Let’s say that through sheer manliness and general awesomeness I have survived the cleavage. This is a good, utterly self serving narrative that I like. Also: Bloody hell.
I am, accepting being knocked for six, ten, over 9000 by the above, in an odd place. I’m back from my usual Tuesday night drink but I had exactly four drinks and, shock, I didn’t feel like drinking more. Could be the cleavage.
I am, in fact, a bit pensive. Not morbidly so, more creatively. I haven’t written properly in ages and now I’m really giving thought to it. My problem was that I never wanted to write about bipolar disorder or my own experience but now I read a lot and I see nothing out there about being male and bipolar so I almost feel like it’s a duty to write.
I do not know what is going on outside but the squeaking and clanking of very heavy machinery is very audible.
If I no longer update this blog I have died from over exposure to cleavage.
That is all.
Here’s a novel thought: If a bunch of people arrive on your shore and start yelling at you in their native tongue and you understand them then perhaps they are not from a different culture……. So maybe citing the Viking invasions as an example of multiculturalism………yeah. Then there’s the Normans……..a bunch of French speaking Christian Vikings moving to an English speaking Christian country populated by Vikings and Anglo-Saxons……and we’ve established that the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons were so alike as to be basically the same culture. It goes on: The Huguenots: a bunch of French speaking Protestant Christians fleeing to a Protestant Christian nation………These aren’t multiple cultures……these are multiple variations on the same culture.
So we’re having the hall stairs and landing repainted. Dad and I both chose a particularly loud shade of yellow and oh my god is it loud. I really like it; bold colours are my thing. The ceiling and door frames are currently cream because that went with the old colour and I think that when they’re repainted a brilliant white the whole thing will look amazing. There’s a glow about the place that I really like; it reminds me of spring and joy and there’s something fresh, clean and vibrant about it.
The weather here is perfect for the lunar eclipse. I’ve just been outside and had a good gawp at the moon through the bi-noc-ulars and it’s a really amazing sight; the amount of surface detail that is visible is just stunning.
I’m starting to get rather pissed off with all these fucking panic attacks. Most of them are minor and pass quickly but today I had one, or am having one, and it lasted for hours. I was in the coffee shop with C and I could feel this tension in my shoulders and I became fidgety, then I suddenly felt the need to get out and my heart started racing, I could feel my chest tightening. So I told C that I needed to go for a walk and we ended up wandering around the park until it passed, which was a good hour and a half. Actually, most of that time we were sat on a bench by a stream and I moved between watching a crow building a nest by the river and chatting to C.
I think sometimes it’s nice just to have someone there that paradoxically you don’t have to talk to.
Then every so often I can feel it coming back.
This is happening maybe every other day or once every three days.
I think CC thinks that I don’t think about her because I don’t blog about her and our chats are infrequent. I think it’s more that I don’t know what to do with her. She knows certain facets of my inner workings probably better than anyone and they’re inner workings that even on a reasonably anonymous blog I don’t really feel comfortable talking about. Needless to say I feel a comfort with her, an ability to be open and just say whatever comes into my head in the knowledge that she’s on the same wavelength as me.