(no subject)
Argh. Bit of a hell-week, and all my own fault, as per usual. Started out failing to go to shops, get prescription, or do laundry - damn, am out of clean knickers. Gah. Anyway.
Wednesday was worst - I had an appointment with the psychiatrist, and it was goddamn cold so I didn't want to go out, and was running a bit late. At the bottom of the drive I slipped on ice and fell on my arse (to the left.) Then waited at the bus-stop for a good fifteen minutes before realising that, due to roadworks, the bus was not running along that road. Started down to the main road, and called dad, because he was off to do flat-stuff, and luckily he was in the house, so I went back so he could give me a lift, and carefully walked to the wall at the bottom of the drive, and at the very last icy step, SPLAT on my arse (to the right.) Then half-an-hour early at Dykebar, so wandered a bit - looked at boarded-up old buildings, and saw lots of birds, including a robin, and also a squirrel, which was cool. Then talked to man. Ugh. At one point he asked a seemingly innocuous question which left me crying uncontrollably. Then, of course, I got a lift back from dad and concentrated on doing up the bathroom instead of, I dunno, actually talking to him about anything.
Anyway, Thursday was recovery, but that's when I ran out of drugs, so Friday I was shivering in bed until five o'clock when I realised 'oh shit still have to go get prescription and they won't be open tomorrow' so I went down for tea and babbled a bit, and dad went and picked it up for me, for which I was of course grateful, but, but, argh. And this morning I was ready, I wanted to go, so of course he was looking for things, and stopping off at B&Q, and finally we got to the flat and the chemist on the ground floor and I got my drugs and that was good.
And I put filler in the holes in the walls and then I took the tiles off the top of the fireplace with hammer and chisel which was loud and lots of hitting things and that was good. Though I did hit myself a few times, and also slice a knuckle.
When I turned on 'nando he was not happy with me and wanted to do lots of terribly slow scanning things. The one good thing about the intermittent bollocksing of mine 'puter is that it lets me pick up a book once in a while. My birthday present from G (which I only got a few weeks ago, which is why it's still at the top of the pile) was Doctor Who: The Writer's Tale and she said her friend liked it despite not liking Rusty, and I'm finding the same thing, really. Interesting, to say the least; seeing the development of the Kylie episode, for example.
Also I have learned the alphabet in Braille. Optically, of course. Maybe I should try making dents in paper. Was it Jefferson or one of the other presidents who could read Braille? He could sit in a darkened theater and read. And his hands would stay warm under the blanket.
Wednesday was worst - I had an appointment with the psychiatrist, and it was goddamn cold so I didn't want to go out, and was running a bit late. At the bottom of the drive I slipped on ice and fell on my arse (to the left.) Then waited at the bus-stop for a good fifteen minutes before realising that, due to roadworks, the bus was not running along that road. Started down to the main road, and called dad, because he was off to do flat-stuff, and luckily he was in the house, so I went back so he could give me a lift, and carefully walked to the wall at the bottom of the drive, and at the very last icy step, SPLAT on my arse (to the right.) Then half-an-hour early at Dykebar, so wandered a bit - looked at boarded-up old buildings, and saw lots of birds, including a robin, and also a squirrel, which was cool. Then talked to man. Ugh. At one point he asked a seemingly innocuous question which left me crying uncontrollably. Then, of course, I got a lift back from dad and concentrated on doing up the bathroom instead of, I dunno, actually talking to him about anything.
Anyway, Thursday was recovery, but that's when I ran out of drugs, so Friday I was shivering in bed until five o'clock when I realised 'oh shit still have to go get prescription and they won't be open tomorrow' so I went down for tea and babbled a bit, and dad went and picked it up for me, for which I was of course grateful, but, but, argh. And this morning I was ready, I wanted to go, so of course he was looking for things, and stopping off at B&Q, and finally we got to the flat and the chemist on the ground floor and I got my drugs and that was good.
And I put filler in the holes in the walls and then I took the tiles off the top of the fireplace with hammer and chisel which was loud and lots of hitting things and that was good. Though I did hit myself a few times, and also slice a knuckle.
When I turned on 'nando he was not happy with me and wanted to do lots of terribly slow scanning things. The one good thing about the intermittent bollocksing of mine 'puter is that it lets me pick up a book once in a while. My birthday present from G (which I only got a few weeks ago, which is why it's still at the top of the pile) was Doctor Who: The Writer's Tale and she said her friend liked it despite not liking Rusty, and I'm finding the same thing, really. Interesting, to say the least; seeing the development of the Kylie episode, for example.
Also I have learned the alphabet in Braille. Optically, of course. Maybe I should try making dents in paper. Was it Jefferson or one of the other presidents who could read Braille? He could sit in a darkened theater and read. And his hands would stay warm under the blanket.