Pharmaceuticals: changes to my prescription, mind fog, and apparently needing auto correct to help with spelling the first word

Seagulls. Non delicious.

It is Wednesday for 7 more minutes as I write this, and I feel wide awake again. The O-so soothing sound of my wife snoring is filling the room and rattling my bones. As I finished that sentence the snoring stopped for a handful of inhales, maybe she sensed my scathing written judgements from the dream realm. Maybe I’m talking bollocks.

I spoke with the doctor via the phone and he agreed that I should double my dosage on the old anti-poo brain pills. The conversation was very brief, but I was only looking for a thumbs up before I made the increase anyway. Hopefully in a week or so I’ll be back on track and the wonderful side effects such as jitters and non sleep will have located “off”, and will have completed fucking toward that direction.

I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s just ticked over 12 so technically the night before. Well, it happened at about 3am so technically this story was yesterday morning now… The snoring has increased in sheer power just now… I bet these live updates are scintillating. At three in the AM I opened the window to get some lovely cool air flowing and I noticed the sound of nothingness. We live near a main road so this is never usually the case, but people restricting travel meant that for about 15minutes or so, not a single sound was heard. It’s amazing how disruptive complete silence can be and how silence can be so amazingly loud. A bird begin to chirp. Chirp is too nice of a word. It was not a chirp, nor bird song, it was basically noise. A bird opened its pointy face hole and let out several frequencies with no discernible tempo or structure. It could be that the bird rejected the restrictions of traditional western music and was approaching song with an atonal serialistic approach. It could also be that this particular bird was a shit bird. This bird parted its front head triangle and let out noises that caused several birds to respond in an angry chorus. This wave of noise led to further response for other clusters and the silence was replaced with bird anger. Unfortunately the pockets of noise were not in a call and response manner as perfected by Freddie Mercury, this was the sound equivalent of the bit of braveheart where a few hundred men run into eachother

We are led to believe that bird song is like bird talk. Birds calling out for a mate or to warn of danger, to announce findings to their group. The early morning rukus I witnessed made me think that quite a bit of bird song is basically birds shouting at eachother to shut the fuck up.

Some food for thought there. Next time you are out and you hear the call of a noble chaffinch, just think that it could be telling a neighbor that if they don’t keep the noise down they are going to call the police. Not the emergency ones but the bird 111 service.

I’ve totally forgotten again what my point was going to be.

Ceasing the day, mementoing the shit out of your Mori,and a love/hate of self awareness.

I wrote a post earlier today noting the high probability that I would ignore the many things I had listed on my to-do, and instead sit so still moss may form. For the most part, I achieved this.

Was I happy that I was lazy? No. But also yes. I’ve attempted to gather the feelings felt during my very sedentary afternoon, you will find them below. Please feel free to take the selected words below and arrange them in a more pleasing manner of needed.

I am not a religious person and I believe that when you pop your clogs (or other footwear of choice), there is no unpopping or a return to an earlier stage in the clog popping process. As the existentialist philosopher and inventor of Pringles, Alexander Leipa famously noted, once you pop, you cannot stop.

Did I just Google the name of the person that patented the Pringle crisp as part of a really poor joke? You better believe it.

As a fan (wrong word) of existentialism, I believe that although death is the end, the fleeting time we have should be embraced and savoured, each opportunity presented should be taken and we should always stop to smell the roses. There seems to be a whole host of slogans that run parallel to this idea (live in the now, find your happy, make each day count etc) and I think with the pressures of social media, a large swathe of the public try to tactfully present a version of themselves doing this very thing. People feel pressure to post “proof” of their exciting lives so that they fit in and false realities pack out social feeds.

I’m starting to think that even though I only get each day once and time is fleeting, maybe I need to adjust my focus on what is important. Maybe sitting on my ever growing arse and watching crap TV with the kids isn’t as productive as hiking, learning French, or embracing “live to the maximum”, but does that make it any less valuable? Maybe it is also ok to feel bored, and feel that a day is wasted, so what? Does it matter?

I’m not entirely sure what my point is on this, but basically try to enjoy your time, but don’t feel like you absolutely have to enjoy it either. Sometimes it’s ok to be ambivalent, or meh. You don’t always have to be striving for something.

I don’t think there is a snappy or wonderful Latin phrase for what I mean. Don’t worry if you aren’t ceasing the day but are ceasing up around the knees, that’s fine. “Time you enjoyed wasting, was not wasted” was a rather cool thing John Lennon said at some point. He also said “I am the egg man, I am the walrus, goo goo ga joob” so bit of a mixed bag really. Even time wasted that was not enjoyed is fine, sometimes that happens and we shouldn’t feel bad about it.

I have no understanding of the complexities of Latin so I have done what any lazy person would do, and I’ve acquired the assistance of Google translate. Here is a credo to live by, or not.

dimittet. respirare. nudis pedibus ambulare, et nonnunquam accipere clade, per herbam

Ancient Greek saying form around 2020AD (at about half 11, in a bed)

Everything looks swish in Latin doesn’t it.

My credo reads thusly;

let go. breathe. accept defeat and occasionally walk barefoot through grass

It is now ten minutes until midnight and I need to be up for work first thing so I am going to finish there and get a good few hours of lying awake unable to empty my mind in.

Sunday morning: Plans, and the inevitable avoiding of plans

According to popular belief, today is a Sunday and it is 8:30ish.

It’s really weird that the older you get, the more unstable time seems to feel as you pass through it. I’m 34 (had to check) years old and time seems to both fly and drag at the same time.

Rather than time being a constant steady flow, it feels more like travelling though some sort of dessert. I’m not decided on a type of dessert, but the point is that sometimes it’s easy and sometimes it feels like time drags a bit like passing through say custard compared to water, and other times it flies like passing through an oily section. I’ll be honest, I think I might be struggling to put this into words… Time is like some sort of food if you were walking through it.

If time feels weird now and you simultaneously can’t believe how much some days drag, but also can’t believe that we are a quarter of the way through the year 2020, I have something that will hopefully make you feel better about it all. Bear with me, this may seem super dull as a topic, but it’s not*

Wow that was super interesting

– you the reader in like 5 mins

So as you may know, we are currently residing in the two thousand and twentieth year AD. The calendar we know and love (not real love, but a love stronger than a love for black pepper on eggs, but weaker than a love of cat memes) is called the Gregorian calendar.

We haven’t always used this calendar, and before October 1582, mostly Catholic countries were using another format, the Julian calendar.

At this point in our tale, it is important to note that I have skimmed the reasons for this change and I’m sure that the process is much more complex than I am about to imply. Basically Catholicism and Easter day not lining up are the reasons for amendments.

The defined length of a day and year were altered to enable Easter to fall at a more pleasing time, potentially to ensure maximum chocolate egg enjoyment. The Gregorian calendar shortened the length of an average year by 0.0075 days. Effectively when a day was set for the change, the calculations done meant that in order to line things up in a nice manner, October 4th 1582 was followed the next day by October the 15th 1582.

Now. It may currently feel confusing, and days may have lost their meaning when leaving the house is limited and most are at home, but be thankful you didn’t have a birthday in October 1582 between the 4th and 15th.

Please take 5 minutes to mull over how much of a pain in the arse this would have been.

The change was met with some miffed people, miffed to the point of livid. Not all countries made the move and resisted a bit and operated on totally different calendars.

Just to throw another curve ball in here, Jan 1st was not always the first day of the year and new year was actually in march before the change to Gregorian (I presume this fell in line somehow with spring and all of the new life etc)

So yeah. I totally forget where I was going with this, but I am off to read/confuse myself more on the topic. It also ties in with why month names make no sense. Oct being 8 but it’s the tenth month, sept being 7 but it’s the 9th month etc.

Have a wonderful day, regardless of how you choose to measure it.

Oh, I went back and read my title, basically I will be existing around the many things I need to do, but will not be partaking.

Bits and bobs

Today my day was very straight forward, nothing worth mentioning happened at all but as part of my aim to write something each day if possible to help prevent my brain from sloshing, I have decided to start this post with no idea what will flow out. First thing I’ve noticed would be that I winced to myself when I had typed “flow” and I am not sure why. The author Phillip K Dick not only wrote some fantastic books but had a knack for wonderful titles, one of which is “flow my tears, the policeman said”. I’ve not read it, but the title is nice

Today at work during a daily video call, there was mention of how difficult it would be if we were still using dial up. This led my mind on a nostalgic tiptoe through my teenage years and how I miss the sounds of dialing into the internet.

One thing that consumed me when I was about 16 was the art of the mix tape. There was something amazingly satisfying about considering the mood of the tape, then the songs that would potentially make the tape and then importantly the order of said songs.

Do young people in love make mixtapes anymore, or do they put together a playlist? I would like to put my feelings for you into words but I am unable to express this in the written form so I have put together the following 15 minute YouTube playlist of cat videos.

I haven’t by the way. That was just a potential example of what people do now. If anyone was expecting cat videos, I have prepared none.

Do people without middle names ever feel bummed out about it? Ive got one but never use it. Might see if I can sell it. It’s only one syllable so it wouldn’t give the rhythm of your name a nice bounce. Sometimes the rhythmic feel of saying something really satisfies me and I’ll play it over and over in my head. Here are a few word collections that have a nice rhythmic feel. Saying them over and over almost like a mantra is preferred.

  • Egg in a bap
  • Bibbity bobbitty
  • Numbing inevitability
  • Titillating pterodactyl

I nodded off a bit just there so I think I’m done. In all honesty I can’t remember anything that I’ve said but I’m sure it is all important.


Food shopping, sanitation and unfortunate botany

Today is Tuesday despite what the long weekend would want you to think. It has often upset me that either Sunday or Monday can be deemed the first day of the week, depending on who you ask but any other day would be insanity. Of someone told you Tuesday was the first day, you would treat them as a simpleton and rightly so.

Have you ever noticed that it’s easier to think of songs with certain days of the week in the title but not others? Can you think of a Wednesday in a song title? Have a think. Go on, I’ll wait. I’ve spent quite some time pondering about Wednesday and Thursday in song titles and refuse to Google as this strips the very fun from the not fun at all task. I can think of a song title with every day of the week excluding Wednesday and Thursday. Why do these days not feature in songs as often? Is all of the action occuring at the very start and ends of the weeks?

I forgot my initial point and had to scroll back. It is Tuesday.

Today was quite good. I had to food shop but thankfully leaving the task until late in the evening resulted in very few people and reduced stress. I still wonder why there is a lack of flour available in my area and wonder how much purchased flour will be used. It seems everyone in my semi immediate location all toyed with the idea of becoming bakers but quickly realised that making a canny seeded batch isn’t all that easy. I’ve not even caught the faintest waft of baguette on the breeze.

There is a type of plant that has appeared in abundance in our garden and the kids live playing with it, but the name we know it as is throwing up quite a few winces. A picture of said plant is at the header.

It is known by several names but we know it as sticky willy, which to be honest isn’t great due to a willy being an informal penis. Informal term for a Wang, I don’t mean an actual penis in casual wear. There is potential for a joke about slacks here but I’m better than that. So far today I have heard the kids yell about the dog having a sticky willy on her chin amongst other things, bit I fear it is too late to rename this plant. I am haunted by sticky willys.

All done.

  • Blue Monday – new order
  • Tuesday’s gone – lynyrd skynyrd
  • ???
  • ???
  • Friday I’m in love – the cure
  • Saturday night – wigfield
  • Sunday morning coming down – Kris Kristofferson

Back again for a bit

Well hello there.

I’ve not been on this for a sizable chunk of time but I think it’s time to be back.

First and most importantly, I hope that anyone that falls into this post is well, and that your family and friends are safe and fine. I’ve been avoiding blogging for a bit because it doesn’t feel right. With everything going on, it felt a bit odd waffling about nowt and I didn’t want to throw may hat into the ring with opinions on how countries are handling this epidemic.

Basically we are at a point where my wife (please read in a Borat voice if required) has been questioning my behaviour. She noticed that I have been slipping back toward weirdness that previously led to suicidal ideation and hurting myself so it’s time to get back on this virtual horse and spill consciousness all over the ranch, or wherever this metaphorical equstrian mammal resides. Potentially a barn.

So what have you been up to Chris?

Not much. Plodding forth. I’ve not meditated in some time and need to get back to it. Almost said I’ve not done it in donkeys years, but I wanted to avoid more references to 4 legged transportation animals.

I’ve exercised a bit in the house, running up and down the stairs and I also deconstructed a child’s wooden play house. You are now up to speed on my life.

I really have nothing to say. I’ve back spaces a few bits because it all keeps heading toward covid19 and opinion. Oh I shaved about 60 percent of one of the dogs before he went in a huff, so we have a partially neat pooch.

All done. Felt good to write. Aiming to do something each day as per , but who knows eh.


Monday thoughts, wonderful sayings and a bit about mushrooms

Tis Monday night, the wind is blowing a hooley, and I am full of caffeine yet again.

I really need to cut down my coffee intake, it is obscene. I sometimes drink more coffee than water in a day which isn’t great. If you were to cut or stab me, I would literally bleed blood, possibly into my latte.

My dog walk turned into a 5 mile wander this evening, so I am both shattered and buzzing.

Today I had the pleasure of reading a phrase I had been completely unaware of that made me smile. The phrase was part of an email from a dissatisfied customer during work today. They were unhappy with the return they were getting from a product and said it was “like giving a donkey strawberries”. I don’t wish to go into much detail surrounding my employment however, I can confirm I have little involvement in the fruit consumption of the noble equus asinus.

I bloody love a nice phrase. I can’t think of my dad without hearing him say “he’s as daft as a ships cat”.

If you were to spend any amount of time with my nana, you would likely here her proclaim that ” many a mickle macks a muckle”. I think she enjoys the rhythm of it rather than the meaning. I don’t think she has ever used it correctly.

A mickle is a ye olde word meaning a small amount. A muckle is a large amount. To mack, is local slang for to make. Basically I think it means the small things add up.

Isn’t language git canny. Today I also learned that a bird of prey that scavenges can also be known as a shite-hawk.

This all went off track a bit. The wind is whistling currently. It is my least favourite of the weathers.

I ate mushrooms for tea. Dinner to some. I still can’t decide if they are a delight, or vile. Only time will tell.

I wonder if turns of phrase are still created, or if they have just stopped. You never hear any new ones do you? Maybe it’s not cool.

There’s more bits to say, but I think I might just try and sleep. I’m enjoying typing nothing. Yeah, that’s it I’m done

A dazzling tale of nothing: waffle, ramble and fluff

“I did not get my Spaghetti-O’s; I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.” – final words of Thomas J Grasso

It would appear I have started writing another post apropos of nothing.

First and foremost, apropos sounds like a brand of yoghurt, possibly with a small additional container of sunflower seeds.

I have no idea why I’ve decided to type, but here we are. I’m in bed early tonight and know I won’t be tired for a good few hours so might as well waffle. Our bedroom is in the attic and currently we have the soothing sounds of a storm battering the roof. Angry rain and wind are the opposite of what I want to listen to. This is like anti meditation music. I’m waiting for something to break from the weather. The conservatory is weighing up whether it wants to remain as an unusable void of uncontrollable temperature, or if it wants to introduce water into the situation. Little does the conservatory know, we are going to tear it down and get a proper extension. I’ve not told it yet, and we generally talk about this behind the conservatories back.

To jump back a bit… Are fruit corners a yoghurt enjoyed around the globe, or are they exclusively British? This may be a bold statement, but fruit corners are one of the worst food concepts ever conceived. They present false choice.. you are deceived into thinking you have control, but the yoghurt is one step ahead. If you think about it, and I have quite a bit… There are no benefits to any of it. The options are either a) tip in the fruit and have it combined, b) eat just the yoghurt and leave the fruit and waste 25 percent of your snack, c) put small bits of jam on your spoon and dip it in the yoghurt like a serial killer, or d) only eat the jam like a psycho. Pointless.

I have strong feelings about several foods, but my heart rate needs to drop a bit. The rain has stopped. We now have beautiful silence, broken by the occasional car passing by.

You know when it’s so quiet all you can hear is a slight high pitched ringing? I’ve often wondered what note that is, or if it is a combination of notes. I’ve lay listening and tried to figure it out. I assume everyone has the ringing. I might have tinnitus.

I planned on reading back over these posts in the future, but I think it might just be baffling. I hope I say something profound at some point you know, something to be remembered by. I love reading famous last words of people that have passed, and wonder what their actual last words were. My mother in law had hers prepared. She knew she didn’t have long and tried to come up with something that summed it all up then told her daughter’s what her last words were going to be. They weren’t her last words, but became a nice little funny story the family share, so it’s still nice. I think we all hope to leave a mark; to say something wise, or create something that matters and stands the test of time.

Einstein’s last words were uttered to a nurse caring for him. He spoke them in German, a language she didn’t understand so the words were lost forever. I wonder what one of the greatest minds had to say before passing away, I wonder if it was something like “did I turn the stove off”, or “why present the option of pouring the fruit compote into the larger yogurt filled tray at all, just sell it pre mixed”

That went full circle kinda so I’m done. Apparently space smells a bit like burned steak. I heard an astronaut say this on TV. It could be total rubbish really, no one will be checking. A classic sign that you are having a stroke is the smell of burned toast. You can tell of a plug has dodgy wiring because it will smell like fish. I’m basically listing smells associated with things. I can’t think of anymore.

Oh, I’m rapidly approaching 1 year sober and I am terrified. I’ll pick that one up Wednesday or something.

I’m going to find a good “famous last words” quote to put at the top of this with a picture of yoghurt then go on Twitter. Night night.

Catching up: plodding forward, taxidermy, and looking for a point.

Deja vu. Again. Deja vu squared.

It’s been a while (again (again)), but here we are.

since the last time I’ve done a pretty bad job of taking my tablets. If you ever feel like anti depressants do nothing, forget to take them for a couple of days and you will realise how responsible they are for your daily function. I’m back to it now, and finally feeling human(ish) again, but there was a dip into the bleak for a short bit. It was less than fun, an I was a massive walking arse to my kids and wifery, but we’re all good now.

We went out to the Hancock museum recently, to spend time looking at stuff. The kids LOVE animals and farms/zoo situations so they were thrilled when they saw large glass cabinets displaying a vast array of animals, insects, and things that I’m going to file in the misc section of zoology (what the fuck even are you sea lemon!?!?!)

Our 5 year old asked how they trained the animals to stand so still, at which point, we had to have a chat about the world of taxidermy. MY GOD. Questions fired at me in rapid succession include:

Why are they dead?

How did they die?

Did they catch them alive and make them dead or were they dead anyway?

Why did they die?

Why are they in a museum?

And my favourite, will they stay dead?

Explaining the purpose of it all kinda highlighted how grim it is. The kids were confused, but still enjoyed it all. The kids love a zoo, but the moral and ethical grounds on that whole thing are shakier than something really shaky. I’ll be honest, I felt a simile coming on, but it washed away, like bean juice from a plate.

Is a zoo worse than taxidermy? Is it possible that the zoo donate the dead animals to be filled with what I presume is high tog quilting? Is the dead Egyptian also in the museum, unwrapped from its bandages and exhumed from its sarcophagus as bad/worse/not so bad ? I have no idea where I’m going with this at all.

A man working in the museum came to talk to us, and guided us to the library to show us some really really old books. The library was closed. The man that took us there informed us of this as he took us. He let us in, told us it was currently closed, said we should return when it is open, then led us out. It was bewildering.

I’ve been thinking a bit about how I’m a bit shit at writing stuff, and eating well and keeping fit. It’s easy to get started, but maintaining the forward motion takes a great deal of work. Unfortunately you cant just push off from the side, you need to paddle to keep going and find direction. Did I just drift into some sort of kayaking metaphor? You better believe it. Did I write the word drift in the last sentence and think haha its water related? You betcha.

I’m going to try and paddle forward and keep momentum this time, even if it sometimes feels like an impossible task. If maintaining good mental health is like paddling forward, working against the tide and using the currant (current? The non grape one), then forgetting to take my pills, and eating terrible food and not exercising is very much like trying to swim in the bath.


Dancing with children, various puddings, and Scottish hospital.

If great granny dies, I’ll be sad.

We were on our way across the boarder into bonny Scotland to visit great granny in hospital. Google determined the shortest route to our location should navigated via a series of badly maintained roads and through a series of villages with a population of roughly 10.75 people. I will allow you to decide how .25 of a person is missing. I would have been annoyed at my virtual navigator, but the drive was beautiful. We travelled through forestry, over mountainous chunks, and spotted a whole host of farm based mammals.

Apropos of nothing, our 5 year old exclaimed “if great granny dies, I’ll be sad”. Both of the kids have had more than their fair share of exposure to death and illness in their short lives , and have asked me to answer some of the greatest philosophical conundrums conceived. I should point out that there was a follow up to what my daughter said, and it totally removes any poignancy;

If great granny dies, I’ll be sad. I won’t be able to play with the toy cars at her house anymore.

At great grannies house there are micromachines and a super van city.

To be honest, when she dies, I’m sure we will all feel the loss of access to what were fantastic toys that fully deserve a comeback.

It’s strange the things that are important. Before my grandad died, I took the same child with me to visit him. Bob told me that he had declined a course of treatment that would buy him additional weeks of life at best, and he had came to terms with his fate and had no fight left. I was the first person he told. I think he was running it by me to guage the reaction. It was a really important moment that I shared with him and it will stay with me forever. Our 5 year old remembers only that Bob had a white and a red fidget spinner and that they played with them together.

It’s sweet that both of the kids are so young that the sadness and sorrow won’t hold as much as the fun things they associated with people or a fun feeling. They remember happiness and love, rather than the shitty parts.

I attended a birthday party with child #2 and it was just awful. We arrived early and I picked a place to sit. There were 4 small round tables in a line, so I chose the very end seat. I went and danced with my littlun, and we won a flashing toy as a prize for our dazzling moves. I went to sit back down, and a family of people had sat on the row of tables, and moved my seat off to the side. My seat had a small pair of glittery shoes on it and a small faux fur coat on the back of it (my kids dress in an interesting manner) so it was clear that someone had been there. I decided that rather than feel forced to move, I would sit where I had been, assuming that my new circle of compatriots would just chat politely with me. Instead, the 3 men and 4 women opted to talk about me in hushed tones, and passively aggressively talk about how when another of their group arrived, they would be one seat short.

I could have moved, but felt that I shouldn’t have to, just because of back handed pressure. I stayed in that seat for 2 hours, and it was awkward. They never spoke to me, even after I offered a polite smile, which to be fair, may have looked like wind. We all died together, and it was beautiful. I felt pride in my stubborn and rather dickish behaviour. Also, I got cake.

Good god this is going on a bit. I need to got to bed really. I feel like there was more of a point I was aiming for, but as per usual, I’ve forgotten.

I hope I’m really old when I die. I hope that my children are still my best friends and that we still love eachother a huge amount. I hope that when I do pass, at least one child will remember me for a fidget spinner or small toy cars.

It’s been a while

Hello me, and also anyone else that might read this sometime.

I’m planning on writing a bit tonight after a trip up to Scotland and back. This weekend, I’ve had a passive aggressive encounter at a kids birthday party, somehow hurt the back of my knee while sitting still, and heard a man yell “up your game, that was weak like piss”. The yell has so much that could be analysed. I shall return later.

Back to work, dead rabbit, feeling canny.

Driving home, I saw a seagull dancing on the grass. A small collection of seagulls were stood off to the side, just watching, potentially judging.

The dancing gull, who we shall name Clive (names have been changed to protect the identity of the real gulls) was slapping his feet rapidly on the grass, while keeping his upper body perfectly still. Had his wings been straight down to the floor, Michael Flatley would have recruited this very bird.

The other gulls that stood by idly, seemed unimpressed by Clives dedication, but this did not deter him.

Sub waffle…. the collective term “flock” is too good for this bird, and we need something better, I await any suggestions.

Clive looked perplexed to his river dancing, as if he couldn’t understand his sudden need for rhythm, and this got me thinking about instinct and whatnot. Nobody teaches the seagull to stamp its feet like a daft bastard until worms rise from the earth to see what the fuck is going on, yet they do it. I wonder if they instinctively know that this act yields food, or if they just go with their desire to dance, and the resulting snacks are a bonus.

This weeks return to work has been brilliant. Ive really missed people from the office, and its just nice to have a bit of the mundane back, rather than a life not too dissimilar to a Eastenders omnibus. Next week I will be back full time, and the only thing bothering me, is dealing with the large pile of stuff that I need to catch up on. The temptation to select all, then delete is over whelming.

I am a big fan of wordplay. To the point that I would like to tell you one of the many fun (debatable) games I play in my head from time to time. I can’t even recall the title of this post anymore, but I’m sure it will all tie together at some point.

Update I got distracted and went for snacks. I am now in bed finishing this. I honestly can’t recall the game I was going to say, but a fun game is to think of celebrity names that function as 2 word sentences, here are a few;

Brian may

Britney spears

Ronny wood (would)

Jeremy irons

There are more, bit they escape me.

That might be the end of this.

Dog walking, police statements, and the return to normality

Since the last waffle, things have happened.

The biggest of the things when arranged by non physical height would be the ongoing thing I will refer to as “making a police statement to ensure my cousin faces the consequences of his irresponsible and unforgivable actions”. I shall call it this for ease, and basically because it is that. Snappy titles are not my thing.

On my list of things to do in 2020, I have more exercise and whatnot like most people. i did not have spend time with the police on that list but it has been crossed off now. I’m not sure this is on anyone’s list, barring sting.

At the station, I ran through everything needed regarding him, and have been told it will be taken further. Although it was awful and I initially felt amazingly shart, I now feel calm and relief. I’ve lost family, and it will no doubt be the beginning of more stress, but I know I’ve done the right thing.

I’m back to work tomorrow, and finally feel that everything is heading back to where it needs to be. I’m enjoying food, playing music again and generally feel warmly optimistic. It’s hard to believe that 7ish weeks ago I was lower than I have ever been and had started hurting myself and taking steps to no longer exist. I’m not looking forward to questions about where I’ve been, but I’m sure it’ll be grand. I may even start a rumour about it, who knows.

That is about it for now I think.i had nothing to say, bit need to get into the habit of regularly wasting internet to say nothing on this blog.

I just thought about if the internet could ever run out of space, but then quickly remembered my fear of anything with none moving parts. Basically this started with the move from mini disc to MP3 players (hold on to your hats, this is such a wild story). Basically with a disc, or a video, or anything like that, it has moving parts, and I can handle thinking about how the music was recorded and how it is played back to an extent. The thought of devices with no physical moving bits, playing music from data makes me feel unwell. I don’t know why. Even mobile phones put me on edge. Well slightly uneasy, bit not to the point of not using one.

I hate new things and don’t understand them. I believe I am at an age where I’ve started to hate young people. One of my friends is so young she doesn’t remember half of the jingles from adverts required to function.

I’m now eating ice-cream and my interest here has wained. I’m not even sure on the spelling of wained.


Last day of the year and decade (depending on who you ask and how pendantic they are)

It is five minutes into new years eve, and I’m typing this in a reclined, but suitably propped up position in bed. The angle at which I am sat is almost as obtuse as my attitude. I am happy with that angle based joke even if you are not.

An aspect of my job involves reviewing user accounts for a company (I bet you felt a surge of adrenaline reading that). It is heartwarming thinking about the number of usernames that have been created with the word angle included, when the word angel was intended. Just two letters typed in the wrong order and the meaning is lost. The username “imlovinganglesinstead” doesn’t reflect your passion for the music of Robbie Williams, but comes over as a passion for shapes.

This rather dull waffle was brought to you by mention of the word angle.

I popped back on to social media briefly today and can see that the “10 year challenge” is sweeping the nation by storm… Well… The northeast of England if no where else.

The word “challenge” really bugs me. It’s 2 photographs on a post, challenge is not the right word at all (unless of course 10 years ago you were really into using your SLR camera and you have had to create a makeshift darkroom in the cupboard under the sink. If that is the case, fair enough).

The nice thing about this sort of palava is realising that everyone has their fair share of good times, but also not so good. I’m not basking in the upset of others, but knowing that I’m very much not the only person struggling is weirdly comforting.

It has been 20 years since the millennium.


Time stands still for no man etc. I remember the turn of the millennium, I was 14. Too young to be out on the tiles, I stayed at home with my parents. Just before the bells, they decided to take a walk, so I joined them. When my dad pointed out that there was only one minute left I recall feeling excited at what might happen. The millennium bug would potentially cause planes to drop from the sky momentarily, or the machines would rise up. Jesus could potentially pop up for a bit.

The end of a year, decade, century and millennia happened and I was stood at the side of a road on a bit of a hill, next to a bowling alley that has since been replaced with a supermarket. Fireworks went bang, I heard the feint sounds of people cheering in houses over the road, and that was that.

I know that went nowhere really, but I enjoyed typing it out. I do really enjoy writing once I get going. I’ve just read back over this and it’s very jarring and has a bad flow. I hope that continued writing will transform my flow to that of a beautiful river, and less like a sputtering and chaotic wee being pushed out forcibly by a man with kidney stones and an ear infection.

I might do a nice little round up of the last 10 years for myself in the new year. I might not.

If anyone stumbles upon this guff, I hope that as you shuffle toward the bit where the dying happens, you eat some great food, you laugh uncontrollably now and then, and you do some really good hugging with people you love. The past is gone, the future doesn’t exist, right now is the bit that matters most.


Christmas Eve, sensory deprivation, and metaphorical death

I’m going to blog daily, it’s really good and so cathartic

– me, usually before becoming lazy again

It’s been a while. Weeks have passed since the last one, and we are now at the night before Christmas.

I’ve not done this in a while partially due to laziness and being very inconsistent, but partially due to a big awful mess that has left me with little faith in the human race (more on that later).

Prior to last Wednesday, the day that everything changed, I was doing really well. I had been exercising, drinking water, doing all the right things and actually felt my new medication being of benefit. I even spent 90 minutes in a sensory deprivation tank and it was just beautiful.

Part of the appeal of not being alive is the thought of absolute nothingness. No sounds visuals or feels.just nothing, gorgeous nothing. Getting into a big tank in totally naked and sealing it shut was at first alarming. It takes a short while to stop thinking you will either get stuck,or find out it is all a ruse and your kidneys are about to be sent to the highest bidder.

It also takes a while to trust that the stupendous amount of Epsom salt will allow you to flit, but once you get in the find set, it is just fantastic. The water is at body temp and after a while you can’t really feel it, you just feel weightless and suspended in darkness. Keeping my eyes open in the pure blackness brought a few purple waves of colour, trippy but beautiful. Having no sound at all added to this and for about 1 hour I thought and felt nothing. It. Was. Spectacular.

I haven’t felt so centered in such a long time, and I will he going back in the new year. Then everything went tits up.

I’m not quite ready to write this again (I’ve written a time line for when the police get further involved), but I may revisit along the line. A brief summary would be that a person I trusted more than most, a person I have known since their birth, admitted a secret they had kept from me. It turns out that they have a conviction they have kept secret from the family for 2 years and as such have put me and my family in a very uncomfortable position. They have a conviction that should prevent their contact with children, but have kept this secret and continued to visit and spend time with me, my children and other family.

I can’t begin to think of a way to express how this has impacted my life. The authorities have been informed of this, and I am taking further action to make sure that this person faces the music for breaching the very terms they agreed to. They will likely go to prison, but the deception and lies will take time to heal. I feel bummed out now so I’m going to leave this. Christmas tomorrow with the kids and wifery

Peace and suchforth

Almost a week without writing: not taking care, slumping, and things to come.

As per usual, I’ve struggled to keep on top of all of the improvements and changes I put in place, that stinks of deja vu.

Can déjà vu be smell related? Just to put that distraction to bed, I will say imperatively and without question that the answer to this is yes.

Moving on, I’ve done a pretty shit job of staying on top of things again (go team). You know how in a sitcom you get the “will they or won’t they” theme that runs throughout the whole show, and inevitably they will? My approach to self care and looking after myself runs in a similar manner.

As the year rolls on, I think that I might be able to move away from the depression stuff but by the finale, I always end up getting back together with it. Depression and suicidal ideation are the equivalent of Rachel from friends in my life. This would make me Ross, either way, if temporary ownership of a monkey is possible, I’m into it.

Today sucked loads. My wife had gone to collect the kids and I went for a shower. Without thought, I locked the door, and my family out of the house. I also pushed the key in the lock so even if my wife had taken a key (she hadn’t), she still wouldn’t have been able to get back in. I heard knocking and doorbell ringing repeatedly but assumed it was the kids being wallies as per usual. After 5 mins I was dressed so I went to get the door and realised the problem. When I let my wife in, she cried. She thought I had either a) collapsed (this happened earlier in the year apropos of nothing) or b) “done something stupid”.

It really hurts knowing that my significant other is unsure of my abilities to remain conscious or living if left for 10 minutes. I don’t have anything to say really about this, just wanted to jot it down for the sake of getting it off my chest.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with someone from a UK charity called able futures. They offer monthly support in the form of a casual meeting. Tomorrow is my first one and I’m not sure how I feel about talking about feelings with someone I don’t know, but I’m willing to have a try. I’ve had loads of not so great thoughts again so getting back on the horse, or other animal based transport is a must.

I’ve changed my mind, fragrance based déjà vu isn’t a thing, however, I am very fond of smells.

Top 5 smells that make me happy

Soily potatoes

New shed smell

Fresh cut lemon

Cold air when it is snowing, it’s not really a smell but it’s good

Fresh bread.

I wonder if I’ll get any new favourite things, or of the list is done and locked in place by your brain by 20.


The walk I had on Monday, and other riveting tales.

It’s been a few days since the last time I typed, and that one went a bit all over the place due to a rather nice bit of clip art. This is me getting back up to speed.

So on Monday I got up really early and actually managed to drag myself out of bed without too much of an internal fight. I felt great for getting myself up and performing the everyday tasks I’ve been neglecting; I washed my face, brushed teeth, and felt quite good about the day ahead. In the time it took to get downstairs this changed and I wanted to give up and quit life yet again.

I keep getting that strange feeling of complete emptiness, where I’m not sad, I’m not unhappy, I’m just nothing. Sometimes I love this feeling of depression (I’m sure this probably isn’t a good thing), but today, it sucked.

As part of my “get fit mentally and get back to work and stop thinking about doing silly things” (snappy name), I’m trying to walk more often and this presented a chance for me and the dogs to get out and about.

I don’t know why, but I kept walking without the intention of returning home, but without a desired end location. My usual 3ish mile walk turned into 13 miles. I didn’t get that amazing rush of endorphins or find any clarity, but I did learn that it is possible for the gooch to get sore from walking.

I kinda hoped that walking without music for such a distance along the coast and through a woodland sort of place would result in the universe bestowing some deep lesson on me. I didn’t Learn a single thing about myself, my feelings, or anything. It wasn’t the introspective trip I hoped it would be and it didn’t make me feel much other than hot and tired. I felt as lost and empty as before starting. This was a bummer.

My daughter is colouring in and asked who draws the pictures. This is a good question and has the potential for a huge tangent.

Ive been reading a book about a man that not only survived living in a concentration camp, but also how he kept hope and found meaning in his existence. The book is breath taking and profoundly sad, but also has great insight into the importance of searching for and finding meaning in life.

Sure, the universe is ambivalent and nothing about you or your existence has any sort of great logic or purpose, but does that mean we shouldn’t search for a personal reason to hang on in?

I don’t know. Maybe.

When walking gets out of hand: the search for meaning

Firstly, this is a lovely picture.

Of all of the free stock images in all of the world wide web, this one stood out. I wonder if the person that took the picture is a professional stock photo photographer.

I wonder if those types of photographer take images for the joy of the art, or if they are constantly thinking about the next big hit. Was thw photo above a creative image captured while living in the moment, then shared with the world, or was it all about money?

What if the photographer is obsessed with the person in the distance and has dressed in foliage as part of a disguise to help satisfy their voyeuristic cravings. What happened after the shot? Is this image a vital clue in discovering what happened to the orange coated jogger? Was this the calling card of the pine tree peeper and just one of many visual clues about their victims, hidden in plain sight….

Some cultures (please excuse my terrible memory for specifics) believe that a photograph takes part of the subjects soul, never to return. How many pictures can be taken of a person before their soul is gone? Do filters and resolution settings make a difference?

I really like photographs that catch people off guard. None posed photography is the best kind. A picture that catches you off guard is more likely to reveal something subtle than a staged picture. You may be smiling, but your eyes are not.

A relative once told me about an old photo of his grandad. In this picture, he was standing outside with his mother and some other person (again details don’t stick for me). The picture also apparently had evidence of a ghost, and not just any old ghost, but the ghost of a family pet dog. I remember thinking it was such a stupid thing, and couldn’t be true, until I finally saw the photograph…

In the picture, the ghost of the dead dog was leaning against the legs of one of the chaps and I was told that this could be seen. All I saw was a man with slightly crumpled trousers. That’s the end of that story. Was it a ghost, was it a result of poor ironing, who knows. The belief brought comfort to someone and became an interesting tale,so maybe that’s all that matters.

This was going to be all about my day, but has gone in a different direction. All because of some nice stock imagery. Maybe this is the true role of the stock artist. Not financial gain, but generating a one person waffle, taking place on their personal blog. The artist has infiltrated my life and will be preserved for however long this non physical document remains.

I should have went with the other picture of leaves.

I forget the point I came here to discuss but will pict this up tomorrow morning.


Once more from the top.

Today has been awful.

I physically couldn’t get out of bed this morning and my brain has started whispering at me again.

Even though I’ve managed to recognise when I’m wandering down through the “what if’s” of self damage, I struggle not to go with it rather than try and stop it. I’ve imagined some rather specific methods of damage, which I won’t be going into, but needless to say it wasn’t good.

Yesterday I hurt myself too, and in hindsight, should have processed this at the time. I like to punch things, this is my go to. Walls, poles, myself, pretty much anything. I’m not sure why this is the main choice I make.

I contacted work and told them I can’t come in yet. I’m not ready, and don’t think I’m in a frame of mind that would be good enough while in the 9 to 5.

I’m giving myself this week to really dove head first into the “new me”. I will live my best life, live, laugh love, slay, and other phrases that irk me.

I’ve got a dog walk later, and plan on avoiding triggers for harm, and will be meditating tonight rather than on my phone.

Or I won’t. There’s a high chance that I won’t.


Rain, rain, apathy and meh.

It’s been a few days since my last daily post.

I had my big crisis and reached a point where I needed to ask for help just 9ish days ago, and already I am falling back towards laziness and whatnot. Whatnot. I couldn’t even be arsed to find another word…didn’t even check down the side of the sofa.

Today sucked for roughly 80% of the time I’ve been awake, but I’ve had a few nice zen-esque bits here and there. I spent the majority of the day not drinking water, not exercising, and not taking time to concentrate on my breathing. I also didn’t take time to reflect, or do any of the other daily tasks I’ve set myself to keep the weird thoughts and fantasies away. I’m not sure fantasy is the right word… I mean the non sexy type unfortunately.

Tomorrow is my last day off before returning to work, and I’m starting to worry that things will be weird. I’m hoping that no one is tiptoeing about, or walking on eggs shells or other texture that crush audibly beneath footwear. If I wasn’t lazy, I’d look at where the phrase to walk on eggshells came from.

The positive bits of the day were odd. It’s been raining none stop all day, but I really loved walking the dogs and getting soaked. There’s something lovely about being stuck outside on a miserable evening. I took the picture at the top of the page on my wander.

I’m out of things for now. Structure will resume tomorrow potentially.


Daily waffle

This Wednesday life has been a bag of revels. I’ve had a few really nice nuggets of happy, but ultimately they were surrounded by chunks of upset that made me question why I bother.

Waking up this morning was the emotional equivalent of a chocolate coated raisin. I’ve struggled with getting up in the morning for ages, but today I had the worst case of the fuck its I’ve ever felt.

I physically could not move from bed and the thought of anything but lying perfectly still until the universe collapsed was terrifying. I didn’t want to be in bed, nor out of bed, and I felt a whole new level of nothingness. Eventually my wife lovingly pressured me into life, and we took the dogs for a walk. I have no idea why she sticks with me at all, she’s so patient and understanding. I might talk about her more in the future and such, but feel uncomfortable right this second.

Today I partook in some meditation and didn’t feel like a total arsehole even once. I found listening to the traffic and really savouring each few seconds between inhaling and exhaling almost intoxicating.

Small moments like this are keeping me pushing forward. I’ve only had one, maybe two questionable thoughts today which is a massive improvement.

I honestly feel like this current wave of empty “meh” is braking but I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch, or a slightly more up to date phrase.

Side note

I find that my medication mixed with lack of sleep throw my concentration off in odd directions and the phrase about counting chickens took me away for a good 5 mins.

Do you think anyone is currently trying to get a modern collection of helpful adages into the public sphere? Something that relates to modern life and not farmers or sailors?

I tried to think of some and got nothing. Hmm.

Think that’s it. Im off to look for tips and tricks to help reduce the feelings of dread at living

The egg picture has no real relevance and should not be counted just yet.

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