New place, not many new faces
Well I got my new house, finally. I moved in Sunday, and have been picking up the pieces since.
I am doing my best to eat well, and should arrange a big ASDA delivery soon to save me carrying all my food home every day from Sainsbury's.
I'm sharing a kitchen with one other guy, a PhD student, recently arrived from India, and interesting sounds of Bollywood productions fill the air in the evening. Luckily he is also vegetarian, and though my woeful ignorance of India keeps us from having too much to talk about, he's friendly and easy to live with. I was suprised to learn he's 33 and has a family - I've always been rubbish at guessing people's ages. People seem to look so much older in the north.
My room has a reasonable view of the sky, which I've always wanted - though not so reasonable as to be worth drawing - and bizarrely for quite a modest room it has no less than 3 tables and a 28" TV, which I have thus far had no urge to use.
It's been no trouble so far, except Monday evening - a random driver, (I have never seen him before or since) whilst going round a corner decided to lean bodily out of his open door to shout that he was going to kill me. Which I felt was a tad unfair, given I'd only been here 24 hours. Precisely what made the mere possibility of upsetting a total stranger worth such a great material risk escapes me - but it proves such people occur everywhere in the country, even Cambridge.
My health is basically shit. I saw the doctor last Friday, which turned out to be a complete waste of time - the doctor said I didn't look underweight (even though I can visibly see my face being sucked into the cracks in my skull, and my back is often sore and red) and even after weighing me, measuring me, and feeling my throat said that she didn't care and that she would do nothing til 3 months had passed.
So fuck that, I thought.
My throat was becoming swollen enough that I couldn't feed myself properly anymore, and my energy was just non-existent. I went home and increased my dose of thyroxine by a tiny amount (normal increase is maybe 25mcg, so I increased it by 8mcg) and my throat is a lot less swollen. Food no longer gets stuck, and I don't have to cough a lot after I eat, at least for the time being.
I still have no energy though. I keep waking up at 6AM, and going back to sleep til noon, depsite going to bed at around midnight.
Hopefully if I start rising at 6AM I'll come right. Watch this space.
Back in the real world my days so far consist of going out to get things like plates and milk, and sitting reading but not buying the books and magazines in Borders. As usual New Scientist doesn't go into any real depth, and Nexus is full of unsubstantiated rumour. Interestingly I coincidentally picked up Of Human Bondage, and The Catcher in the Rye, only to find that the former is mentioned by the latter in around the second chapter. More on those when I get further into them.
So. Yeah. Still selling stuff, I need to pack and carry everything almost a mile to the post office, and I don't have my guitars yet so there's no practice or recording going on. Just waiting, really.
I am doing my best to eat well, and should arrange a big ASDA delivery soon to save me carrying all my food home every day from Sainsbury's.
I'm sharing a kitchen with one other guy, a PhD student, recently arrived from India, and interesting sounds of Bollywood productions fill the air in the evening. Luckily he is also vegetarian, and though my woeful ignorance of India keeps us from having too much to talk about, he's friendly and easy to live with. I was suprised to learn he's 33 and has a family - I've always been rubbish at guessing people's ages. People seem to look so much older in the north.
My room has a reasonable view of the sky, which I've always wanted - though not so reasonable as to be worth drawing - and bizarrely for quite a modest room it has no less than 3 tables and a 28" TV, which I have thus far had no urge to use.
It's been no trouble so far, except Monday evening - a random driver, (I have never seen him before or since) whilst going round a corner decided to lean bodily out of his open door to shout that he was going to kill me. Which I felt was a tad unfair, given I'd only been here 24 hours. Precisely what made the mere possibility of upsetting a total stranger worth such a great material risk escapes me - but it proves such people occur everywhere in the country, even Cambridge.
My health is basically shit. I saw the doctor last Friday, which turned out to be a complete waste of time - the doctor said I didn't look underweight (even though I can visibly see my face being sucked into the cracks in my skull, and my back is often sore and red) and even after weighing me, measuring me, and feeling my throat said that she didn't care and that she would do nothing til 3 months had passed.
So fuck that, I thought.
My throat was becoming swollen enough that I couldn't feed myself properly anymore, and my energy was just non-existent. I went home and increased my dose of thyroxine by a tiny amount (normal increase is maybe 25mcg, so I increased it by 8mcg) and my throat is a lot less swollen. Food no longer gets stuck, and I don't have to cough a lot after I eat, at least for the time being.
I still have no energy though. I keep waking up at 6AM, and going back to sleep til noon, depsite going to bed at around midnight.
Hopefully if I start rising at 6AM I'll come right. Watch this space.
Back in the real world my days so far consist of going out to get things like plates and milk, and sitting reading but not buying the books and magazines in Borders. As usual New Scientist doesn't go into any real depth, and Nexus is full of unsubstantiated rumour. Interestingly I coincidentally picked up Of Human Bondage, and The Catcher in the Rye, only to find that the former is mentioned by the latter in around the second chapter. More on those when I get further into them.
So. Yeah. Still selling stuff, I need to pack and carry everything almost a mile to the post office, and I don't have my guitars yet so there's no practice or recording going on. Just waiting, really.