Shamblyland - how I've missed you. Or something.
Monday was productive with art followed by tea out and about and some writing in the evening. We liked Monday.
Tuesday was flopping about like a useless thing feeling mopey. Tuesday eve was realising that possibly the reason why I was so bloody mopey was that I hadn't taken my meds in a couple of days. (Yeah, I know that fluoxetine must have a half life of at least a week or two, but apparently my neurons notice on the third day - how inconveniently faerytale of them.) We didn't like Tuesday.
Today started earlier than expected. At something-past-5am, there was a repeated bellow of 'Fuck you. Fuck YOU. FUCK YOU!' It sounded very close, which confused me as I was pretty sure I didn't know anyone that angry let alone allowed them within spitting distance at 5am. There was some more bellowing followed by a slap or possibly a thump and the sound of a different voice sobbing.
At this point I started trying to find jeans, phone and keys - for half a second I tried to phone the police on my jeans, wear my keys and pocket my phone so I wouldn't get locked out.
The sobbing had risen in volume, and the bellow had changed into 'All I try to do is make it NICE for you!' and then an ongoing litany of 'I'm gonna KILL MYSELF!'
I gave up on my jeans and started stabbing a finger at my phone, trying not to blind myself as CheeseApple woke up. Thankfully, counterpoint to the shouting and sobbing and 'please don't please get down please oh please' there was suddenly a third voice who was quite calmly giving address and details to the emergency services. There was a thump - which might have been a door slamming, might have been anything. The shouting ceased, the wailing continued and was joined by the wailing of the baby and disadvantaged-sounding-toddler in the same flat next door.
I blinked a bit and did a mental check on reality. (Hey, it was 5am and I'm not renowned for my mental stability; I could do without rushing half-dressed into the street only to discover I was dreaming or hallucinating or something.) Mental check came back A-okay, but by that point I realised there wasn't anything useful I could do unless I was feeling peculiar enough to go and offer to make them all tea or talk to the crazy bloke and scorn whatever destruction he'd attempted. I wasn't awake enough to be that pokey; I made myself tea. 40 minutes later a paramedic turned up; 20 minutes after that he left. Satisfied that whatever the shouting bloke had done it hadn't merited anything more than drama and basic first aid, I went back to sleep for an hour.
Today there has been art, productivity, pokking at feathers, and later there will be a pub quiz which I'd very much like to win as my bank hates me.
Lalala.
Tuesday was flopping about like a useless thing feeling mopey. Tuesday eve was realising that possibly the reason why I was so bloody mopey was that I hadn't taken my meds in a couple of days. (Yeah, I know that fluoxetine must have a half life of at least a week or two, but apparently my neurons notice on the third day - how inconveniently faerytale of them.) We didn't like Tuesday.
Today started earlier than expected. At something-past-5am, there was a repeated bellow of 'Fuck you. Fuck YOU. FUCK YOU!' It sounded very close, which confused me as I was pretty sure I didn't know anyone that angry let alone allowed them within spitting distance at 5am. There was some more bellowing followed by a slap or possibly a thump and the sound of a different voice sobbing.
At this point I started trying to find jeans, phone and keys - for half a second I tried to phone the police on my jeans, wear my keys and pocket my phone so I wouldn't get locked out.
The sobbing had risen in volume, and the bellow had changed into 'All I try to do is make it NICE for you!' and then an ongoing litany of 'I'm gonna KILL MYSELF!'
I gave up on my jeans and started stabbing a finger at my phone, trying not to blind myself as CheeseApple woke up. Thankfully, counterpoint to the shouting and sobbing and 'please don't please get down please oh please' there was suddenly a third voice who was quite calmly giving address and details to the emergency services. There was a thump - which might have been a door slamming, might have been anything. The shouting ceased, the wailing continued and was joined by the wailing of the baby and disadvantaged-sounding-toddler in the same flat next door.
I blinked a bit and did a mental check on reality. (Hey, it was 5am and I'm not renowned for my mental stability; I could do without rushing half-dressed into the street only to discover I was dreaming or hallucinating or something.) Mental check came back A-okay, but by that point I realised there wasn't anything useful I could do unless I was feeling peculiar enough to go and offer to make them all tea or talk to the crazy bloke and scorn whatever destruction he'd attempted. I wasn't awake enough to be that pokey; I made myself tea. 40 minutes later a paramedic turned up; 20 minutes after that he left. Satisfied that whatever the shouting bloke had done it hadn't merited anything more than drama and basic first aid, I went back to sleep for an hour.
Today there has been art, productivity, pokking at feathers, and later there will be a pub quiz which I'd very much like to win as my bank hates me.
Lalala.