Diary Of Some Sort Of Life #6

Tuesday, 21st February, 2017

07.12

Back on the old hamsters wheel. I have no cigarettes and no coffee. Not a good start. I can feel the narcotic downslide creeping at my heels. Oh well. To be expected. I’ll get past today and hibernate. Listen to Quadrophenia a couple if times and all will be right with the world again. Everyone has their safety album, right? That loving blanket.

08.11

The dreariness of Sherbourne Lane. It’s all the same. It’s always the same. I so desperately want it to change but I can’t leave this for yet another, pointless, unfulfilling dredge for money. It’s the thing that’s ruined most of my life. I just want to make stuff.

There has to be a way to tame the beast that Lurks inside me. Before it kills me.

It doesn’t matter how many list you write. 

Always keep it simple. Thats where I always go wrong I think. Like Gary Clark Jr.


I’ll have to think of something to get me going again. Keep it simple, Mark, keep it simple.

10.08

I love the concept of self employed. The guy you’re working for loves reminding you that you are, but when you take a day off, he then thinks he can comment. Don’t like it, don’t employ me. Simple as……..

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-employment

12.01

As usual. I’m right. Turns out the boss is ill. Don’t take it out on me. Anyway, I let him off.

I’m not feeling that bad, considering. Time for a little afternoon vibe. Smoke some cigarettes.

Roger Daltrey stars as, the coolest man alive.


Working Boy Blues

15.29

It’s bruising up nicely. I hope it rains. It’s really what I need. If it does I’ll head down the river. Hip flask, reminisce, scream and beg. Rain hiding tears of anger and pain. Yeah. I’m pretty dramatic. A life without emotion is no life. If you hide from the pain, you’ll never feel true happiness. If you don’t allow yourself to truly love, you will never be truly loved. If you want the good stuff, you have to learn to embrace the bad, fully, without bounds. Let it wash over you…….even better, let it rain down on you.

17.27

Feeling the sanctuary of laying on my bed. TV on, sound turned down. Guitar across me. Glass of Patron and a thousand boxes to tick. 

One of my bests picked me up a couple of books I lost in my marital exodus. I had felt the need to feel them again. She saw my plight.

I can’t wait to tuck into them again. I still have a book to finish but soon. Very soon. Must stop the brain from rotting. It’s the only way I know how.

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