Update and rambles.

My cycle is all fucked up: depression over the summer, then feeling better towards the autumn. At least I hope it’s fucked up because otherwise I’m going to be feeling like shit for months. I think that I’m feeling a lot better now though; I’m starting to get that need to be comfy feeling that I get in the autumn.

I found myself laying on my bed last night with a dram of Talisker, jazz in the back ground reading The Diamond Age i.e fiction. Fiction is generally what I read in the autumn and winter. More importantly I’d basically made myself comfy. I’m getting that desire to be out in a log cabin in the wilderness again.

I tell you where we are: I want a bottle of 18 year Glenfiddich, which is basically Christmas in a bottle: baked apples, toffee, cinnamon, raisins…………it’s gorgeous and it lasts ages on the palate.

I’m always more pensive in the autumn and winter. I find myself falling into thought a lot more and it’s not always a bad thing, I actually quite like to just sit and think and I get a little bit annoyed when I’m disturbed. I’m still thinking about writing, although actually doing the writing is still a challenge. Then again one must plan, which requires thought and I’ve actually fleshed out a cyberpunk novel quite well. I’m just trying to create a character now that I’ve got an interesting world to place them in. I suppose that’s why I’m reading The Diamond Age: I’m looking for inspiration.

I hate to admit it but I’m thinking a lot about Dakota.

C said something interesting to me the other day, yeah we’re talking again. She said that women don’t expect a man to be as confident as I am and it actually catches them off guard. I find that, depressive episodes aside when I’m really quite fragile, I really don’t give a shit about rejection or what someone thinks of me. I get the impression that a guy who reads Civilization: The West and The Rest intimidates the living shit out of a lot of women too. I keep finding myself in situations where I intimate that I read and women are like, “Wow, I read too” apparently it’s a rare skill or something, “who’s your favorite author?” they continue and I don’t really have one so I’m like, “I don’t really have one but, Bulgakov, Kawabata, Henry Miller, John le Carré, Camus but I read a lot of nonfiction too, like Niall Ferguson, Francis Fukuyama, Karl Popper, Thomas Sowell”. One day I will post pics of the look this produces; it sits somewhere between pure fear and total confusion.

Anyway, I feel the need to make myself comfy and read.






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