Teresa had trouble getting to work on pubic transplant today. So much so she eventually gave up n’ came home.
When she got back, I was on a call to one of my two current counsellors. One I see weekly (more or less), the other fortnightly. This was the latter.
I don’t know why she did – perhaps hearing that I was on a call, she wondered who to? – but Teresa snuck quietly up stairs. But I rumbled her, on account of squeaky floorboards!
Anyway, it was nice to see her at home, during the day, at a time when I’m normally home alone. She’s still home. But I’m out for another delivery shift.
I have to say that this job is really good for me at present.
One of the chief reasons is the time it’s giving me to heal and recuperate after a period of extreme depression and self-destructive self-indulgent risk-taking foolishness.
Many is the time – such as right now – I’m sat alone in my car, somewhere, or I’m out and about, one way or another, and – especially if the weather’s gorgeous, as it is right now – I’m in a state of near exultant bliss!
I do worry, sometimes, that this is just part of my manic depressive (or bipolar, as they call it nowadays) tendencies. But, fuck it! I’m also trying to take life just as it is, as it comes. Roll with the punches. Be thankful for what I’ve got.
And into this happy space, new tendrils are growing. For example, just in the last couple of days, I feel inspired to write poetry! I’ve actually done this on and off all my adult life. And even during childhood.
I don’t particularly want to share these poems with the wider world right now. But I would like to keep writing more, and maybe make collections. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even end up as a published writer?