DISASTER!

OMG it turns out that the Rasputin film I bought recently is the German release, and does not include the original English language track. This film stars Alan Rickman and Greta Scacchi for goodness sakes. Two actors who’s voices must be savoured like fine wine. I get having your local language track on there. Fine. But not even including the original?! What. The Absolute. Fuck. I think I’m just going to throw the box at some passing youths.

Not really, if some reactionary social media cunt is reading.

Yes, I said the C-word. It’s spelled: C as in “Cunt”, U as in “cUnt”, N as in “cuNt”, and T as in “Tough shiT, I said cunT”.

Here endeth the spelling lesson for social media C-U-N-Ts. Oh, forgotten already?! That’s probably because you’ve deafened yourself with your own self-righteous fuckery.

I’m ok.

Anyway, back to my horror. I might still give Rasputin a go, as Greta has those spellbinding eyes, and Alan has his natural charm. Still, I guess I should keep an eye out for a copy with a BBFC sticker on the cover. Sigh. Amazon is such a mess. So is Britain’s home video distribution industry.

I didn’t go on the exercise bike in the end, what with me feeling iffy. I reached a point where I stopped even considering it. I just sat through the rest of Battleship Potemkin cuddling a pillow I brought through from the bedroom. I always think “Potemkin” has a ‘p” in it, but it doesn’t. I had to press mute on the television, as I loath silent movie scores. I genuinely don’t understand what they’re thinking. I mean, haven’t they ever heard of “music editing”?! The nonstop barrage of unrelated score is an assault on the senses. Literally, like it crosses over from just assaulting my hearing to assaulting my taste, touch, and smell. Plus my sixth sense, but only Bruce Willis knows about that. Sort of. What a dummy.

The couscous went well with my homemade chilli con carne. I just added it straight into the pan dry, rather than watering it first. There was apparently enough moisture in the warming chilli to soften it up. I’m glad I have all these leftovers in the freezer, as I think the new rules laid out by my cyclothymia forbid me doing anything constructive around the flat. I wonder if that’s why I’ve not felt very well today. It’s the mental illness moving around inside my brain! I think I mentioned months ago that I’d started to suspect that the cyclothymia had started making me physically ill when it began making changes.

All good fun.

My old school friend hasn’t replied in a week now. Perhaps he’s on holiday doing dad stuff. Isn’t it Easter about now?! I’d check but, well, I can’t be arsed. I’m not in one of my more flexible moods, as you can probably tell.

I retired to bed after the chilli, hoping that I’d do less damage to myself that way. I have been rather clumsy this afternoon. I’m wondering whether to get up for a bit now and see what’s what. I best put the kettle on for some coffee, in that case. I mean, I am probably going to be awake until 5 am, knowing my insomnia.

Right, let’s light the fires and… erm… something a macho man would usually say.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

P.S. Spellcheck didn’t like me typing “goodness sakes” as all one word, so if it is meant to be spelled that way, I’m sorry.

P.P.S. Macho, macho maaan... I want to be… a machooo maaan!

P.P.P.S. Cunts.

Wakey-wakey, eggs and achey!

While I believe I have shrugged off the weekend’s hangover 100%, I am feeling somewhat off this morning*. I believe this to be due to my body not being used to a solid 8 hour sleep without the aid of alcohol. Sad, isn’t it?! I can’t define it exactly, just that I’m a little achey and uneasy on my feet. Oh I’m sure I’ll improve by the afternoon**.

*afternoon

**evening

The tenant downstairs’ dog has been upsetting my next door neighbour, “Angry Game Boy”, with its barking, so sometimes the building, and my nerves, shake with the latter’s vitriolic pounding on the floor. To be fair, it does actually seem to work. I do wonder whether the downstairs tenant works nights, as he does seem to come and go at strange hours. That’s actually quite common for folk living around here, but it’s still unnerving when you hear him slamming doors at 3 am when you’re trying to snuggle down to Patrick Stewart’s autobiography on audiobook.

Are you proud that I managed to get through a paragraph filled with phrases such as “pounding”, “come and go”, and “slamming”, without resorting to crude jokes? Me too, darlings. And I’m glad that I’m mature enough not to feel the need point it out in any way shape or form.

Hmmm.

Anyway, I started watching Battleship Potemkin last night, although I had to look away during that early scene where the sailors examine the gross meat they’re made to consume. I’m very squeamish. Like everyone else who watches this film, I’m basically just twiddling my thumbs waiting for the Odessa steps sequence. I may give up and watch that Rasputin TV movie instead. I think a bit of The Rickman may improve my cosmic aura.

I had the second portion of that kimchi last night. Golly, was it sour! A Chinese takeaway near me (you know, as opposed to far from me) does a kimchi, and it’s just as intense, so I think I’ve gotten the recipe sort of right. Their version is served cold though, although it’s really nice heated up. I’ve now defrosted the leftovers of that chilli con carne I made a few weeks ago, which I think I’ll have with couscous. Couscous goes well with chilli, FYI. Give it a go.

Due to my rundown vibe this morn… aft… today, I’ve been listening to some of that Kinderen voor Kinderen. They really do help cheer me up during low mood attacks. Sometimes a song will make me laugh out loud, not out of disrespect, but because the song is just so damn cute. Often, the cuteness will come from how seriously the young singer is taking their job. That’s the amazing thing about KvK, nobody’s slacking off because it’s some “dumb kids thing”. The songwriting, musicianship, producing, and performing, are all so full of thought, effort, and passion. Then again, volunteers usually do put in that little extra effort. Well, I assume they’re all volunteering. It is a nonprofit thing, after all.

Answers on a postcard.

Speaking of musicianship, I haven’t been playing guitar much since last week. I’m certainly no drunk performer, so that should explains it. Maybe if I was Slash, apparently a very high-functioning boozer back in the day, I’d be fine. But no, after one drink, I can barely form a G chord.

Pathetic.

This is why I should never be in a band. I’d just be asleep on stage half the time.

Oh, it’s Thursday, isn’t it?! I should probably take my rubbish down to the wheelie bins. I didn’t hear the bin men come this morning, but I think I was in REM sleep as they were doing their rounds.

Everybody sleeps.

Sometimes.

I’m wondering whether going on the exercise bike is such a good idea today. Perhaps some toast therapy first will bolster my energy levels. I’m quite enjoying this loaf of posh wholemeal bread I bought. I may have to get it again. I’m not sure why I’m off white. Off. White. Not “off-white”. I’m sure it’s connected to my cyclothymia blah blah blah.

See?! Weird-turning-foul mood.

What to do. What to do.

I had been working my way through the Modern Family boxset, but last night switched over to Family Guy. Now I feel like switching again. I might dust off King of the Hill. I heard somebody do a Dale Gribble impression on a podcast last night, and I was all like “Oh yeah, that exists! Maybe I should watch that!”. I’m very easily influenced. I’ll try on episode and see how I feel.

This post is going on way longer than I’d planned. I think I’m whittering so that I don’t have to deal with… you know… life.

Sigh. Trust me, spellcheck, “whittering” is a word. Maybe not in your lexicon, but I sure have heard it a lot throughout my life. Usually said at me. Well, shouted at me.

Yeah, so I’m gonna go and… erm… do stuff. Maybe get some Alan Rickman working for me.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Rallying against fear

So I reposted that letter for the previous tenant, making sure to note on the envelope that said tenant hasn’t lived here for at least 13 years. Isn’t it illegal to keep such out of date information on people?! Oh who knows. Anyway, hopefully it will go some way to keep bailiffs from upsetting the wrong person. I also took the opportunity to take the packaging from that guitar I bought recently down to the wheelie bins. I was only out there for 5 minutes, tops, but still managed to get frustrated at the world. Some prick had parked their car on the pavement, completely covering the width of it. Not very helpful for disabled folk, is it? No, but why the fuck would people around here take anybody but themselves into consideration.

I’ve mostly shaken of my weekend boozing, although I am feeling a little tender still. I’m trying to talk myself into going on the exercise bike, but my heart just isn’t in it. I think that’s why I’m typing this, to sort of psych myself up.

I’ve just finished watching Fanny and Alexander, but annoyingly only the 3 hour cinema cut. The TV version is on the second disc. I thought this release was the latter spread over two discs. But no, it’s the BFI being generous, of all things. FFS. I’ll keep the case close by and watch it again… some other time. After all, that is 2 hours of stuff I’ve not been privy to. As it was, I enjoyed the ride, even though I don’t understand Swedish. I got a bit stressed with the character I assume is the evil stepfather of the titular kids, although I think I was supposed to be stressed. I genuinely cheered when the two kids were smuggled out of the man’s spartan house of horrors. Funny how people use their religion, whichever it is, just to treat people like shit. Priesthood, along with prostitution, is one of the oldest professions in human society. At their core, both are designed to profit from another person’s desperation. Prostitution, however, has never been used to subjugate, pillage, torture, and murder people.

Plus sex is fun.

Most religions are designed to stop people having fun.

Don’t argue, it’s the truth. There is nothing but historical evidence for this.

Anyway, apart from that little rant, my mental health has improved. I just need that last ounce of alcohol to leave my body. I’ve not drank since Monday, so it should all be on its way out.

That old school friend hasn’t replied to my texts since last week. I know he, a family man, is usually too busy at the weekends to talk, but I’m getting slightly worried now. He did take the day off work last week to go to the doctor, so I hope he’s okay. I’ll wait for him to contact me though.

I did have that extreme wank after being on the exercise bike yesterday. Rather mercifully, I was nice and naturally clean in certain places. My bowels are irritatingly active for somebody who likes to play with their own bum. The guard sheet I put down got messy, but only with lubricant. The final orgasm was great, especially as I’ve found masturbating with my hand holding my cock the other way to be more stimulating. You know, so that the thumb is pointing towards my body, rather than away. I think the left side of my cock is just more sensitive, which the usual way doesn’t satisfy.

Too graphic for you? Tough.

Right, I think I’ll try going on the bike. I might put on some rock music today, instead of Kylie. I need something a little more, well, stirring. I find The Vaccines good to bop along to. I like their new album. In fact, I think it’s the first one of theirs where I haven’t deleted any songs from my playlist.

But I digress.

I shall let you fine folk go for now. Whomever, wherever, whenever you are.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Coming down, coming all over

Well, after 3 days of drinking and getting all emotional, I think I’m finally bored and ready to go back to sobriety. I’ve gotten plenty of sleep, albeit with some weird-ass dreams, but that’s okay. I might try going on the exercise bike soon, although I am feeling somewhat shaky.

I’ve just put on Fanny and Alexander to continue watching. I shall be treating it like a soap opera, to check in with once a day. It is pretty darned long, after all.

An angry-looking letter came for that previous tenant today, so I’ve written on it that they’ve not been here for at least 13 years. Shall I just stick it out the letterbox for the postman to take, or actually walk it round to the post box? I’ll try the former and see what happens. It really isn’t my job in life to make so much effort for an idiot who can’t change his address. Unless he’s in prison. Or dead. Either way, it’s not my job.

Urgh, hopefully the exercise bike will help wash away the alcohol-related negativity I’m feeling right now. There’s a sense of dread pounding away at me, which isn’t much fun. I guess I only have myself to blame. What’s wrong with me?! Sigh.

I’m not feeling very hungry, so I reckon toast is on the menu for the next 24 hours.

Good ol’ toast therapy!

Right, I best go figure out what to do next. I fancy an extreme wank with toys, which may bring me round a bit. I’ll do that between the bike and bath. Planning for these things is essential.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

You know you're in a dark place when...

…you pass by Valentine’s Day without even noticing.

At least I have my booze to keep me company.

You’ll never leave me, will you?

No.

Oh the deepest of sighs.

"The one with the lemons and the tanks?!"

Yeah, this is happening, people.

Again, I’m blaming my insomnia. I can’t abide another night of lying in bed, staring awake at the ceiling, for 10 hours straight.

Say what you like about alcoholism, but at least you get your rest.

Also, how come Sam Neill, Gabriel Byrne, and Harry Hamlin are getting more handsome the older they get?! That’s not fair.

Oh and I have this song stuck in my head. The “Nou en” (”So what”) refrain at the end is joyously hypnotic.

I’m tempted to learn some of these songs. They’re the only thing, apart form crippling booze, that brings me happiness these days.

Burp.

Chin-chin!

Elusive Love (or) Unrequited Desires

No, this isn't a cheesy American made-for-TV melodrama.

Or is it?

My brain keeps nagging me for booze, so I may end up giving in. It’s an odd sensation, once the need takes over. I just can’t conceive of doing anything else but drinking. It’s like a white light shining on my soul, erasing all other thoughts and feelings. Except the need to get wasted.

No, you’re the one with the problem.

So, here I sit, after not long getting up, amidst a whirlwind of mental conflict. Exhausting, isn’t it? Yup. Welcome to my world.

Saying that, I have been encouraged to continue with some of my creative writing work. I was developing the storyline to one project in particular as I lay in bed battling for sleep. The conclusion to this story was so moving that I actually found myself in tears. That has to be promising, right?! I was having trouble over whether the main character, returning to a place after years to try to find a lost love, actually finds said love or instead impotently witnesses them happy with somebody else, so walks away. The latter felt melodramatic and organic enough to work really well, but I felt like I’d seen it before in a pre-existing work. I don’t want to use the term “cliche”, but I think it might be a cliche. Whoops. Anyway, I figured out a sweet, rather than bittersweet, alternative, which I think I might go with instead. These characters have been through enough, they deserve some happiness.

After all that story workshopping, I managed to fall asleep around 6 am. There was a massive time jump between 2 am and 5 am, to the point where I was all like “What?! Where did 3 hours go?!”. I definitely hadn’t slept, but the first bus of the day driving past alerted me to the jump.

Well, I got a decent-enough 6 hours under my belt in the end. I do feel slightly sleep-deprived, but I think I’ll be able to struggle on. I need to recreate that Spanish dish I made last week. I bought more of that fajita seasoning to add, so I’m ready to go.

Booze though.

Booze?

Oh booze.

BOOZE!

Booze.

What to do, what to do.

If you don’t hear from me for about a week, then you know what’s happened.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!