Things are stacking up on me again. I hate this feeling, it’s why I hardly ever smoke reefer anymore. And then when I get it when I’m not smoking reefer I feel gypped that I’m not at least stoned to smooth it out. Even though that makes it worse, because of course I’m just feeling this way because the one or two things out of a life-litany of hundreds of good ones that are bad at the moment are taking away my energy to deal with the practicalities that are now stacking up on me, and reefer makes that worse. Shit, was that even a sentence?
Yeah, I’m a mess and writing like one. Sorry. Maybe it’s because of the Red Dragon, I don’t remember. But I think it’s just because of going away on Saturday; I’m so fucking scared of aeroplanes in general and this trip in particular. This blog has a couple of British readers – can any of them tell me if I can pick up a hot, cheap bike close to Manchester Piccadilly? I think things will be easier if I have a bike there and I don’t want to subject mine to the flight.
Things are hard all over. I’ve heard some spectacularly good news but also horribly bad news from people over the last little while. Sometime in the last year I’ve lost my capacity for schadenfreude, though. Who was it – some German philosopher whose name also started with a Sch – who thought schadenfreude was the greatest happiness in life – well, he was a sick fuck.