here for me

39

I thought I was writing to let you know
I am here for you
because I understand where you’ve been.

My brother mentioned last summer
half in joke half in observation
that I was a depressive person.

He meant that I am a melancholic person
prone to bouts of darkness
but I mentioned in passing that he was right
that I have been depressed and in passing
his face showed surprise but
he must have known
I must have told him somehow before I told him.

I thought I was writing to let you know
I am here for you
because I understand where you’ve been
to offer a helping hand and open paths
to communicate through shared experienced
but I realised that was bullshit when I felt relief
that you believed me and you told me you were there for me and told me about the wonders of drugs that make you feel like normal people feel.

No, I will not drug myself because I live in the land of faeries anyway.
My brother was wrong. I’m not a depressive person.
I have been depressed but that’s not me.
That’s me in between selves.
Taking a break.
Anhiliating the self to start again,
a blank slate.
I’m a happy trippy hippy.
I stop to marvel at amazing feats of engineering: spider webs and modernist buildings.
I enjoy life.
I’m like a child or an idiot
talking to cats and dancing on the street on the way to work.
I laugh at myself all the time and people talk to me
they tell me of cheating husbands and things that they are ashamed about
because I don’t judge.
I’m a powerful person and I love and help the best I can and I have dropped the arrogance I carried and this makes me better.

But I wasn’t writing to offer you help
I was writing to let you know that you are there for me because you understand where I’ve been
to let you know.

dilemmas

38

I debated it for an hour.
Should I socialise or should I stay home?
It’s always hard when I’m out and about. I meet people on the street to whom I smile. And I socialise with passers-by and colleagues and then I get a text, “fancy going out”, and I say: maybe, let me play it by ear. And I go home, and I think: this is nice, do I really have to go out again? And I ponder and torture myself with self-made dilemmas, and then sometimes I say: fuck it, there’s plenty of time to be anti-social, it’s still early days you better socialise. And I go out. And I appreciate having been out meeting human souls. Even though it’s past my bed time.

top ten SF novels

37

I will change my mind I’m sure. In no particular order.

I am Legend. Richard Matheson.
The Stars, My Destination. Alfred Bester.
The Demolished Man. Alfred Bester.
Dune. Frank Herbert.
More than Human. Theodore Sturgeon.
Brave New World. Aldous Huxley.
The Invisible Man. H. G. Wells.
Startide Rising. David Brin.
The Dispossessed. Ursula K. Le Guin.
Foundation series. Which counts as one entry just because. (The ones by) Isaac Asimov.

write

36

I’ve submitted an entry for a (very) short SF story competion. In an uncharacteristic move I’ve used my main email address with my googable name. (Just a couple of stuff from my philosophy days and a Facebook page.) I think I did this to show myself I must take my commitments seriously. I was reading the entries SF authors were invited to make and was mostly disappointed. I thought: I can do better and then I thought: prove it. A short story is not that intimidating and it’s a start.

I want to write creatively (as well) and have been ruminating if perhaps not thinking about it for a while. I consider most of the stuff in this blog to be creative writing. Perhaps in that I’m not concerned with how accurate a description of myself they are. Not how I started but this is where I am now with this blog (that is older than the wordpress page by a couple of years). I write to convey images, thoughts, and on occasion poetry and use myself as a filter because I don’t know any other way.

I’ll keep you posted. (Stupid joke.)

because I told myself I’d post every day, I’m exposing some of my mental clutter

35

Go to sleep.
Before: get ready for the next day. Efficiency: wash dishes, think over what lunch to pack and what breakfast to have, what am I wearing? Revealing tattoo to Japanese students. Was told to conceal it for the first week so as not to shock their tender souls but it’s been three weeks now and perhaps it’s time so the next question is whether to go the full monty. I think I will wear a half sleeve and bring no items of clothing that could conceal it. No option. Wear a smile and mention nothing. The Japanese way perhaps. Minus the smile.
Set alarm clock on. Check once to see if it’s on. Make sure I check with full consciousness. (I do this now and it controls my obsessive compulsive tendencies to keep checking to see if I put my alarm on.)
I have lots of space now so I only use the bed to sleep (no sex as of yet). My body knows that if I’m lying in bed it’s time to shut down. If I’m short of time in the morning I visualise what I’ll be doing in the morning to save time during my zombieness (which is not related to how much sleep I’ve had). Eat and drink (coffee) and smoke, clean body and fix hair, get dressed and go. Multitasking of course.

unknown

34

I thought: Perhaps this will not be recovered but it’s better not to say. Fortunately, I’m not angry anymore nor do I feel the need to forgive. As ever, unecessary. But for the friendship, unknown.

my mind is happy and busy doing other things

[From my Summer Travel Log:]

33

I keep pestering myself by asking me why I’m not as religious with the upkeep of a travel log as I have been before.
It came to me yesterday on the bus on one of my supper undefeatable happy moods that will come at least once a day: my mind is happy and busy doing other things.