Ratsnest

VERY RATTY TODAY. Ratty as a rats' nest. I started sorting through my books. The main reason had to do with hoping at least £10 might be lurking somewhere between those 1000s of unread pages on my shelves.

I separated out all the Japanese books and my Finnish dictionary. I don't speak a word of Finnish but like the idea of all those glacial lakes and pine trees and the fact that it's hurdy-gurdy yet totally non-European. Finnish is said to be closer to Siberian languages than European ones.

Also I'd quite like to go reindeer herding so Finnish should come in useful. I found this dictionary in a carpark one morning, so of course it came home with me.

Well I slept all day. I couldn't sleep properly last night. Not at all. Then I felt irritable, ragged... the kind of feeling I used to get when I'd been out raving and taken stimulants that hadn't worn off, yet I wasn't really in a good mood any more. That feeling. Except I can't remember the last time I took any uppers stronger than 2 cups of black coffee and some cigarettes. Maybe I've got nicotine poisoning, who knows.

I'm rapidly going off bouncy balls. And I went out to get some bread and bumped into one of my bastard drug dealers spening MY money down the kebab shop. I say MY money: if he invested it, he might happen to have drawn one of my £20s out of the bank. I haven't rung this bastard in weeks.

Well there's not much else to say. I wish I was asleep again. Maybe I should be taking some kind of meds because I feel crap.

Liza Minelli is on Graham Norton. Have I lost my sense of humour or is the current state of television yet another sign that the endof the world is nigh? Earthquakes in diverse places... wars and rumours of wars... Graham Norton. Matthew 24. See it all fits.

I've got nothing to watch. Yesterday I found a Dutch edition of the Gosford Park DVD though it plays in English (I checked). But I didn't really have the £2 spare.

Well I've gotta go. One last complaint: all you people with weird blogs, the sort that have an integral comments page that won't accept anonymous or name/url comments ~ I CANNOT TALK ON YOUR BLOGS. Sweden, Dad & Mom. Unless I've been blockaded for being too boring, Google thinks I'm not signed in and asks me to select a profile. Then won't accept the profile I've picked (my own). Yet all normal blogs let me speak as much crap as I like... so what's that all about?

CYGNUS X: ORANGE THEME (FERRY CORSTEN)
I love this tune; it sounds mystical and reminds me of being happy on MDMA



2010 PhaniaX
this one's even better; in a clonky abstract way............

.

THE ORANGE TRIBUTE: VITAMIN C VERSION
this is better. more uplifting. the background vocal reminds me of a techno good the bad and the ugly

Tired

I'M AWAKE. The computer's on. I suppose I'd better find something to post.

I went down the methadone clinic today. My worker smiled wryly (though still somewhat annoyingly, it has to be said) when I asked after injectable methadone. I don't see why I shouldn't get an injectable script. It might permanently stop me using street drugs ever again. Especially if it's injectable diamorphine.

But anyway. I was still a bit manic this morning. And this afternoon. But it's all worn off now and I feel run down and tired and just want to go to bed. It's one minute past nine.

Anna Grace is having an affair! She says she found a Latin Lover on suboxone who doesn't know she's heavily back on heroin.

I haven't used any gear at all. I spent my money on bouncey balls and pizzas. VERY annoyingly I didn't get a sparkly one (bouncy ball that is, not pizza). I'm thinking of going down a toy shop where I can take my pick instead of having to brace msyelf to the irregular machinations of a ball dispenser. Does anybody know where you actually buy bouncy balls? I mean the big sort a German Shepherd dog would want to catch and bite with its nose. About 2"/5cm diameter. Not the really tiny pathetic sort you keep losing. I was thinking Hamleys on Regent Street. They of all places ought to do a spectacular selection of sparkly and/or transparent ones.

I just saw a telly prog by Andrew Marr about megacities of the world. Curiously London with ot even ten million population was included. The official population of London is said to be seven million. It wouldn't surprise me if that figure isn't a good million out. Definitely under-out, not over-out. There's a new building going up called The Shard. It's the tallest building in Europe. Just over a thousand feet tall, but a shameful 87 stories. Why on earth can't we compete with some vigour against the inferior foreign competition and truly show 'em who's boss in the tall building stakes. No new skyscraper ought to be allowed up unless it marks a new world record in height. And that's that. Also there should be a law stating that all street lights must be different colours. So that London shimmers like a rainbow and looks really cool to visitors flying in. I would totally abolish planning laws and ensure all areas of town are mixed business/residential/retail. No huge areas of midnight ghost town. And I'd allow anyone anywhere to set up a market stall. So London would be a towering multicoloured wonderland of unending tapas stalls and trains. I would also allow railways to run along the streets. Not trams or street cars but proper full-length trains.

The police are on television, committing travesty once more. They've just seized heroin. Probably the sergeant will be getting high this evening (they do after all point out that all seizures are incinerated. Yes on a sheet of ripped off tinfoil with a fag lighter underneath.)

By the way I was talking to someone down the methadone clinic this afternoon and she said two people she knew went paranoid psychotic at the beginning of last year's Great Heroin Drought. Nobody else of course went manic-depressive like I did. Why do I always have to be the odd one out? O yeah and the gear they were using looked just like the gear I had. There were 2 dodgy gears I had. One type was brown and cooked up cloudy, the colour of orange juice, and left globs of sticky tarry black stuff floating on top, which I fished out prior to injecting. This stuff was heavily sedating. The heroin came on first, then another sedative crept up on you over about ten minutes or so, suddenly making you extremely drowsy. Days spent on this were all but wiped from my memory. The other dodgy stuff was almost white (very pale) and cooked up the colour of weak piss (clear). It also cooked up with no citric and though it did seem to include an opiate I'm not convinced there was any heroin in there at all. Judging by the way it felt, this stuff contained precisely the same downer as the orange juice gear and this is the stuff she was complaining about. She also happens to live very near Bouncy Ball Corner 2, where I bought this stuff.

What am I doing whittering away about heroin again. Why on earth did I end up taking that gunk? I used to really love heroin, but I'm not at all sure it's ever going to be as cheap or as strong in London as it once was. I think the Heroin Honeymoon is well and truly over and I'm not sure I'm interested in being married to opiates for life.

Ho-hum. That's that. Gotta go. I'm knackered.

Sunny Day

IT'S DEFINITELY SPRING WEATHER. The leaves are on all the trees. The birds chirp their heads off "of" a morning...

I woke up so irritated today with Vanessa Feltz taking calls about heroin and people speaking of brick dust and bleach in it. Only journalists who are taken as idiots are sold "heroin" with brick dust or bleach in it. Brick dust will filter out, leaving red mess behind in the spoon or on the foil. Bleach being alkaline would react with the citric acid our heroin needs to break down for injection either foaming wildly or just buggering up the injection so bad it wouldn't ever cook up. Which is why you DON'T get brick dust or bleach as common ingredients in street heroin.

I was depressed and exhausted all day and cold but it seems to have got hotter as the day wore on. I have nothing inspiring to say I'm afraid.

I should have been tidying up yesterday but I did nothing I was too tired. Last night I went to bed late and haven't slept in the afternoon and I don't feel quite as bad as yeasterday so it might be lifting.

I saw a thing about cancer on children's TV. BBC children's TV shows a remarkably wide range of topics for the underage and I was surprised at how grown up these little people were. Talking about fighting for their young lives, talking about losing parents. Very stoical.

Now I have to go before I get terminated again. I'm too uninspired to write much. I hope y'all are OK.


Illustrated: cherry blossom ~ this certain sign of springtime is a Japanese symbol for the transient, passing nature of all life into death...

Very very tired

IT'S PAST 8 O'CLOCK and I still haven't slept. I went in the other room, forgot to go to bed, went for a walk. Got no energy from walking. I've put myself on a real downer by posting that stuff you can see below. I hate thinking about that b-----r crap. I don't think about it except when I write about it or get angry with my dr for not giving out answers. Usually I just think about how amazing it is to be me. And I potter about endlessly not actually doing anything but feeling really good doing it.

Tell me if I'm doing this wrong but isn't it normal to fall asleep in a chair, pick yourself up going "oh I gotta go to bed" go to bed, asleep straight away, no problems. That's how it used to be. That's what it's like on zopiclone. Except when I was very hyper I took it around ten, slept around midnight to 2:30, got up at 2:30 and the day began from there and it felt fantastic. Two and a half hours' sleep is the perfect balance, if you can do it. I don't think I can survive on that little now. I just feel absolutely exhausted and gritty and tired and run down and yawning and yet I still will not sleep and I'm scared of going to bed because I know I won't sleep. If you ever need to "try" and sleep you should not be in bed you should be up doing stuff. That is sleep hygeine. No bed unless sleeping or shagging. That is all a bed is for. Lying in bed without sleeping you only do if you have a broken bone or some other incapacitation.

O I've got to go I'm just too knackered. I will try and get two hours but I don't want to sleep any more than that anyhow it means I'm down and I don't want to go down I want to go up higher and higher until I don't exist any more.

Last time I got really really high I stood on top of the cyclone and felt REALLY powerful. The cyclone is my whirling tornado brain with all those clangs cling clang clonging ting tang tong ong ong ping pong bongs it does which are a lot of fun.

It doesn't really do that now so I'm OK manic-shamanic-wise. It started doing it last night but I was walking down the street and that always makes my head fast.

O I've got to sleep. I bet I will sleep 8 hours.

I have to go I am too exhausted for words.

Me-Shaped Hole

I HAD a £1 Chinese chicken and noodles from Iceland. Boil int' bag. Hubble-bubbled away for 40 mins. Considering even a lunchtime combination box, a cheapie, is £3 minimum, for £1 this was amazing.

I checked out my nearest bookshop and found a glaring me-shaped hole where my books should be. Books plural, because I have a wealth of ideas.

Yes the project is moving at last! Like a creaky old goods train, it has shuddered to a start. The hoary old locomotive is belching diesel smoke and trundling wearily onwards ~ bringing cartloads of entertainment to the world!

Sorry I've not been visiting any of you very much at all. Nothing personal. But I must focus. I'm still not feeling too fantastic. My energy reserves are low and must be wisely invested. Talent ~ as I was banging on the other day ~ is not to be wasted!

Got to run. I hope you're all keeping well. Take care of yourselves. Just for a change, I'm trying to take care of me!

Who knows? One day this Me-Shaped Hole might be overflowing with amazing tales!

Ach!

HOW TYPICAL of me to put my foot in it. (Again.) I thought I was simply quoting the German National Anthem. Little did I know that in modern times only stanza three is sung. You can read more about the Deutschlandlied here. I didn't realize my posts might have been offensive (because I posted it up in German too!!) so I altered their titles to Deutschland über England.

News? No news. Unconscious practically all day with sheer exhaustion.

And the weather is sweltering hot ~ still.

Found a brilliant book about the origins of German words and expressions in German. So I'm (slowly) reading that.

Now I've got to run. It's 01:37am! Night night all. Or good afternoon if you're in Australia.

OK just a very quick post ~ and no little birdies either!
I've spent most of today asleep with the usual exhaustion.
I was asked whether I think it's just a question of lost sleep catch-up or whether I feel ill. Really, I feel ill. It doesn't feel right.
I get the patronizing response from druggieservice and healthcare professionals that this is some kind of inertia manifesting (ie "if you don't use it you lose it" and I'm tired bc I never do anything) ~ well how do they know?
As I said, I'm just as likely to sleep in a public place as at home. I only get to a public place by exerting myself. It makes no difference how much "effort" I put into life. Whatever I do, I end up paying the for it. My body goes "no. Too much!"
There's no great mystery to all this. I'll tell you what it is. It's depression with chronic fatigue syndrome/CFS traces on top. Plus of course opiates prescribed and otherwise only exaggerate things... So that's what it is and I'm not too worried about it. If I had a fatal illness, I would have died years ago.
Wherever you are, I hope your weekends were more restorative!

No German today. I'm too erschöpft. If you are reading this somewhere German-speaking these are the keywords/Schlüsselwörter: to patronize sb jdm gönnerhaft behandeln; druggieservice (mein eigene umg) die Drogensuchtklinik; inertia Trägheit; to exert oneself sich anstrengen; effort die Mühe; CFS=chronisches Erschöpfungssyndrom; traces die Spur; to exaggerate übertreiben; fatal lebensgefährlich; restorative stärkend

Surely I Can't...

...PUT UP ANOTHER POSTING titled "marathon sleep" ~ but that's what I did last night.

I went to bed last night absolutely frazzled. Too exhausted to look at the TV screen, things were swimming in front of my eyes. I felt too blurry for words.

So I slept right through from 9pm to 9am. Still too exhausted. Slept another two hours 10am to midday. Then I had to get up. Didn't want to preserve the sacredness of sleep.

I missed Ugly Betty to retire early last night ~ so I must've been exhausted.

Though people ~ and even some doctors ~ say you "shouldn't sleep too much" ~ I feel far better for it.

I suppose I'm going to have to go for this multivirus test ~ HIV/AIDS (don't think it's that); Hep B (already immunized); Hep C (have the symptoms, but then have had such symptoms for years and the last test showed negative) and syphilis (don't have the symptoms).

So I don't know. My druggieworker wants me to go through this test but I'm unenthusiastic about doing it via someone I know even though she assures me it's not "in my name" ~ that's still not proper confidentiality. And even if I did have hep C no way on earth am I having liver biopsies ~ or even worse interferon combination therapy. No way!¬

PS My blog's taking so long to load I've temporarily shortened page length to three days at a time. You just need to click "older" and so on if you do want to Scroll Down ...

Round the Clock (+Poker Trotter Tubbester is Weary)

SUCH SEVERE EXHAUSTION yesterday I slept midday to five pm. Six pm to two am; three am to 8:30, all in all about 18 hours.

I was too exhausted to bother posting this on the day.

I think Maple Syrup, my druggieworker, think I have a disease. I told her I have been like this for years. Years before heroin. It was the fact that heroin played the perfect antidepressant and seemed to give such energy and confidence to my exhausted soul that got me so hooked on it to start with...

Spherical Poker* Trotter Tubbester Roborovski says hello. When she is not wearily snoozing in her nest, she is quite perky as well...

* I'm not sure how "Poker" got to be in her name; Spherical has never been into cardgames ever in her short little life...

***

JUST AS I PREDICTED an exotic coctail of opioid narcotics and benzodiazepine hypnotics has been found in Michael Jackson's body. These included Dilaudid (hydromorphone), Vicodin (Oxycodone) ~ both powerful narcotic painkillers; fentanyl ~ said to be 50 times stronger than morphine ~ which is orindarily only giving to the terminally ill when morphine is no longer strong enough, methadone (given usually for opiate addiction as we know), Valium (diazepam) and Xanax (alprazolam), both benzodiazepine tranquillizers; Ambien (zolpidem) a new-style sleeping medication said to have fewer side-effects than traditional benzodiazepines... among others, according to several media reports.

The Sun newspaper even claimed that in the end he was begging doctors to knock him out for three days at a time on propofol (aka Dirpivan; click here for an informative write-up), an anaesthetic agent rarely used outside operating theatres and intensive care wards, a treatment he was initially given to relieve the pain (so the newspaper claims) of multiple skinpeel operations...

Michael "mummified by drugs" (People)

What with sister LaToya making claims that her brother was "murdered" by a greedy entourage in interviews for which she was paid by the notoriously cash-splash-happy British press (though none of this allegedly dodgy entourage, however, seems to have benefited in the slightest from his will) and anyone who knew him suddenly seeming to have a story to sell, just as I thought, the intrigue that surrounded the star all his adult life has only thickened after his death...

VIDEO OF THE DAY:

PET HORNET!

Yes this is real...



SPIDERS ON DRUGS

The world-famous comedy minidocu. This one's had over 5,000,000 hits on Youtube and no wonder ..!..



This one, incidentally is based on truth. Orb-web spiders (like our star) really were fed LSD in the 1950s. On low doses their webs became fantastically complexicated and beautiful. At higher doses the spiders' brains fried and they spun nothing more than a formless sticky blob ...

My Brains Have Turned To Prawns

(THOSE ARE SHRIMPS to you Western Hemespherites who don't understand our Old World language ...)

OK I know I'm repeating~repeating~repeating myself (what changes) but my brains have turned to mush. From what? From too much Spanish, of course. All in an attempt "not to be lazy" I have been cramming the language into my head as if I had brains the size of Olympic swimming pools, which I do not.

In consequence most of it has splurged out again. I have an ooze of Spanish-word-paella trickling back out of my ears.

When will I ever be complete again? When will I ever sleep without dreaming (and Sueños, as in BBC Sueños World Spanish, means "dreams") ... without my sleep being piqued and punctuated by Spanish donkeys, por favors, Mexican heroin farms, more donkeys, great costas, people booking hotel rooms in polysyllabic gradually fading drivel ... and so on and so on.

Help me. Help me please! I am drowning in foreign words!!

PS Let me stress: I have never eaten a prawn in my life, except by accident. (And that one was disgusting.) And I never would. Prawns are UNCLEAN, rank sewerage-cleaners of the oceans and thus unfit for human consumption. And, might I add, every time people have mocked me for this belief and gorged THEMSELVES on all the prawn satay sticks THEY got food poisoning and I escaped it. So who had the last laugh THERE??

IT'S ALL GONE PETE TONG
THIS is why MOST young Brits go to Spain... specifically IBIZA!!
('Cept I wouldn't: I'm too ******* OLD!!)
PS You really do see great snaggletoothed furry monsters (as at 0mins 31; 2mins 16), if you do too much coke...



AND HERE'S A "BALEARIC" MUSICAL BREAK:

Sheer Exhaustion

IT'S NOT THAT I've been running along hot desert roads ~ but I'm still utterly exhausted and sleeping hours at night AND during the day. I hate having to rouse myself for anything.

Sorry I have not yet replied to yesterday's comments. My mind is a bit scattered.

You know I still have not been to that diagnostic psych appointment. I had the "every few months how are you doing you sad druggie" check-up but my worker was there and that inhibited ANY conversation off the doctor's script. I just wanted to get out of there as quick as possible.

A week or two ago I got a letter advising me an appointment had been booked for me the day BEFORE the letter came. This was the dreaded appointment. I didn't bother rebooking as at the time I thought I felt fine ~ fine enough to reinterpret my entire past as the results of someone not willing to try hard enough.

But now I'm wading through honey (or worse) again and what goes around comes around again and again and again. I'm OK though I'm not going to hang myself I just feel sick, tired and depressed. And I've got to go because the evil cybercaff's about to time me out for dawdling ...

Comatose Sleep... Poked with a Chopstick

I ONLY DRAGGED MYSELF OUT OF BED yesterday for some basic home comforts, before pinging quickly back for hibernation. Friends had finished; there was a documentary on Channel 5 about how tribesmen of European descent found themselves interbreeding with Tibetan and Siberian stock in Central China in ancient times, living lives considered important enough for mummification... Yes it was one of those mysteries of the "how did a blond person get out here" type programmes with no real answers but very good for dunking Hobnob creams to...

Not very much of yesterday comes back, for all I really recall was being averse to the calls of drug-dealers (and the phone did ring a couple of times)... and crawling back to bed and sleeping... and sleeping... and sleeping some more... and waking finally after three o'clock in the morning having slept perhaps some twenty hours out of twenty-four yesterday. I'm glad I missed the day. At least no drugs was an achievement. I topped up on methadone twice while I drowsed, but awoke not eletrocutedly panick-stricken I need gear! but sweating and cold, a full sign of not having used and, despite my having scrupulously dosed precisely as prescribed and cautiously avoiding all and anything else, my minor dalliances of the past week swept over me in sweat and charged me interest in those little shivers. I don't know what else to go for.

A little research of mine has implied there may be some other options hitherto unexplored re opiate substitution therapy. One would involve a hydropmorphone ("Dilaudid") implant, slotted under the skin like a doggie's ID-chip this would leech out a semi-synthetic opiate, about the same strength as diamorphine if not stronger, by constantly skinpopping me night and day for a month. The principle being that with this reliably topping me up, no chance of missed or lost doses and a more heroin-like effects profile, my treatment might be more effective and more controllable. I'm determined this time to put my hand up to go on clinical trials for this thing. I've been mentioning for years I'd like to trial a new treatment and have been consistently ignored. This time I shall make sure that does not happen. I think it's about time some druggiedoctors listened to me for a change...

I played a furry trick on Baby Itchy Roborovski earlier today by sneaking up on the Trotters as they dozed in their nest and poking in a chopstick. Itchy was curled up alone and I provided verbal sound-effects as she span round, violently to nibble at her sides: "Oh no I'm having an itchy moment. Aaargh! It's the mites ~ they've come back!! Oh no I've got an itchy bum now, oh dear..." No wonder my next door neighbour gives me the weirdest looks whenever we pass in the hall...

I hope you all had a merry itchy harvestmousey weekend, y'all with no 20-hour bouts of sleeping as I might do. They say it's a hard knock life and all (Mother Hubbard's granddaughter watched that film Annie about 25 times in the space of 3 weeks when she was three...)...

... which brings to mind that Austen Powers rendition of the Musical Standard. Have an Entertaining Week, y'all...(!)

Dr Evil (& Mini-Me) Hardknock Life...

I wrote out an explanation

I WROTE OUT AN EXPLANATION for what I was doing, why last night... I am not in the mood to post it. It needs tidying up and I'm not in the mood for flicking back and forth between notebook pages jiggling words, honestly. I've been miserable all day and all I want to do is sleep. Nothing's connected with nothing. Nothing leads to nothing. Nothing's ever enough...

Exhausted again

WHAT'S NEW? All I did was go out visiting today. And got back at 5pm. NOT what I had been planning on doing...

O man what IS new? Well I'm not suddenly magic-wandically 100% CLEAN that has not happened.

I'm not as depressed as I was.

Er... and yeah they said it's one of the hottest days of the year today, even though it's only 28C which is only around 80F and I'm sure it went up to 37/38C which is 100F this year (if not, then last). Now THAT felt meltingly hot. Especially for anyone unlucky enough to be caught on board a London bus!

The Trottertubbies are fine. All they do is ping ping ping round and round their house like a miniature horse-race...

O yeah and I'm exhausted. Slept for a good 12 hours last night and still feel like I could do the same again...

... well I'd better go, else this will never get posted and I will never be able to reply to my comments. Take care everyone lots of love

xx

PS 私はまだ日本語学習します。
(I'm still learning Japanese) (and no I can't vouch for the veracity of that though it does say 私は (I) 日本語 (Japanese) and 学 study... I got it from Google translate. My big excuse for not writing anything myself is that ... well how on EARTH would I input in Japanese script..?!? dur!!

No Rest For The Wicked...

CLICHE, cliché, cliché... and yet how very true... who on earth thought up the saying deserves a pat on the back or a knee in the ..**** (well that's wicked)...

I never feel I've gained sufficient rest for the "demands" of my jam-packed soul-empty days...

Suffice it to say I feel exhausted; I won't go on about that...

More to say I have THREE potential writer's projects about to go. OK one, my memoirs is "going" except, as you may well have surmised, it really has stopped. Autobiographical writing is so very much harder than fiction, I can tell you...

Picking over any modern novel you'll soon realize there's a certain strict protocol to constructing a scene and it pretty much works out as a third/a third/a third. That is, almost any chapter of fiction will tend to break down into a third dialogue, a third description of action and a third character-introspection or explanation. That's very roughly so, but speaking from experience when I have written fiction before, once you get the knack of the protocol of telling a tale (and I can only speak for myself): it comes very easy.

The memoir writing did not. Partly because I refused to "novelize" my own experiences: that is construct long-past events into neat scenes (which nearly always involves conflating experiences together, simply for the sake of neatness), then re-inventing dialogue to fit. And slotting the whole lot together into a fast-flowing narrative. In the novels I've attempted yes there were times I feel I managed this. But the memoirs are naturalistically told, ie raconteured in a more blog-like fashion, so what I recall I write, what's less relevant I race through and what's sticky and tricky I attempt to explain. Still, well over 25,000 words in (a good minimum third of a book) I don't feel I truly have the hang of that manner of writing... And I'm still not 100% sure I'm into the whole business of self-exposure on that potential scale ~ my whole life to the "whole world"... So I don't know.

As for the other two projects one is a historical tale so unready I can't tell you what it's about. And it would obviously require much research. The last is my fictitious tale of junkies and addicts, the one with that great mythic hellhound Gwendolina, still locked up in the kitchen to this day for her doll-chewing misbehaviour ~ and baying at the striplight. The rule is ~ most especially for the new and inexperienced writer and this is how I count myself ~ write what you know. This is what I know, and if it comes easy, it's surely what I ought to be writing.

I have one draft of such a book already done but it has such glaring flaws ~ not on a line by line basis, but inherent in the plot itself ~ that the entire tale requires rewriting. What I actually did in my first draft was to break that cardinal rule write what you know, spin off into other areas not adequately researched, and came unstuck.

So I do have things brewing up my sleeve (my sleeves are always smouldering, always festering, always seething out smoke; always have been. Sometimes they fulminate so vigorously they emit volcanic lava...)

So that's me. And as for yesterday, that was another thing I have to contact someone else to be able to do ~ someone I don't actually know. But if they like my idea they should hopefully let me do it. I hate posting "oo, it's secret" but none of this stuff should remain secret in the long run. Unless I garden-out or whatever the expression is. Veg out? Lunch out. That's it. I'm thinking rocket salad here...

Righto I'd better go and squander yet another afternoon... my attempts at room reorganization have turned neat stacks of things into a pigsty explosion of upended furniture upon tartan-bagged robos and falling piles of paperbacks etc...

So I'd better go. In answer to some queries of a few days ago, my robos are fine. They have ceased squabbling, thanks to living again in the same lightbulb box. They trot around quite happily at random times of day and night (seemingly no rhyme nor reason to when...) And they still love me (more to the point seem intrigued by me) at some times; flee in utter terror at others! And that's about THAT...

So bye for now!

General Anaesthetic Snooze

STILL CAN'T SLEEP... still feeling over-tired as if light is shining blinding into my head... and depressed. And slumbering between radio, television and books (I cling to books, reading is a sign of normality: when you're really done for you cannot concentrate to read... at least I can't...)... then eventually turning into a deep deep anaesthetic-like sleep and sleeping so deep and long that I'm dazed and dazzled by the late morning blankness of my ringing phone. What's the call about? The normal dealer's not on: who are YOU scoring off this morning..? Oh the BORING junkie life. Like I said on Friday night, I just want to sleep for ever.

Hey NOBODY commented on my EastEnders trailer: did nobody see it? Did nobody find it funny? It is highly entertaining. Bianca Jackson and her kids performing before some classic faces of Albert Square the Jackson Five's hit "I WANT YOU BACK"...

AS FOR MY TINY TROTTERS they are totally back to normal now. Everyone seems to miss the point: they NORMALLY run away from the human hand; that's what they do (unless you breed your own and hand-tame from weaned); only Itchy as I've said will countenance being picked up ... the others will, in a good mood, come up and sniff my hand, maybe even let me rub 'em between the shoulders. But they're a shy animal. Very fast and very pingy. Flighty galore. How they love to run around in sheer panick! And, moving house, they've had plenty of chance for that!

ERIC USA: I answered your point under where you made it... my apologies didn't get round to answering comments till today tho...

VIDEO: Thompson Twins: Doctor Doctor ~ Micky D 2007 remix... I'm pretty sure this was the first single my brother ever purchased for himself... In 1984 when it was first released not this 2007 remix ~ duh! The first record we ever bought was by Alexi Sayle... we got it for Mumzy on Mother's Day... if it's there it'll be herebelow...



ALEXEI SAYLE: ELLO JOHN, GOT A NEW MOTOR?... First record I ever bought (how distinguished!) The official promovid was nowhere to be found on Youtube so to save you having to watch the "artist" (a comedian) performing on Top of the Pops); have a look at this carcrashing video instead...

Pasta Exhaustion

I'M SO UTTERLY EXHAUSTED today I have that perpetual gritty feeling... you know when you've tired eyes... smoky eyes... etc ... (as the Optrex ad intones...) well that's the feeling in my head. A systemic grittiness of the soul that only sleep can balm... and yet I cannot seem to get enough of it. Every time I lay my head down I appear to sleep for about ten minutes (I know I've not slept for long as the same crap's on telly.)

That is moving room. Not even house but room. It felt like a housemove. All the stress of a housemove. And I gutted my old room down to nothing at all... My big problem of clutter boils down to having moved enough stuff for a flat in Bristol that never happened into a single room in London... not clever...

Well I'm off now to cook value mushroom tortelloni, broccoli florets and posh cheese... might even spash out and obtain cod-in-parsley to garnish it... I have to go before this inner grit gets too gritty (wish I could have what people normally mean when they say "grit" ~ as in moral fibre type stuff. I could really do with some of that; but hey...)

And tomorrow (at long-promised last): Gledwood's Guide to London...

PS: Am I the only person in the world to get heartily annoyed by the increasingly current practice of queueing up in the supermarket (and not only is half the time queueing taken up waiting for the last person to pack up and leave but that's another issue) but getting stuck behind people who insist on paying for four or five items with plastic cards... despite being nearly a decade into the 21st century they are STILL far slower than cash, plus the customer behind has to do a big whistling-and-looking-at-the-ceiling display of not looking at the PIN as it gets ostentatiously tapped in ... all British cards use chip-and-pin instead of signature these days: they had too much trouble with people "kiting" stolen cards and nobody used to check signatures properly (did YOU ever get asked to re-sign? See what I mean~??)... yeah anyway QUEUES... STANDING IN LINE with NEEDLESS DELAY... TODAY! in the 21st century when Marvel Comics told us we would be hovering in and out of motherships in green bubblepods ... AARKH I HATE IT.

PS RUTH of the Gardening Blog "Me, My Life, My Garden" is temporarily back, though still "sans PC" as she says... new post: clickon her name...

Mopeful Monday!

I'M DUTIFULLY POSTING but there's not much to report. Got up early. Did bits. Saw Mother Hubbs and admitted I really didn't like her mashed potatoes yesterday...

Now I forgot to post about this but... ook! The most disgusting mashed potatoes ever she made. What she had done is fork tiny cubed-up uncooked spring onions into the creamy mash... and the crunchy-creamy and bland-piquant contrasts I found over-grossing in the extreme!

I used to like to fry onions until sloppy in lots of paprika oil and mix THAT into mash but the onioniness had been cooked out... this... ooo... at one point I thought maybe neat GARLIC POWDER had been stirred in... oouughkh!

Anyway the rest of today I slept as was so exhausted. If anything is TO BLAME for my being depressed it is THAT SPEED FROM THE OTHER DAY.

Not to mention the BAD AUTUMNAL DARKNESS WEATHER.

Big reason for stopping speed about 15 years ago was the severe depression it was perpetuating... nasty business... no!

***

Anyway:

My Video of the Day
Shirley Bassey sings Goldfinger in Albert Hall...


***

Blog find of



the day:
Gaugin-like paintings http://peinturetapisserienathaliesouin.blogspot.com

Elizabeth http://lizzie-romero.blogspot.com - amazing photos from Spain...

Julia in London - (German) fresher's blog http://julia-in-london.blogspot.com

Bloody Confessional/Worker Working: Personal Goals ... etc...

WRITING THIS BLOODY CONFESSIONAL tale of my drugs downfall is pretty exhausting I can tell you, honestly. Also I look back and just see the mistakes and bits that could have been phrased better. Loads of bits. Hmmm...

FINALLY I did get to see my worker at the clinic. The interim one I saw last week wanted my lifestory in brief. So I turned up with seven A5 sides of squiggles, saying "don't you want me to boil this down to a bulletpointed sheet of A4?" "No, no~ that's perfect," two of them said, salivating at the prospect of tucking into somebody's personal scandals for photocopied bedtime reading. I supervised the photocopying myself as I didn't want other pages "accidentally" getting copied and spiced all over the internet ... woo~hoo!!

We talked about my personal goals. And she tried to justify the head of department's fascistic decision not to allow people anaesthetic detoxes costing £4000 when actually six weeks in the Maudsley hospital South London might well cost that (as a local council-funded "private" patient, which is where you are with drugs, in a pecuniary no-man's land ...) So we've agreed that next time I return with details of this proposed detox of mine with full pricing. Then at least they can knock me back (as they're surely going to) in the full knowledge of what I actually do propose ...

I'VE NOT TOLD THEM AT THE CLINIC about this blog. That would be taken as evidence of goal-seeking behaviour and seen as a good sign. But it would also tempt them to keep trying different search-terms and urls to read my scandalous revelations and I'm not too keen on that at this point in time. (Not that they don't know the "scandal"~~ it's just kept somehow within a different frame of reference at the drugs clinic; that's all I can say ...

MY EVIL LANDLORD wanted me to produce by midday written proof of my continued extended warranty or whatever they call it~ some silly term like that~ to actually live where I'm living. I said yeah yeah, fully knowing that personal callers are no longer welcomed at the Housing's homelessness services. So he'll just have to telephone them himself or take a fax like other people do. When I left in the morning it was actually to go round the off-licence, collect mail from Mother Hubbs's and do more important things than satisfy his scummy ego.

THIS LIFE STORY, as I said earlier, is really exhausting me and I don't feel it's as well put as it might be. I churned a lot of it out quickly as I could to get the main points covered; there seem to be so many of them it's hard to keep a grip on it all sometimes. Also bear in mind that is a lifestory focused on drugs. If I'd told it via some other viewpoint it might sound very different indeed ...

If you're interested in reading times before that, go see my post From Depressed Acorns Miserable Oak Trees Grow ... (what a self-pitying title!!) ... anyway ... you might like it ... that is the story of my childhood....

OK I'm off to finalize my scribbling of today's magickal instalment of My Life On Drugs ... Coming to your computer screens very soon ...
All the best

Gleds

***

RIGHT, IT'S APPROACHING A QUARTER PAST ELEVEN and I'm just about to tap in the next part of my saga. Should be ready by ten to midnight London time ...

Dumplings and Sheer Exhaustion/Paris Punished/Horrible Google Listing

THIS POST COMES LATE IN THE DAY for Saturday I'm well aware. What little there is to tell that doesn't boil down (so to speak) to beef stew. Just kidding:

Or am I?

No, I had a crack at making dumplings this afternoon, using just selfraising flour and margarine. I did attempt this the other day. Glutinous balls was the result.

This time (and this was really the only difference) I made sure the margarine was hotter and the dumplings not pressed while they rolled. Man! They rose like the dawn sun! Came out almost crispy and dry in the middle (but not floury). I can't explain but they were almost like little crutons growing out of the stew. Quite pleasant.

I'm not, actually, sure what dumplings are supposed to be like. And I was not going to buy beef suet just to make them with either ...

If anyone has answers, please tell me!

***

WELL apart from dumplings - what is it with me? That I should constantly be so exhausted. Sleeping. Deeply sleeping. Yet still unable to pick myself up afterwards. And it doesn't feel like the old "too much sleep makes you tired" clanger. It's more like too much tired makes me sleep. That's how it feels to me ...

***

PARIS HILTON'S GONE BACK TO JAIL! How I scoffed and cawed at that one. Making horrible remarks about her all over people's comments (which was hypocritical actually, in the light of what I posted yesterday - because she IS a living human being). But hey!

This comment I left at Deb's blog puts my feelings most succinctly:

She's back in to be punished again, last I heard. I'm so glad.
Let her out. What? So she can sit at home under "house arrest" snorting lines of coke, watching DVDs and calling all her friends. I don't think so. Would they let an unemployed black woman have the same liberties just because she "broke down"..? I don't think so. No! Paris deserves to serve every second of her sentence. Definitely no early release. That will pay her back for doing The Simple Life!!

I did however feel slightly sorry for her when I woke up just now.

(I slept between about eight o'clock and midnight. How inconvenient.)

***

Well I'm having a passable weekend. Hope y'all are too ....

***

o no! look what my google listing says about me now:

Gledwood Vol 2oh my god Gledwood, you're a retard. no wonder you're american. why are you so sheltered? go look at an atlas. quit being a trashy, bible thumping, ...
gledwood2.blogspot.com/ - 9 Jun 2007 - Similar pages

***

Right I'm off. Till tomorrow!

***

PS: Last but not least here's my blog recommendation for the day -

Crystal at Night by Whitecrystal, a Vietnamese girl in Malaysia. Unique point of view. And very funny!