Bristol 22.9.18

Another 3 hour sleep last night. I had a can of beer with dinner and then 3 and a half pints with Nick. He commented on bow much quicker I drank the last 1 and a half. I hadn’t even noticed. Even though I’m a bit fuzzy, I’m not hanging. Yes.

Had an email from Emma yesterday in response to my update about supplementation:

I think you have major adrenal dysfunction still which maybe needs some higher dose supplementation. I’m afraid alcohol and any other stimulants are major adrenal stressors and it sounds like things have deteriorated. 

OK. Point taken and acted on. It’s just that it costs quite a lot this “supplementation” and a 1 hour review (£95). Surely the cost is negligible?

Went to Trinity Centre again on Thursday (had been there with Gwen (again) on Sunday). They still had Anita Corbin’s photo portraits of pairs of girls shot in the 1980s then shot again in the present day. “Visible Girls Revisited” it was called. It made an interesting point about ageing which was then brilliantly, accidentally (?) illustrated in the visitors’ book. A woman in her twenties had made a comment about growing older saying “Why should I give a flying fuck?” and below a woman in her fifties wrote how much she and her daughters had enjoyed the exhibition and now that she was in her fifties was “worried about becoming invisible.”

Also, a snippet on Front Row about Rudolf Nureyev who, when asked where he existed answered “Dance”. This was the only ‘place’ for him. He was born on a train and “never stopped moving” someone was saying.

Why my constant movement? I wasn’t born on a train. I was born on the 7th floor of Heath Road Hospital, Ipswich. I went away to boarding school at the age of 8 and came home to live when I was 16. I never liked either of my schools. Too male. Too old fashioned. Too many rules. Too narrow minded. Too aggressive.

Even when everyone seems to be regrouping in the East I have to be alone in the West.

Bro is hoping to move back in October. SisR is there. The folks. 2 of my oldest friends and a third returning next year. But not me. Is it giving up? No. When I’m there there aren’t enough places for me to explore. The constant desire to be up and out going somewhere new. Who knows why.

A constant nagging about direction. The old hang up about ‘success’ or ‘ambition’. Have I achieved enough? What will I do next? What is wrong with being a supply teacher and an English private tutor? Please be proud of who you are. You’ll miss this life when it’s gone. I had said to Nick in The Green Man “I’m not that ambitious.” All he did was confirm it: “Yes, I’d noticed.” The comment stung and stayed with me until this morning. Silly.

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