Friday 29 July 2011

Nothing Important Happened Today

Really, nothing at all. Nothing has happened all week, and I'm keeping it that way.

I'm considering it medicine. I'm spending a little time kicking back and relaxing, doing things I enjoy. For a change, however, I'm not feeling guilty about not doing any writing. Writing can bugger off for the time being.

Roll on the Akira Kurosawa movies and martial arts flicks. I'm spending my weekend eating pizza and watching people get kicked in the face.

Thursday 21 July 2011

The therapy of experience

I am now on the path of recovery. I didn't manage to do anything tonight, but in a peculiar sort of way I think it was good for me.

My new treadmill arrived, so my evening program of exercise can now begin properly starting tomorrow. I also decided to start surrounding myself with things that illuminate and transfix me, to hopefully get my mind working creatively. I read a little - something I don't do anywhere near as much as I should these days - and I avoided my usual time wasting exercises. It occurred to me as I did so how many of my evenings I must have lost in some sort of torpor. How many hours I've wasted on pointless rubbish that led nowhere, night after night. Online gaming, I'm looking at you.

I watched a documentary on the works of Van Gogh and a couple of episodes of Simon Schama's History of Britain. For some reason I was feeling historical. It helped. Hearing stories of how colourful figures from the past lived their lives set something off in the fog behind my eyes. Made me feel awake for the first time in ages.

I was doing something that was engaging my imagination, which almost felt like a new experience in and of itself - I was taken aback by how bright it made everything around me. I guess I've spent so long with my head down and in a funk that I haven't set out to experience anything to stir me to feel anything else. 

That doesn't seem like much, but the last six months have, with few exceptions, been spent miserably sleepwalking from day to day. Tonight felt important and valuable. Even though I didn't do anything but set up a treadmill and watch some telly. I suppose sometimes it doesn't matter whether what you do is new as long as it feels new at the time.

And yes, I'm well aware of how self indulgent this all sounds. And I don't care.

Monday 18 July 2011

...and I just thought I was a miserable bugger.

Guess what? I'm suffering from depression, or so says my doc. Go me.

Hearing somebody say it actually made me feel bit better. I've been slouching languidly around for a few months now, accomplishing sod all, and I've felt really guilty about it because I thought I was just being listless and lazy. I've been giving myself such a hard time over it, thinking I've been letting myself down. It's been like being stuck in a feedback loop.

But when he said it, I felt a bit less wretched. All those times I've been slumped in my chair, lacking the will to do anything but waste my time and think dismal thoughts; all those times I felt like caving my own head in, hunched over a keyboard, frustrated that I wasn't able to see anything past the tips of my fingers; it fell into focus somewhat. There is Something Wrong With Me, and I need to work on getting better.

I'm not taking anything for it. And shrinks are for assholes, as Jesse Custer once said. So I've listened to some advice and I'm going to try the old self help option. Keeping this blog updated more regularly will probably help. There are a few more things I'll be trying out, too. Hopefully if I can keep to them I'll begin to feel a bit better about myself. Might even have the added bonus of living a slightly healthier life, too.

In any case, it'll be good for me. I think I've been crying out to make some changes to the way I live my life for some time. Perhaps this kick up the arse is one that's sorely overdue.

Saturday 2 July 2011

Ain't got time to bleed

I was a little silly with booze last night, and as I am officially Too Old for that sort of behaviour any more my entire weekend is now a bust. I made a list of all the writing I'm now not going to do because I am so poorly. I'm a dimwit. It was a good night out but now I just want to crawl under my duvet and quietly expire with dignity. Hopefully not covered in sick.

I have, however, learned an important lesson, and that is not to watch films with sad bits in them when hungover. My hangover cure would be, I decided, to order pizza and park myself in front of the TV to watch my new Blu-ray boxset of the extended editions of Lord of the Rings. By the time I got to the end of Fellowship of the Ring I realised that I was blubbering like an infant, face streaked with tears and gasping for breath between deep, guttural sobs.

I'm not sure why. It seems hangovers now make me emotionally sensitive, as well as physically delicate. Who knew that could happen.

I can only hope that tomorrow when I'm feeling better I shall be back to my big, manly self and that this brief flirtation with girly sniffles is just that. I may have to hand in my testicles if it becomes a habit.

I'm sort of afraid to watch Two Towers now. Maybe I'll watch Predator instead and butch up...

Friday 1 July 2011

I am Writor, fear my pen of doom

The Dead Roots short is chugging away nicely.

I felt it click in my head tonight as I found the proper shape of the story. I gave myself a pat on the back and sat there looking incredibly pleased with myself for at least ten minutes.

Nobody does smug and self-satisfied like a writer who is on a roll.