by On Tuesday I fell into a deep depressive hole and had no real intention of crawling out. Oh god, I have no idea what’s going on at work anymore, I can’t think or concentrate or remember anything and what has happened so many times in the past is happening again. By the afternoon I was dangerous. I wanted to break something and could easily have done so. I got home and everything felt absolutely awful. I lurched from one wall to another, shouting. I sensibly took Wednesday off work and my mood improved during the day. That afternoon I had a complimentary space-age-style eye test (through my AA membership) and everything was fine on that score. I’m lucky to have good eyesight. I had dinner with my carpool mate, who has been so good to me, at the Willis Street night market.
It’s tough at the moment. I have very little and I am even less. This adventure is perhaps my last chance to be something, somebody, and there’s so much to do before I go. The Brexit vote didn’t help. For one thing, I’m poorer to the tune of five figures as a result (I didn’t mention that, did I?) and could have prevented at least some of that loss.
I have to play a singles tennis match tomorrow morning and expect to lose badly. The beauty of tennis is that one-sided matches usually end quickly.
