Believe it or not, the image above captures a huge improvement in the state of clutter in that quarter of our bedroom. This area is not so good:
I took four black bin bags full of clothes, from Teresa’s mum’s place, and a chunk of my own clothes (that are damaged or past their best), and dumped the lot in the clothing recycling bins in the Sainsburys car park.
I also took about 80-100 vinyl records (and a tiny little electric ‘disco light’!) to one charity shop, and two bags full of mostly WWII military history books. I’d guestimate about 60 books. The only non-military stuff was a small selection of duplicate Tolkien paperbacks I really don’t need.
Teresa popped into the garden briefly, as she often does of an evening. And came upstairs, face all aglow, with two whopping great figs. She planted a number of fig twigs taken from her family’s fig tree, in Stanmore, several ago. And they’ve thrived.
Now to less happy matters: last night I drank a small (35 cl) bottle of whisky, purchased en-route home from work, at Aldi. I’ve been drinking the occasional alcoholic ‘Dame Edna’ for a while, after a spell of tee-totalism. And, in those famous last words of the alky-horlick… ‘I fort I cud ‘andle it.’
Well, up till last night, I could. And did. Sadly, however, on this occasion whisky precipitated other foolishness. And Lordy-Lord, I was paying for it today. I’ve sworn blind I’d not make these fool mistakes again. But, lo and behold, I do.
What brings on these occasional relapses? Wobbles. By which I mean fits of depression and frustration. Anyway, I think – I fervently hope – I’ve weathered this wee storm? It’s the same day/evening as the worst of my behaviour. The edgy panic, the fear and loathing have, mercifully, passed.
This has been helped by a number of things: my darling wife; The Samaritans; my own coping procedures (affirmation cards, positive activity, etc); and… by stopping before I slid off the edge.