An old haunt
Shallow sleep. Woke for the third night in a row at exactly 4:10am. Very tired by noon again. Nowhere near such a fluent day's work on bipolar mania. Managed however, to sneak away at lunch into a room and find a comfortable seat and listen to a guided meditation tape which rebooted me enough to carry on. I can't remember enjoying listening to it more. Slumped on an butter yellow bean chair cube thing, wedged into the corner of a meeting room. Eccentric, moi? I am weirdly twitchy at the moment, but nothing that can be particularly pinned to anything, which is annoying.
Bullying the French clients to get them to pay for a day they owe me in January. I hate having to be objectionable just to get the money I'm owed. Home some time after eight. House cold. Calliope tetchy. I bought a self-harming pizza from M&S and ate it, not being bothered to cook fresh food. Mum sent me pictures of a Jaguar she is making. Really good. Now: a hotwater bottle, an early night, a quick read of Paul Klees' 1916 diary, and then a sleeping pill.
Below a few snaps of my walk through the Magravine Graveyard. I am fascinated by this oasis of interest in ghastly Glamoursmith, and it was slightly misty and lovely this morning. I had to tear myself away to work, and could have haunted the graveyard all morning.
Shallow sleep. Woke for the third night in a row at exactly 4:10am. Very tired by noon again. Nowhere near such a fluent day's work on bipolar mania. Managed however, to sneak away at lunch into a room and find a comfortable seat and listen to a guided meditation tape which rebooted me enough to carry on. I can't remember enjoying listening to it more. Slumped on an butter yellow bean chair cube thing, wedged into the corner of a meeting room. Eccentric, moi? I am weirdly twitchy at the moment, but nothing that can be particularly pinned to anything, which is annoying.
Bullying the French clients to get them to pay for a day they owe me in January. I hate having to be objectionable just to get the money I'm owed. Home some time after eight. House cold. Calliope tetchy. I bought a self-harming pizza from M&S and ate it, not being bothered to cook fresh food. Mum sent me pictures of a Jaguar she is making. Really good. Now: a hotwater bottle, an early night, a quick read of Paul Klees' 1916 diary, and then a sleeping pill.
Below a few snaps of my walk through the Magravine Graveyard. I am fascinated by this oasis of interest in ghastly Glamoursmith, and it was slightly misty and lovely this morning. I had to tear myself away to work, and could have haunted the graveyard all morning.
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