My monochrome mind . . .

This is what went on in my head when I was Twenty . . . 1983. The date at the bottom of the picture is 1988 as this is not the original artwork. A printer I worked for in 1988 wanted to do a limited amount of personal Christmas cards using this picture . . . but wanted to make it look as though it had just been drawn (?) . . . So this is the 1988 version . . . Enjoy ;-)

New pages news

The observant among you may have noticed I've just added a few extra pages to this blog. I've only just discovered how to do it, after wanting to do it for some time . . . So I got a bit carried away with it.
Of course there's not much on those pages yet . . . bear with me, there will be.

Now I need to know, how much space is there on a separate "page" . . . is it just a page? Or can there be as many posts/articles/drawings as I want on each "page". As in, could I write all my WaW type posts under "fixing the mind" or would I need to write them on my day to day blog and just put links to them on the "Fixing the mind" page . . . . I hope this makes sense. It's probably a really obvious answer but as it's taken me Six months to work out how to add these pages . . . I thought I'd just ask this time. Talking of simple . . .

For anyone interested in the 12 steps and/or recovery and addiction in general I've just found a new blog. Hey I could put a link to it on my fixing the mind page . . . but I'll put it here instead http://12stepsmadesimple.blogspot.co.uk/   It really is 12 steps made simple . . . Simple enough for me to understand but very interesting.

OK, that's all for now . . . I'll go and put some stuff on those new pages. The artwork will be drawings that are already on this blog as a part of various posts . . . But I will scan some new ones in over the weekend . . . hopefully.

Thanks to everyone who reads here. I see Pakistan has visited again today, Hello . . . I love that we can see where folk are reading from. I wonder what brings them here.

I'm hoping to start "detoxing" this house over the weekend . . .   I intend to clear every drawer, cupboard, nook and cranny out and re-decorate. Everywhere. I might need a new page called "Fixing the house" with before and after photos . . . and the garden . . . and  . . . and . . .

Goodnight. Sweet, peaceful dreams and days  x

Ps. I just asked Geekster how much space there would be on a page . . . "A page is as big as you want a page to be . . . It's a page" (!?)

It's mostly looking good (up-date)

That's better. I pushed myself out of the door into the pouring rain tonight to walk to N/A.
I didn't really feel like going. It had already been a long day . . . Bu-ut despite my head getting a bit muddled with reading and hearing varying opinions of N/A in general, I know I'm getting something good from going there. If I wasn't so sure, maybe I wouldn't have gone. But I am sure. So I went. Simple.
It was good. I felt stronger and more positive on my way home than I did on my way there . . . What more can I ask. What more can I say.

Obviously not a lot, as that last paragraph was written about half an hour ago now. So I might as well do a general update then call this post "an update".

I have an assessment appointment on Monday with the surgeon who thinks he's going to remove my top teeth. I will go ahead and allow him to assess  . . . But then I will take advantage make good use of his expertise to question him on bone resorption, over-dentures, getting (and paying!? for) the work to be done privately (ie to a decent standard), keeping some roots, unwanted change of mouth shape, and a million other things that go round my head as I'm trying to sleep. Yes. there's a whole lot about this business that's worrying me.

I've upped my "lose the extra weight, build some good muscle and get fit" game. As I use this blog as a diary of sorts, I'll make a note of where I started, where I am now . . . and then do weekly updates for the record my satisfaction, I like seeing progress.

I have reduced from one or two bags of Heroin a day/night, to one a week. Not a planned one a week. An accidental one a week . . . OK, of course I know no-one takes Heroin by accident. I mean I don't set out on that day to use. I'm not even sure why one day has to be different to the other six days of the week  . . . . But I will find out. I dare say it has something to do with me thinking that I know best . . . When I so obviously don't. But, as they say,  Rome wasn't . . .

Sur Ren Dur. (Dur!)

So . . . from where I'm perched at the minute, on the bottom of the bed, I'd say it's mostly looking good. Including the bed . . .  Goodnight all you good folk. Sweet days and dreams be yours and mine.

Fearless

Diminishing differences

Hey, well that was all a bit exhausting, I must say . . .  I can almost see why some folk lie, I said almost.

So, I'm exhausted. It was worth it though, I came to some clear conclusions. And that's always good. The goodness of it doesn't even depend on the conclusion, the good is in being able to take a huge tangle of messed up stuff, belonging to me and others, and separate my strands from the rest; untangle them and smooth them out one by one.

Check them out one by one and work out what I'm left with.

That's always a good start. A start. Then, looking at what I'm left with, I work out the differences between that, and what I would like to be left with. The differences are definitely becoming fewer. Much less than when I started this blog Six months ago.
So that's good.

I set out tonight, for the second time, to tell the tale of  "White Boy"  (hamster on the run) . . . But Seventeen! of you bloggers, that I follow, had posted. I'm too tired to think, so I read and enjoyed. I need an early night and it's Twenty past Ten . . . I'll check the time of posting to see if this new bloggery thing gets it right. Then I'm off to bed.

I added sit-ups, press-ups and "dips" to my daily workout yesterday and I ache now. But not for long.

BBC2 has an hour of 70's reggae and Ska on right now.
"Hurts so good" is playing, for anyone who knows these tunes . . . Classic.  Goodnight all you lovely folk. Thanks, as always.

Up town (Upton) top ranking now . . . . Me strictly roots. Juju.
Monkey man now :-)
Ooo ya bugger I needed to hear that . . . Night x

Telling it how it is?

Okee Dokee . . .

I tried hard to write a lighthearted post last night about the tale of the hamster "White boy" . . .
I will finish it another day when I'm not so distracted. I've done much thinking since my second N/A meeting on Wednesday. You know, the one I was looking forward to? Should this not be a happy time?
There were four other addicts at this second meeting, three at the first. They all have between Three and Eight years clean. Two of them are clean from heroin, both male. One "leads" the meeting.

They'd each shared their "stories" over the two weeks, and it was obvious they were waiting for me to say something . . . "Anyone else in the room like to tell us how their week has been?"

OK . . . I'm not very good at talking in front of strangers, but I wanted some advice about how to cope if I found myself in another "Tuesday night" scenario, so I shared. I couldn't tell them my whole story as there were only five minutes left of the meeting. I said that I'd drank or drugged for 34 years, that I'd managed to do a significant amount of time clean since February 9th with the occasional one bag relapse . . . usually to try and kill some emotional pain. I told them that this week I had done six days clean and messed up on the 7th. I explained what had happened on the Tuesday night as written in WaW post. I'll talk to you after the meeting says "leader".
As we waited for the others to leave, the other ex heroin user said to me, in front of  "leader"
"Don't take it all on board . . . He's fucking hard-core. Take what you want and leave the rest" Ok, warning heeded.

Well that's all very well if you can leave the bits you don't want . . . but what if they stick in your head, playing over and over again. Because that's what happened. Among the words that stuck were these . . .

"So why do you expect your family to be interested or happy about this . . . They've watched you doing this for thirty-four years . . . why should they believe this is happening now?"
"You need to get off your fucking pity pot"
"Selfish little cow"
"You've hurt your parents badly . . . and now you want their approval. After all you've put them through" !?!

What??  The??  I was literally gob-smacked. I said nothing.
I went home, I cried, I got angry, NO, I didn't use. I've been miserable and distracted ever since. I've done a lot of thinking.

I'm prepared to admit every single awful, hurtful thing I have done in my past. I have messed up. The worst thing I have to live with is giving birth to a heroin addict. A beautiful perfect innocent baby girl, craving that crap within hours of leaving my wretched contaminated womb. I know, I hate me too. That's about as painful as my guilt gets. For fucks sake if I can admit that, I can admit anything.
I'm not, however prepared to admit to things I haven't done. I can face the truth head on and I have no fear of anyone telling me it how it is. How it is. Not how they imagine it might have been. I am not self-pitying. That is not in my nature. No-one has to believe me. God knows my heart. I have nothing to pity myself about. And much to be grateful for.

My family have not lived through repeated failed attempts to get me clean. I had one serious go at it eight years ago when my brother got clean. This is my second attempt and they all know this is as real as it gets.
I have never stolen from them or lied to them. I had no reason to. I'm not in denial about this . . . it simply never happened.
For the first nine years of my heroin addiction my Mum was in Cyprus and my Dad lives in North Wales. Mum came back to England about four years ago,shortly after my brother got married. In the last two years I have very occasionally borrowed ten pounds from Mum for gear, I've told her it was for gear and paid her back. No-one other than me or my partners has paid for my gear. I'm not in denial.

I will go back to N/A, I know it works if you work it, I will work it. I'm NOT criticising N/A here.
I just wish he'd found out a bit more about me before dishing out this "advice".
His advice for the next time I get a"Tuesday night" scenario . . .  Pick up the phone and call him. (?)

He doesn't know the pain that drove me to drink and drugs thirty-four years ago . . . No, I don't want pity. I'm simply saying that when dealing with someone who has managed six, ten or even sixty days with a clear head, for the first time in their (so called) "adult" life, maybe they could tread a little more carefully. I am sensitive and very emotional at the minute, they would know that. Should know that.

OK. That's all. My first two meetings. Things can only get better?

WAW's (please read intro to WaW's)

Tuesday night
I'm gonna write through this. I've no idea if I will post or not, or even what that would depend on.
I feel like my throat is closing . . . One comment is all it took. No, not here on this blog, in real life. How can I blame it on one comment, that can't be right or even truthful can it. Was the seed not already planted.
I don't know ...
I think you do, really, don't you?

I'll spellcheck this but I'm not gonna edit to make it more readable, otherwise I'll change things.
I'll re-write the past, once it has become the past.
So let's stay in the present shall we?
How about the truth here. Or can't you remember? How did it really start today. When did it really start?

Was it when you got the text from Mum saying that they were having  a great time in Wales? They being Mum and hubby plus my brother and his wife. The family. Is that when the tide turned. Feeling excluded. Did the text ask if I was doing well? No. Did it say they were missing me? No. It just said what a great time they were all having. Good. Great. Just like a holiday text/postcard should say. . . . Did it say "Wish you were here"? No. Fuck the lot of them then ... And simmer gently for two hours.

Bring to the boil.

Exclusion. Resentment ... Anger even. This will all need to be dealt with of course. I won't get far carrying that load around with me. I could honestly write here all night ... every sentence feels like it needs to be followed by "but that's another post" ... So much stuff. So so much stuff to mend.
So much to learn. And unlearn.

Anyway, if that is when my stomach started to tie itself in knots ... Why did I try to blame it on a comment that was made two hours later? OK, that's simple ... because I needed something to blame. I didn't know at that point what had brought it on. So I blamed the comment. But I wouldn't have worked that out unless I'd been writing this. This is one of the reasons that I question whether to post this type of "post" ... It's just the"whys and wherefores" really. It's only of use to me and I wouldn't imagine of any interest to anyone.

So having fought it for a couple of hours ...  Now you see, as soon as I say "fought it" I think, well that's a whole subject in itself. That's like me saying I just had a boxing match with Tyson . . . I've not learnt how to fight effectively. Just as I don't have any training in boxing. I haven't yet learnt how to use all of weapons available in this fight . . . I don't even have some of the weapons. Yet.

Ok so how come you put up such a good fight yesterday? in that state ... and won. Ah well that's different, another subject to be explored . . . that was "her" trying to talk me into it as a reward for such a hard day. But I knew the hard bit of the day was over and I got the upper hand. Tonight it was on offer as an anaesthetic. Very different matter. This was not of the "you know you want it" variety, more the "you know you need it". No wonder I noticed the sly suppressed smile last night. She wasn't planning tactics at all. Maybe letting me win the battle the night before was enough. Confidence up. Guard down. Boxing.

Where were we? We!? I mean me, Where was I?   . . . having fought this for a couple of  hours and settled down for the evening, Stropster came in tired and hungry. Ready to snap? He was much later than usual as he goes to college on Tuesdays. I got up to sort his food, wash the plates from our dinner earlier and ask him about his day . . . He picked up on something not quite right "Are you mardy?" (a bit down/pissed off)
"No just a bit tired and I've been thinking about that shit . . . trying to fight it. Battle weary"
"O Great! So what done? . . . you've been and got some!" (in a very accusatory tone)  As if every time I battle, I give in and score . . . that's how it came across. We were both tired and irritable. Not thinking. Only reacting.
I suppose he doesn't know about the many battles I've fought and won in the last two months. How would he? You see, that's another subject. He may well think that the only time I battled was when I had my relapse ... therefore lost. He doesn't know there can be several battles in a day. He presumed that in telling him I was struggling,  I was pre-empting a confession.Wrong. But not to blame. I don't talk about the battles with the kids. It's not their fight.

So. BANG!!
"No I fucking didn't go and get any . . . I was just saying it's been eating at me and I'm tired from fighting it" (and looking after you three day in, day out, alone . . . but I didn't say that)

This built up until he said . . .

"I don't know why you're bothering. It's not as if any of US are gonna benefit from YOU getting clean NOW!! ... Only YOU!! . . . Twelve years too fucking late mother!!! . . . You've done bringing me and Geekster up. We've had twelve years of it . . " and on and on it went. He needs to say this. Do I need to hear it. I already know it.

I can't remember all the words . . . I remember staring at the bubbles going down the plughole. I remember my breathing getting heavier and catching in my throat, feeling like I might burst into tears. I remember my eyes stinging and I remember picking some bits of tomato and mushroom out the plughole and throwing them in the bin. Hard. The pain was getting a bit too much.

I didn't even try to put up a fight. I swear I didn't. I didn't think how crap and tired I will feel tomorrow. I didn't think there's only THREE  hours left of this day. I didn't believe I could cope with three more minutes of this day. The text was sent. Gone. Damage done. And I knew it. 

No matter how much bullshit you try and feed yourself at this point, such as . . ." Maybe it won't happen . .  I've ordered it but I don't have to use it . . . I could throw it away . . . Maybe he has ran out and I can't score" . . No matter how much, you know it's all bullshit

So what now. Do I try and justify it. No. Absolutely NOT. A few weeks ago maybe.
No. I'll go and get some fighting lessons. Thank God I've got one tomorrow. I'll go and get tooled up. And learn how to deal with these feelings that I'm so desperate to anaesthetise.

I'm an idiot. A fool. I know I should focus on the last 6 days where I haven't used but that just doesn't seem relevant now. In the end I did not, for one second, consider the consequences.There was no clear thought at that time . . . just a muddle of pain, anger and agitation that needed soothing.  Something that needed un-knotting. I didn't un-knot it . . . I just killed the pain that the knot was causing. It needs proper un-ravelling.

I will learn how to sooth these pains. How to unravel the tangle of anger and resentment. I'll learn how to put up a good fight until I've learnt how to deal with the pain myself. I know I can do this and I will do this.

Please bear with me ... I think so much of you good people. I appreciate you all and don't want anyone to think I'm not serious about this. I'm grateful for every bit of encouragement and support. I don't want anyone to feel they are wasting their time with me. That would be awful and is another reason why I would like to not post this. But I have to be honest here . . . If I'm not then I really would be wasting my time and yours.
3am. Bed-time.

Intro to the new dimension . . . "The WaW's"

Wednesday morning
OK, here comes a new dimension to this journey.  The whys and wherefores.The WaW's

On occasions I write, what I've heard described on other blogs, as "streams of consciousness". It's about processing thoughts and working through behaviours ... soul searching. I usually keep them as drafts, assuming they're of little or no interest to readers. Sometimes by the time I've written one, thereby breaking the matter down and inspecting it, I've often learnt something and it's served it's purpose. I rarely make these drafts readable and never edit. Let's just say they're not usually written for the reader.

I expect there will be more and more of these as I seriously get to work on myself. If they're of no consequence, I won't post them. If they're of significance and help with my growth, I will post but with a WAW  warning . . . Then you can take them or leave them. I will attempt to make them as reader friendly as possible without compromising the emotional content. I won't do a re-write because to re-write after I've learnt whatever I've (hopefully) learnt (ie. with hindsight), would be to write it from a whole new perspective. I needs to be as it was . . . In the beginning. I know . . . Serious stuff.

So here comes the first one written last night. This one was essential to show me why I went from having a perfectly restful day . . . to using. I know, I know I feel like all the idiots under the sun put together this morning, but I have to be totally honest with myself to get anywhere. It goes against everything within me to confess this again. It would be so much easier not to; to simply attend N/A tonight and write about that instead. I'll write about that as well. This isn't about the easy option. This is about all aspects, the struggles and battles lost as well as the victories.

I'm in no way trying to justify using, quite the opposite. I had done six nights clean . . . Ten weeks ago I would have thought that impossible. I mustn't lose sight of the positive in a mire of negativity, no more than I should white wash the incdent by praising myself for the other six days.

For anyone who hasn't the time or the inclination to read, let me just say please bear with me on this. I will be free. I would hate to think anyone feels as though they are wasting their time or effort in commenting and helping me. I feel pretty bad for the many of you that have seen or are still seeing relapses in the ones you love . . .  I'm aware that the last thing you want is to come here and read about another battle lost.

If it feels like I'm not listening or, God forbid, throwing away all the good advice and support . . . that is so not the truth. I'm sorry if it seems that way . . . please believe me. If you've already lost patience with me,  pop back in a few weeks to catch up on the good news. If you're judging me for using last night please read the following WaW before you make up your mind. As much as I value and appreciate you all, if I tried to consider what might please and entertain along with what might annoy or offend every reader  . . . I'd be sat here considering for some time . . . .

So with no further consideration I will go and hit publish on my first "reader friendly" WAW post.

Angels and Devils

That was an ordeal. It was so exhausting that it would exhaust me even further to describe it. If Stropster didn't phone me, to ask what was for dinner, two minutes before we reached our home station at 6.30 this evening (written Monday night) . . . Hamper G and I would've slept on the train right through to London.

I'd read on the prison web-site's "how to get here" page that where the public transport runs out (almost in the middle of nowhere) I could call a local taxi from a certain pub to get me to the (really in the middle of nowhere) prison. Wrong. Unless I wanted to pay one from the nearest city for a £20 round trip. Err No. Stuck. After spending almost three hours and £35 getting this far . . . "Oh. OK. No thanks, we'll have to leave it then, cheers. Bye".
I had no idea anyone had over-heard me on my mobile in the pub car park . . . but they had.
"C'mon" she said "Get in the car, I'll take you" . . . "Who me? . . . us?"
"Yes you. C'mon I'll drive you there". And she did. How wonderful.

The "druggie within" was on fine form by the time I'd got home, cooked dinner and settled in.

"Well" she began "You've done well today, aint yer?"  . . . "I say! You . . . Oi! are you even listening?"

"Yes I know what you said, I heard. I know what you're about to say next too"

"O C'mon no need to be all "la dee bloody dar" . . . I'm only saying you've had a hard day . . . A really hard day ...
And . . . Stropster's going to his Dad's cus he's got college tomorrow . . . So no early morning call . . . No-one would blame you (?)  . . . You've had a fucking hard day . . . I don't know how you do it, really, no, honestly I don't"

"Well, yes it was a long day . . . BUT!  It's done now. I got through the day with a clear head. I've dealt with it. It's over"

"Yeah  . . . But . . .

Me, fingers in ears . . La LA LA LA LAAAAH!!

Hmmm . . . This progressed over the next hour. I was putting up a good fight . . . In both corners. It wasn't at all clear who would win and I wasn't sure how much fight I had left, so I said . . .

"Look. OK listen. I've got through twenty hours of today. There are only four left and I'm pretty sure I'll be asleep or writing for a couple of those. All of those. Let's leave it (just) for today and we'll talk tomorrow . . . Eh?"

That's where it ended. She skulked off to a basket in the corner where she curled up in a half-hearted sulk; doing her best to suppress a sly smile at the idea of planning tomorrow's tactics. Fool. She doesn't know who she's dealing with. This is new to her . . . that makes two of us then.

It's all good. Hamper G's Dad even phoned earlier to thank me for going to such lengths to visit him with Hamper . . . And to say he hoped that the stress of the day hadn't been bad for me. I told him how I'd fought and won. He said he was happy for me and proud of me for beating this beast ... but that he never could.

Off to bed. Thanks for helping me to believe I could do this ... And more.

Thirty four years stoned . . . What's self-discipline?

Well I've spent fourteen hours cleaning out the nine hamster cages, vacuuming the carpets, mopping the tiles, changing all the bedding . . .  only taking a break now and then to do the automatic daily stuff like washing, cooking, peace-keeping, toilet seat wiping (boys!), picking up anything that's on the floor  . . . and so on. Now I can relax . . . It's ten pm. (Saturday night).

I'm at various stages of various posts, ranging from the "Archives" to more soul searching and behaviour dissecting stuff. I tend to add to whichever one I've been thinking on through the day. Today I've been thinking about all this self-discipline milarky . . . but as I began that post a few days ago and have progressed somewhat in this area, I'll start again . . . That's progress.

I'm not sure if I was ever taught about self-discipline. If I was, I didn't hear it and I somehow doubt that. As children we were disciplined, there's no doubt about that, maybe even over-disciplined . . . which could be of some relevance another day. However I wouldn't have said that I had just drifted through life doing what I wanted, now I'm not so sure. I was always employed until the kids "happened" and always worked hard at whatever I was employed to do. I didn't steal. I never dropped litter. I didn't lie. I cheated plenty . . . I never learnt to say no there, but I was I always honest about it. Yeah, yeah, so you said . . . well done. I'm coming to the conclusion that I did really do pretty much what I wanted; just that most of it was, to some extent, acceptable. Not without consequences though.

I somehow never learnt to make myself do things that I didn't particularly want to do . . . or to stop myself doing things that I did want to do. Could it be that nobody is taught this. How would I know. Do we need to teach our kids how to resist self destructing at every corner. Or just give them reason enough to not want to self-destruct. Say no to strangers. Say no to drugs . . . yeah well that should come easy enough, knowing as we do, the consequences. Should.

Maybe I lacked the "training" to stop myself. To stop and think that perhaps just wanting to do something didn't necessarily make it a good idea. No, if I felt compelled to do it then it must be what I wanted . . . so it must be right for me. Wrong. In the same way if it were suggested to me that something might be good for me that I didn't want to do it . . .  then why would I force myself to do it.

I don't always want to do the weekly shop or the cleaning, cooking and a whole list of other things but I do them . . . the necessities. And really for the most part I do enjoy doing these things so I'm hardly exercising self-discipline when I cook meal. But to go against what I wanted or didn't want to do? Well I would've seen it as not being true to myself . . . myself! (my-allfeelingnumbing,selfdestructing,dontlovemeorIwillhurtyou-self) I would've thought I was trying to be someone else. O God forbid. To change. I can't imagine why I thought that would be such a bad idea. Eh? Change?  . . . What on earth for. I'm alright, nothing wrong with me.

I don't want to go swimming or go to the gym, so I won't . . . I'm not that type of person, never will be so why try to be. It never occurred to me that half the people in the gym might be there under duress . . . I mean why would they bother if they didn't want to. They wouldn't. Wrong.

This is a drawn out way of saying that it's taken me until now to realise that I have to make myself do things and stop myself doing things to be beneficial. To be good to me. How simple is it. How simple am I. No question mark. Considering it's taken me thirty four years to discover this concept, it's perhaps not so drawn out.
So with my brand new revelation, I'm gonna give it a go . . . try it out right here.

I don't want to go and skip (jump rope) on the patio right now . . . I'll do it later. No you wont. You don't want to now and you won't want to later. Why would you. It's highly unlikely that you're gonna become the kind of person who wants to do this in the next four hours . . . or days. Years? So pick up that rope and make yourself go out right now and skip. Now. Right.

I want  . . . . (you can insert anything from a triple chocolate magnum to a bag of heroin here) so I'll have one then. Obviously. No, no, no you won't. (much shaking of head) What do you mean, No? Why wouldn't I  . . . if that's what I want. (OK, we all know many good reasons why not) Forget it, you're not having one. End of. No discussion. I said no and I mean no. Right.

I'm having to talk to myself like I talk to my five year old daughter and I thought she could be stubborn. To discipline myself in exactly the same way. Do I have no more self-discipline than a five year old?  . . . Less!? Good grief. Well given that since the age of fifteen until a few weeks ago, a total of Thirty-four years, I had not spent a day without some sort of drug/alcohol or both in my system,  I could well be fifteen . . . And whilst we're on the subject, at fifteen I was described by an English teacher as socially and emotionally retarded. He could've said quiet and sensitive . . . but he didn't. I might as well be five. Or seven . . . or eleven. Yes that would make sense.

When I named this blog "When I grow up" I actually meant "When I grow up a bit more" I didn't think I literally meant grow up from a child to an adult . . . But  that's how it feels. That's how it is.

OK then . . . that's how it is. That's fine. At least I know now and can start on this. I'm quite excited to see who I become. Who I Would've been, I Will be. Who knows what will emerge with a bit of a load of discipline and a clear mind.

*******

It's Ten pm Sunday now. Re-writing and editing. Prison visiting tomorrow, another change of prison. A right bastard to get to. Trains, buses, taxis, long walks in between and that's just the journey. Then there's the visit.
Do I want to do it? No.
Will I do it? Yes.
Why? Partly because it's not about what I want and partly . . . well, that's another post.

I'm off. This is long. But goodnight to someone in Pakistan and someone in Russia who were reading a few posts today. I love looking where people are from who are reading.
Goodnight to Nepal, that's a regular now :-)
Goodnight to you all . . . Thanks for being here.

Maybe the grapes helped

OK I'm just gonna start writing. I'm not sure what's wrong with me . . . I feel quite irritable and have no idea why . . . Or have I? hmmmm. What's niggling me? I'm not even sure when it started.

Today's been good. I saw my "drugs worker",  got my methadone reduced to 50ml, told her my N/A news and then went to the park with Hamper G. All good, normal stuff.
I've had no desire to use today . . . quite the opposite. I did my weights, increased my skipping, decreased my fat and sugar intake . . .  I could be hungry but I can usually cope with that. Maybe I'll go and get a healthy snack and try again. Then I can rule that one out.

Hamper G was using the webcam in the kitchen a few days ago to "film" herself dancing looning around whilst I cooked dinner . . .  She was helpless with laughter as we watched it back. As was I until I saw someone standing at my cooker who looked like a much fatter, slouchier version of me . . . So I checked out Hamper G "on screen" to see if it made her look twice as wide too . . . No. It didn't. OK, maybe it depended on how far one was from the webcam, perhaps it distorted with distance . . . So I made her stand at the cooker. No, I didn't really. It's definitely me. Every pigging inch of it.
That's OK, I've recovered from the initial shock and I'm dealing with it. I'm dealing with a lot these days. Maybe I'm just tired. That would explain . . . I was going to say my irritability . . . but I feel a bit calmer now.
I'm gonna write my N/A post in the morning . . . I know I said that last night but it was such a lovely, warming experience of truth and hope . . . I don't feel that I could do it justice whilst I'm tired and ratty, albeit a bit less ratty than when I started. So that's good.

I've just gottta say, before I go, that I'm proper blessed to have you all on board. I never imagined when I started this blog that I'd feel so much trust and understanding from and towards people that I'd never met. Amazing. Now I'm off to bed before that sodding hamster wakes up and gets me running around for his amusement. No chance.

I knew I should've left the editing . . .  guess who just darted across the room? And we're not talking a normal "scurrying" type of hamster here . . . They're Roborovski dwarf hamsters, renowned for their speed . . . Hey, he'll slow down when he gets hungry ;-)  Goodnight x

I almost deleted the first paragraph then, as I feel much calmer now. But that's progress so I'll leave it. Or maybe it was hunger and the grapes helped.

Just for today

I'll write this post in the morning as I've left my glasses at my first N/A meeting or in Mum's car. Either way I;m struggling to see what I'm typing. I'm also tired, but I like what I've found. Shit! a hamster just ran across the landing! Never mind how he got out . . . How did he do the stairs?

O well I'll deal with the whole lot in the morning. I've dealt with enough for today. And I'm glad I have. I really am. Sweet dreams and days to you all.

Turbulence

Ok I was just finishing off a post I wrote last night about my lack of self discipline. I will post it later but for now there is something eating me.

I fucked up. And then I felt so bad . . . so I did it again. Because it's clever like that. More clever than I that's for sure. Which wouldn't be difficult.
I'm not back to square one. I am aware of how quickly I could be though.
I did wonder how I would fight on the days when I had no fight left.

The thing is with Heroin is how fast it gets you on it's side . . . . Believing the lies. Blinkered to the truth. Numbed to any guilt or sense of wrong doing.
You see now I want that peace back. But it's gone. I killed it. I'm angry and sad and of course I just want to numb these feelings. Yeah, that's a good idea. Fucking idiot. Rewind . . . . Nope, that won't work.

I can't even think clearly enough to explain any of this. I let it trick me. Me of all people should know how this works . . . I've seen it before. I hoped I wouldn't see it again. Maybe I hoped too much and didn't pray enough. I don't know. At this point I don't know much at all.
I do know I don't want to post this . . . but I will because this is about my journey and this is part of my journey. The turbulence. I hope it's turbulence and that I'm not heading for an almighty crash.

Surely I'm the pilot here? I don't feel like I am or maybe I don't feel like I want to be. Who'd want me as their pilot. No, me neither. Everything within me wants to stop this turmoil in it's tracks. That would be easy . . . but everything within me wants to feel good again. Why does it feel like that might not happen. I'm truly scared. Scared that it is stronger than me. I can't write anymore until the fog has lifted. I'll just go round in circles. 
I don't want to hurt anyone. Least of all myself or my kids.

One of those days in England

I'm loving it. It's grey, cold, windy and raining . . . the perfect excuse to stay in our PJ's and read stories. Maybe play sylvanians, do some virtual art and ignore all the stuff that needs to be done. I might even get time to put up some recent photographs of Hamper G at a local "farm park"  . . . like now.


She was in Hamper heaven cuddling the baby rabbits, so much so that she almost fell asleep as she stroked them. Hypnotic. These are the first photos I've put up since she chopped off her waist length hair.

Feeding the lambs was good but she said the farmer was bossy! . . . 
She being the expert on all things bossy. "He could've let go of that bottle Mum, I was holding it really tight"

Pony, tractor and bumpy "barrel" rides. O what fun.
But the bonus was right at the end, on the way out . . .  Hamper G stopped and said "Errrr!! what's that coming out of the sheep's bum?"
Wow timing or what? I told her how lucky she was to see this and that I'd never seen that before in 49 years . . . She said it made her feel sick, especially when the "Daddy" started to eat the plastic bag that the baby came out in!

So that's where babies come from . . . Yep, well, no. Not from Daddy in a plastic bag, but yes, that's how they're born. So how do they get in there?  . . .  Maybe another visit to the farm one day will answer that question. These farm parks are a great idea and smaller children love getting involved with the animals. Of course Hamper G came home wanting a rabbit because it will sit with her and be cuddled (bossed about), our hamsters wont. Of course I said no. Of course I'm thinking about it . . . but just the one . . . of course.

Two words.

It's the Easter holidays and snow is forecast for tomorrow!? . . . Two words. Easter Snow.

I had totally forgotten about this artist, Christy Moore . . . OK that's all folks!  I've work to do, mouths to feed, washing to dry . . . Monsters to slay! Enjoy your day.

He gazed at the embers in reflection
He called up lost verses again,
He smiled at a rogueish recollection
While his fingers gripped the glass to stem the pain.

Well adjusted, fitting in and rock solid.

Hey . . .  they're all asleep early. Silence. Solitude. All good . . . and what a day.
I spent six hours completing two tasks. If I'm physically busy, especially in the garden, the kids tend to let me get on. Sometimes they Hamper G will help. She stood on a chair to hang out all of the washing today, patiently moving the chair along every now and then. I must get a camera sorted soon.

My first task was to even off the floor underneath the washing machine. The floor wasn't tiled under one of the machine's back feet (there used to be a cupboard there) so it shakes, rocks and bangs loudly on it's spin cycle. Also, because of the uneven floor, it could never be pushed right back into the "washing machine" space so it protruded into the kitchen by about a foot. This had become the norm for the past . . . two years? I know, it's amazing what stuff  can become the norm. Anyway today as it shook and banged it's way, almost violently, further out into the kitchen I'd just suddenly had enough of it's behaviour. I dragged it out of it's space, tiled the bare patch with some left over "cut off" bits of the original tiles and made sure the floor was even. It then slid all the way back into it's allotted space, leaving it flush with the other appliances. For the first time in it's life it fitted in. Finally I adjusted the front feet until it was rock solid . .  then watched it spin quietly and steadily with a satisfied smile.

Second task . . . Five hours. I'll try and keep this short. Twelve years ago when I moved here there was, and still is, this brick built BBQ in the garden minus the grills and trays. I've listened to all the suggestions, knock it down, make some grills and plates for it etc . . . and yes, you guessed, done nothing . . . Until last week when I saw a box of the grills and trays for sale with a picture of my (?) BBQ on the front. "Bricks not supplied" it said. Perfect. Same size. Roughly . . .  Within 10mm . . . Yep the plates and grills were 10 mm to wide.  Something had to change. I couldn't shorten the metal plates and grills so that left one option. To chip, chisel and scrape away at the mortar and brick on each of the three levels where the "things" slide in until, five hours later, they did just that! Now I know 10mm isn't much but this stuff was solid. None of that sandy mortar that just falls away. Rock hard.

So with a few blisters, heavy arms and a BBQ fit for it's first feast, I'm off to bed. I'm looking forward to tomorrow . . . what's all that about eh? It's new to me . . . Nothing's even happening tomorrow, that I know of. I know the Sun will rise and shine . . . So much to do and enjoy.

What's that creature coming out of the wardrobe?

I wish I could find more "writing time". I did used to start when Hamper G went to sleep . . . Then Stropster (son 16) pointed out that I have my head in that "effing laptop" every time he sits down with me. He works till 6pm then it's dinner together (?) he don't like detests people talking when they're eating! and we do tend to be eating at dinner time . . . at the table. He must get that off my Dad. It was silence at the table when we were young. Elbows touching ribs and "Please may I leave the table?" I digress. I haven't got time to digress. I wish I had. After dinner he has a bath and catches up with his mates, either in real life or via his laptop (Did you hear that? Yes, I did too) for an hour or so. When Hamper G is asleep he'll come and sit with me . . . and my laptop. My laptop being "my friends" . Yeah you and you. All of you. My friends.

Hamper G (5) is constantly on my case during the day. Example, in the time it's taken me to write those few lines, we've had,
"Mum, I 'll get in the wardrobe and scratch the door . . . and you have to say; "What's that noise in the wardrobe?"
Then . . . I'll come out and you say "What's that creature coming out of the wardrobe?" . . . and I say . . . then you say . . . Mum!!! you didn't say it right. You're supposed to say . . . OK? Then when I say (?)  you say . . ."
We've had much much more than that, but you get the tedious picture. So then I feel guilty, I shouldn't be doing this when she needs my time . . . In other words whilst her eyes are open. The boys were much better at amusing themselves. I suppose as they were three years apart they had each other. Hmmmm . . . Thank God. Ok I certainly aint got time to digress down the very well trodden "guilt trip lane" this morning.

During those few lines I've tied her feet together very tightly with a scarf. No, really your honour . . she asked me to. Sorry, told me to. She rarely asks. She's a bossy little hound. Very demanding.
The weather has been so good all week that we've spent everyday playing/eating/walking in the park or garden and been exhausted by 8pm . . . .
There is so much I want to write about.  "Mum, when are we going downstairs?"
"Mum, I'm hungry"  . . . I'll quickly point out here that I have fed her this morning ;-)

Ok, I give up . . . I surrender. I know I should be grateful for these children surrounding me . . . I am. No really, I am. I'm sure things will be easier when they find a school place for Hamper. She needs and loves the stimulation that comes with socialising. (I'm E-mailing the authorities almost daily re the situation) . . . and I need and love the stimulation that comes from being alone . . . Alone with my piano, my weights, my pencil, my garden and my "laptop". You lot. Thankyou all for being here whether you're reading, commenting or blogging. "MUM!! Come ON! I  thought you said you were DONE?"
I have to go. Just thanks. And thankyou God for a sunny day, a clear mind and three precious kids :-)

No time to edit . . . MUM!!!
 . . . . OK!!!
"Oooo!! (feign surprise) What's that creature coming out of the wardrobe?"