see.

I’m not sure how the rest of today will go, but fingers crossed I’m on the mend. For now.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!