Friday, 24 May 2013
Can't remember what the piece was called. It was short, apparently dedicated to his piano teacher. It sounded like the sky. Well timed radio schedule - just in time to scare the ghost away. You might think I'm making it up. I'm not. There is a spectre thing which comes into my room at night. It tugs at my duvet like a patient calling for the nurse. Maybe it wants to talk. Maybe it wants to be alive again. Not what it's cracked up to be though living, is it? As a ghost you could have more fun turning invisible and scaring chavs. A few hours later bedroom door slammed shut. Would have cacked pants except Dilly was there. I jumped and she sat bolt upright. Strange how a small furry animal can make you feel less alone. She's a really stupid cat but does have an amazing talent for spotting when I'm down. If ever I start descending into the hole of doom she appears as if to say, don't look at that look at me. It's far more exciting. Makes you wonder though, are people with depression weak? Watched a bbc thing a week back. It was about what happens in your head when you get the more severe forms. Apparently part of your brain shrinks and you lose the ability to process normal emotions. Nice. Reassuring in a way. I never felt it was right to tell a victim of clinical depression to 'pull themselves together.' But it's understandable. Sad really. Like the bit of the brain that used to believe in something has been crushed. How do you cure something like that? Part of living here has forced me to recognise my limitations. I am poor, and not 'good' at anything. I'm just dull. What happened to me in the past was a result of me trying to exceed those limitations. I wanted to prove a point. One up against the truth. It went very badly wrong. I wanted to believe that there was something better out there. In fact there was, but even the slightest glimpse came on sufferance. I paid the price. Now I don't even feel better, because all that I could have had is gone. Ignorance = bliss. Those were the days. I've accepted my origins, my history, who I am, and actually it's okay. I'm not good enough. I'm constrained by my own selfishness. Probably always will be. I tried to be good, but one day woke up and realised that I have never been good my whole life. I take after my parents, and that says a lot. At best I consume, at worst I thieve. That little part of my brain that once made happiness just can't anymore. If it feels anything like I do, it's exhausted.
Sunday, 5 May 2013
Unpacked about half of my stuff. Still minor breathing problems but otherwise allergy seems to be subsiding. I think the reason it persisted in my childhood was the horrendous black carpet of dust on top of the wardrobe next to bed in spare room. It had somehow slipped mum's radar and passed unnoticed, gradually amassing troops of dead skin and cat fur to form thick regiments of klller dirt. I can only suppose that it had once existed as the regualr, recognisable type that you find on top of the tv. This new strain required holding a scarf over my mouth with one hand while scraping the dirt into a rag with the other. Perhaps I should get a gas mask. That's the least of my problems though. Main source of trouble comes in the form of a ghost spirit that is unwilling to share its quarters with me. It has the indecency to wake me up at 2am just so it can plague me. It's like water going down the plug in the bath, only the water is the air and the bath is the wall. Luckily putting the little lamp on seems to scare it off. It came too close the other night though. And it wasn't coming on a social visit. I'm not normally the 'metaphysical' type. I enjoy philosophy on many things, but that doesn't normally extend to the paranormal. I am, however, open-minded and wouldn't rule it out. Especially if that particular spirit was trying to eat me. I think thus far we have a cordial agreement. It will resist consumming me if I respect its superiority. The other thing that spooked me at about 4am that same night was a discussion between two birds in the tree opposite the window. Bare in mind that Natnwich is REALLY silent at 4am, so birdcalls will cut though the air. There was a distinct pause of about four seconds in between each call and response. They were talking about something. I wish I knew what. It sent a shiver up my spine. There were other birds present but they were not participating. They did eventually -- after about 20 mins -- as part of usual dawn chorus rituals, but not before these two protagonists has had their say. It was about something important. I wish I knew what.