Chunks Of My Life

A Competition:

Earlier I made a kale, spinach and avocado smoothie. Yes, it tasted as “green” as it sounds.

I have kept the avocado stones because I want my brother, my dad and I to each grow our own avocado plant and have a competition to see whose grows the tallest and whose stays alive the longest. We used to have sunflower-growing competitions when me and my bro were kids, when we had a big garden. I hope my brother agrees to take part in the avocado plant-growing competition. I think I’ll be sad if he doesn’t.

An Observation:

Every evening I see the same old man hobbling along on crutches, with the same young lady on his arm. When he’s tired of walking they sit on a wall and talk for a while. The lady hugs him or holds his hand or kisses him on the cheek. She helps him up and they walk a few more steps until the next break. I like to think that they are father and daughter.

It makes me wonder if there’s someone who notices my dad and I walking past, taking little breaks, me holding his hand and trying to help him walk with as little pain possible. I wonder if the stranger who sees us so often also thinks, ‘I like to think that they are father and daughter,’ and smiles when we get to our destination safely, as I smile when the old man and the young lady get to theirs.

Yorick Jr.

I got myself a new boyfriend – he is really a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.

I’m working on a vanitas and he is part of the composition. My niece thinks that I’m a witch because I always wear black and have “magic” jewellery and long black nails and I have taught her loads about the moon, and so the skull has pretty much confirmed her beliefs. She really is my favourite little girl, her imagination inspires me.

Shit at Cricket:

I have been practising mindfulness as often as I can. This is something which is really hard for me, I really struggle to be mindful, to live in the present. I’m not good at it, I can’t switch off, I can’t focus, I can’t stop thinking bad things. I keep practising though, even though I’m not good at it and it’s really hard.

This is a first. I do not do things that I’m not good at. If I’m bad at something, I never do it again through fear of embarrassment. For example, I am shit at cricket and I know I am shit at cricket. Therefore, I am not going to play cricket, ever. Not even with my niece and nephew at the park, lest I embarrass myself. Practise does not make perfect, I will always be shit at cricket. Really, I am terrified of looking silly, of people laughing at me, of people taking the piss. Which is odd, because I am sure that I look silly and embarrass myself and become a laughingstock every single time I am drunk. Hmm.

Shrink-wrapped:

I am meeting my new psychiatrist on Tuesday. Anniversary of the London 7/7 bombings. I know it’s bad, but I’ve already decided that I don’t like him or her, whoever this new psychiatrist is.

I know that I will not trust him or her.
I know that I will tell him or her my stories anyway.
My stories will be repeated to his or her spouse over the dinner table.
He or she will make me lots of false promises.
He or she will provide hollow reassurances.
Probably give me a new diagnosis, probably change my meds, probably do absolute fuck all to fix me.
Probably tell me I cannot be fixed.
Tell me I’m unfixable.
Schedule an appointment for 3 months time.
Cancel it. Fail to tell me that it’s cancelled.
Fail to reschedule.
Fail me miserably.
Fail me altogether.
Fail me.
Move to a different hospital, town, city, country, planet.
And then after my constant pleas and an unsuccessful suicide attempt,
I will get a new psychiatrist.

And so it goes…