Brain fart #3

(Disclaimer: I'm very dissatisfied with this blog entry. Is it as boring as I suspect it is? Please answer below.)

Wednedsay

Feeling better now. More synced with the world. I'm able to converse with people. I still feel awkward and can stumble mid-sentence but I think I'm better than I was. Maybe not bendigedig yet, but good.

Beautiful skies. It's been such a dry month, January. 

Thursday

What rubbish start to a blog entry.

That was yesterday where I started to do stuff but it quickly fizzled into nothing. I'm listening to my body more and when I see these signs of failure of cognisance and executive function er... malfunction and try to just rest and not expect myself to achieve anything.

I did watch a 2 1/2 hour YT clip of Christopher Hitchens and a lecturer in a Christian College in the US (where else?) having a debate about the existence of the Christian god. Hitchens only had 2 years left to live and he was probably ill at the time with the cancer that killed him. He looked pretty sozzled too, having mentioned his trip to the college bar in his introductory speech. It wasn't vintage Hitch.

Oh, I cleaned the house too. Not too bad then. 

But it's is disappointing though when the next day I'm not much brighter.

My blog entries are best when my brain is fizzing, I'm angry or happy. 

Dreams of Matthew Green (old schoolfriend) and the Market Place in Wells at night, and strange portents. 

Wrestling the duvet, waking up and sleeping and waking up and sleeping. I lose track of how many times.

I wonder if these entries will become increasingly dull as time progresses?

Walking the dogs this morning in the park and snippets of dialogue in my head from Betjemen - "Joan Hunter Dunn, Joan Hunter Dunn...Come friendly bombs, rain on Slough" to Stewie Griffin from Family Guys "Its lame; everything's lame."  then back to earth as J says I'm walking too fast and she may be having an atrial fibrillation attack. We walk slower and thankfully she doesn't have an episode.

Why so many random and half-forgotten memories of the past?

Back to a the house for a civilised breakfast - the backbone of British culture. R is eating soup (always a savoury gob in the morning) and the dishwasher is full from last night and needs emptying. My neck and cranium are aching so I take some Ibuprofen, trying to ignore the wanton laziness of R as I empty the dishwasher and tell myself it's not her.

J makes breakfast for the dogs - which has become a more complicated affair than feeding her children ever was - and I make ours. Grind beans, slice bread, lay the table, pour cold water on the coffee, wait 20 seconds to pour the water from the kettle on, then stir and wait. The routine.

Some talking from R, which is - unfairly - adding fuel to the fire within me, and then J's phone starts vibrating with a call. It's her boss at 8.50. The audacity! Cue loud conversation between J and alpha-type on the other end. I take my toast and coffee into the other room.

Once more our breakfast is destroyed.

I'm not on my best form. I shall get off the screen and read. Meeting Larry at The Antelope to discuss spell antigens for my Changeling character in Shadowrun - a game that makes D&D look like 'Snap' in its complexity. 

There is a version of a sci-fi RPG called Traveller 5 which involves doing the actual equations to work out velocity when slingshotting around a gas giant or sun. I'm unqualified for that particular pastime, but I'd hazard a guess that Gabriel would enjoy it (MSc in Theoretical Physics).

It is a beautiful day. Blue skies and mild. I'd love some snow though: after all, this is February. Just a few days of snow makes the winter worthwhile.

I would like to end on a pithy sentence but I'm clean out of those today. Sorry for being boring.