Feeling Repugnant + Oddments.

I’m beginning to dislike myself. I’m starting to see myself as dirty, dishevelled and useless. And because the view I have of myself has taken this startling turn, I feel ashamed. And because I feel ashamed, I’m inclined to the view that I must put more effort into maintaining an even greater distance from other human beings than has become my general practice of late.

Last night I woke up in the darkness of some ungodly hour and felt the presence of something strong and malevolent hovering above me. (I’ve felt presences in that room before, but I doubt the room is to blame. If some malevolent presence wishes to assail my senses, I don’t see why it shouldn’t choose its location randomly. Unless, of course, it has to wait for me to be asleep first, and I mostly sleep in that room because that’s where my bed is.) Whatever the facts of the matter, I decided to keep my eyes shut and try to go back to sleep. I told myself that whatever it was couldn’t hurt me physically so it was best ignored. I woke up to the daylight and it had gone.

I wonder what an expert would make of all this – somebody well versed and well practiced in Matters of the Mind, somebody revelling in one of many titles beginning with P. I expect he or she would decide that I should consider receiving treatment, but I would have a problem with that because the word ‘treatment’ carries too much of a physical connotation. It suggests the bandaging of a wound, or the setting of a broken bone, or the act of administering medicine with a spoon. Something to do with my generation, I suppose. When I was growing up, treatment never had anything to do with the mind and it still doesn’t.

And it goes without saying that I really shouldn’t post this. Suppose I were to be found dead one day in suspicious circumstances which allowed the possibility of both suicide and homicide. This post would be brought to the coroner’s notice in order to justify the former, and nobody would care from that point on. (And neither, I suppose, would I.) But just in case, it might be worth adding that I don’t feel remotely suicidal. Maybe that will do the trick. Alternatively, suppose I were to be suspected of some heinous crime I didn’t commit. Suppose some dastardly person devoid of an ethical dimension had reason to frame me. ‘I would bring to the court’s attention, M’lud, this blog entry which was found on the accused’s computer.’ Fait accompli. Life is rarely fair.

I had an unexpected visitor today. That’s very rare. He brought me something to do which I don’t want to do, but there’s an unwritten contract involved and my word is my bond.

I’ve started reading John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and am enjoying it so far. But the house is turning colder now and too many of the days are depressingly dull and wet. I anticipate the winter with anxiety; I anticipate the spring with hope; I anticipate the following summer with pleasure. But all anticipations carry the same caveat: ‘If I’m still here.’

I think it important to acknowledge that this post was written quickly off the top of my head. Tomorrow I might make a joke (if I’m still here.)