Thursday, 35th July 2019.
Yesterday’s depression has had a sleep and woken up with a “Fuck It” attitude. It doesn’t magic money out of thin air but at least it’s a bit more upbeat.
I watched a documentary about Nick Drake last night.
It’s a kinda sad story.
It’s still too hot to function.
I managed to make scrambled eggs. Three to be precise. Then, I ate them.
I’ve drunk about 8 bottles of corona, 1.5 litres of Volvo, 2 slices of watermelon and 4 ice cubes. I’m still hot. This kinda weather makes me want to re-read Deadhead by Shaun Hudson.
That’s just they way I roll.
I’m now laying on the bed, wearing RayBans. Of course it doesn’t reduce the heat but, psychology, it seems to help.
Ice cold Corona seems to help. I’m gonna roll a fatty and pass out. Or I’ll wait until the temperature drops and see if I can manage my thoughts better.
Friday, 26th July 2019.
There it is. The bottom.
You know when you are there because your Netflix payment bounces. You don’t have £9.99 to pay it.
On top of that it’s Carter’s birthday. I got her a card. That’s it. I feel like the worst kind of scum, but I really need to be happy for her day.
It just went on. Back cancelled my overdraft so what little money I had, went. I spent an hour on the phone getting it back by throwing them empty promises and going through my whole financial situation.
All that effort for the 50 quid I had available!
At least I have a weekend to relax before the next onslaught.
Money, money. Fucking money!
It’s just so boring.
Saturday, 27th July 2019.
Luckily, I’ve managed to fill my day helping Carter rearrange the bedroom, washing curtains and making meatballs from the excess mince we had in the freezer. It has all been a supreme diversion from inevitable self pity.
The positive being, my bedside table no longer looks like it belongs to an alcoholic crack whore.
(I secretly liked it!)
After we ate the meatballs, we cracked on with Poirot. I’m really starting to enjoy Captain Hastings.
Sunday, 28th July 2019.
I got out of bed about midday. Then I did some chores.
Carter decided she wanted to take the dog out for a walk. I think this was mainly promoted by the FitBit Blaze watch me and her sons got her for her birthday.
It was the longest route to the pub ever! Anyway, I amused myself by looking at all the for sale prices on right move.
I need between £900,000 and a million to be happy apparently.
Doug’s fucked and I’m having fish fingers for dinner.
I sat in the garden and played instruments for the rest of the afternoon. Whether it was a guitar, ukulele, harmonica or lager bottle. I played it. There was some neighbourly window slamming, but I took that as a compliment.
Fuck it! Time for Marple.