I’ve been crying this morning, but for no apparent reason. Such is the lot of a person with clinical depression.
I keep imagining myself being interrogated by the police for an unspecified crime, Franz Kafka-style. They keep asking me questions, but won’t tell me why.
The paranoid schizophrenic downstairs, whom I have nicknamed: “The Whistler”, has been having frequent violent tantrums over the past 24 hours. He screams and shouts at invisible persecutors as he bangs doors and smashes objects. I fear he will be the literal death of me, should I encounter him in the stairwell.
This building is a madhouse. There’s no “like a” about it.
I have that telephone engineer coming tomorrow and the smart meter installation on Friday, so I will be getting drunk Friday evening. Very drunk. Cross-over-into-another-dimension drunk. Wish I could now, but I need to prepare my home for intimidating workmen to stomp around in it.
One could argue I should be drunk for these events, but hey-ho.
The temperature has shot back up again, so I’m not in the best of moods due to that. A fly kept attacking me while I was trying to quietly make a sandwich earlier. I lost my temper and screamed at it to leave me alone. I suppose this makes me no more sane than “The Whistler”.
My friend “Lesbo Lisa” hasn’t texted me back in a few days, which is making me anxious. Perhaps I have finally scared her off, just like all the others. Perhaps she has found out that I refer to her as “Lesbo Lisa” and is offended.
It is honestly meant as a term of endearment.
I don’t know why I am trying to analyse why I am feeling so down today, as inconsistent emotions are my stock in trade. I’m sure my mood will pick up at some random point later on. Maybe I should go have a lie down and try for a wank. I’m not sure what will turn me on today, so that’ll be a quest of self-discovery.
As usual.
I’ve had some shopping delivered. The delivery boy was cute, but he didn’t say much. I now leave it up to them to start a conversation, as I assume they hear the same crap at every stop. I don’t like it when they comment on what they can see within my flat, but what else are they supposed to do when they’re stood at the door awkwardly waiting for me to unpack?
I was going to put an exclamation mark there, just after the question mark, but I don’t feel like being so assertive right now.
There’s a lot of noise in the building and out, but the world feels eerily quiet. I’m sure it’s a subjective thing.
Who knows what the tide will bring in.
Do stay in touch, darlings.
Toodles
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