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Tuesday, June 12

Dissatisfaction

I'll hand it to Vision Express - they have a no questions, no holds barred, approach to customer service. I said my vision was wonky, and they said to come back and they'd retest me and revise my specs. They did, they did, and it's different. It's not perfect, but now it's not perfect when I take the specs off. I think my eyes are now adjusting to the new shape of the world and I've only gone and changed the lenses some more. So now everything is the wrong shape. However, it should all somehow converge in the next week. If not, then I have to spend a couple of days with no glasses, just so I can go with virgin eyes and be retested again - this is my diagnosis, not theirs.

Anyway, the point is that nothing looks or feels quite right at the moment. This both literal and metaphoric. I'm unhappy. I've been unhappy for a while. I can't see it getting better, except for the 3 or so hours, every so often, when I'm at a gig and really enjoying myself, or the brief periods when I'm in the company of valued friends. The rest of the time, quite frankly, I can't see what the fuss is all about.

Even B&Q let me down, not stocking the particular format of ceiling insulation I was planning to use. So, I'm left with an evening, in which I was going to do one DIY job, and in which I now want to curl up in bed and feel sorry for myself. Guess what I'm going to do. I can't help it. I'm weak.

It feels a bit like life doesn't really fit me anymore. I've crossed some sort of line and I don't know quite the way back. Now, if any set of words I've written sounded like a suicide letter, those last few are high on the list. No. No suicide attempts, thank you very much - at least not literally. I've considered professional suicide, financial suicide and even comedy suicide (where you go on stage intent on telling jokes which you know will not, or at least should not, work). However, I'm not into the whole ending it all thing.

But something must change.

But what?

I don't know.

Then why, given that this is just me typing on my own (while on the toilet, incidentally - mmm craptop computers), am I asking these rhetorical questions to which I have no answers?

The answer is that I'm asking the questions to illustrate that I have no answers.

Ahhh. There's no question for that then, is there?

Technically that last one was a question, but it's all just my inner monologue having a pseudo-dialogue, so you may want to switch off for a minute, dear reader.

I think the solution lies in stabilising situations. There's my Newcastle house, my Reading house and my job. If I can get some of those under control, maybe life will seem easier. The difficulty is that time really drags on for me. I do so much in a day that I'm immediately thinking that the events of, say, last weekend, were ages away and wondering why nothing much has changed.

I know this, though. Sitting around waiting isn't me.

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