It is weird when

you log into your blog online idiot no one reads diary thingymabob (this thing, here) at around the same time that someone is actually reading it. It's strange. I have no idea who you are, or what you think when you read my ramblings. It's just as well you're only a bot, otherwise I'd get self conscious or something.

You know the thing

Where you're stressed to fuck, your whole existence is one big massive ball of uncertainty, ambiguity and who knows the fuck what, but you get to put your arms around someone, when you go to bed you lie close to them and there is no uncertainty, no ambiguity. That small reprieve from the rest of the world, with someone who knows you completely, someone you know completely, and there is nothing else there in the dark, just that, and you have, nay you are peace? I fucking miss that sometimes.

Midlife crisis

So this afternoon I seem to be having a mild stress reaction. Again. What seems to be helping is a compilation I bought on a whim last year care of Digitalis Recordings. Have a looksee.


*It may or may not float your boat, but it's soothing my brain, and calming the trembling nausea that has, for the afternoon, claimed my skin. My stomach still churns, but slower, my head is still troubled but no longer quite so pained. I would that I had a less physical response to stress, but I'm grateful for the respite this brings.