13.03.14 (Day 79)
This entry is part blog and part fiction (weren’t they all?) Sort of an excuse to exercise my creative matter, write something that’s not pure fiction and contiue the blog under the guise of writing a story. Confused? Good. Then I’ll continue and you can pick through the pieces…
I got my housemate back last night, when Tom came into McDonald’s and asked me not to barricade the front door as he’d be back home. I didn’t and he wasn’t. But I survived.
Why am I back to writing this? Because I’ve been told to, by someone I hold very dear. Someone I dedicated something to. As recently as last night, another friend delivered that something to said someone and that very some someone came to see me to thank me. I was happy, or something.
I just like those who care (and one has actually – not literally – saved my life recently) to know what’s going on as I don’t have time to tell all to all. Especially when I’m on a vow of silence. Remaining silent is tough at first but you get used to it. It’s actually very therapeutic. I’m even tempted to break the rules in order to gain continuation. The rules (self-imposed) state that should one break one’s silence, then the process must be re-started. So if I go 23 hours and 59 minutes and then utter a single word, I must start again on another 24 hours. More money for charity too.
After this one, we will indeed undertake another challenge for a different charity, using the means available to us. We’re considering self-imposed afflictions relative to the various causes: wearing blindfolds for BNIB for example. I wish I could give blood for The British Heart Foundation but I’m prevented from doing so because I had several blood transfusions following a fatal accident (yes, I died, on the roadside but was brought back) way back in 1986 and therefore pre-CJD.
I polished the turd today, in that I cleaned and tidied Gilbert House. We have a new table cloth in the form of pages from New Scientist, The Bible and various novels covering the dining table. Plenty to read while we eat. And when we’ve read the current covering, we’ll put a new one on: resourceful. Inventive. Creative.
I’ve also acquired a new mattress and as a result, got the best night’s sleep I’ve had since moving into Gilbert House; some pillows and a leather reclining armchair. I lugged them all home by hand over a not inconsiderable distance and the chair was fucking heavy, so it’s mine and only mine. In fact it’s in the corner of our main rood labelled “Steve’s”.
Gilbert House really is quite a little home now, with all of the above and other additions I’ve, er, added. We have to be there for a while by circumstance but we’re not creating a positive rut, just somewhere to live rather than only sleep. And the police know where we are and therefore where to find us.
I have my gig at St. James’s Church on Saturday, to read out the poem I wrote for Shelter to the congregation. I must admit to a little stage fright but until then I shall continue to enjoy the silence which is an absence of my voice.