under another sun

Rejection made easy Feeling non-specifically coldy and run down, which happened to be handy as I am working on The Sick Day the short play competition entry I am writing about the death of a hypochondriac. Hypochondria, I'm beginning to think, is a good metaphor for the loss of confidence being experienced in the financial markets around the world too. Institutions are losing confidence in their continued existence, in the way a hypochondriac begins to believe that he or she is holding onto life by their fingernails. Went to the gym for half an hour or so of lumbering on the treadmill and pulling and pushing heavy things. They should wire all of these weight machines up to generate power. Returned home to receive a rejection from a poetry magazine. I'm very philosophical about rejections these days. It is essential if you are to prevent yourself from peering at editors through telescopic sites from a city rooftop. You have to separate what you make, from who you are. J-P Sartre...

Sartre in a swimming pool Not only was it a Friday, but it was a beautiful morning and I felt happy and relaxed going into agency. Quite a bit of work on my plate at the moment but that's fine. Managed to have my fourth swim of the week at lunchtime. At the end of my swim I just floated in the pool for a few minutes, feeling good and staring up at the light streaming through a couple of trees outside. Increasingly, I'm getting stolen moments of happiness like this. In the pool I decided I am getting the psychological reward from having taken my decision to leave the agency. For better or worse my life feels in my own hands again, and mentally that is a far healthier way of living. I'm with Sartre and his buddies on this one. When you take a decision, you prove to yourself that you are alive. After work I met Bob in the West End. Good to catch up with the old Mad Dog. We lurked happily in Soho in The Nellie Dean and forked down a curry afterwards, leaving no stone unturned ...