16.08.14 (Day 237)
It seems that wherever I go, I’m rarely safe from persecution, judgement and now apparently, jealousy. A good analogy for depression has always been the big dog that follows you around. I definitely have one of those.
I despise divisiveness – as I do any form of discrimination – but people are being coerced into choosing sides. There were no sides of my creation but those who have chosen the other one are welcome over there. It’s Apartheid and just as that regime had to change, so must mine. It’s time for the head to rule the heart for once. I got out of the squat partly to escape the stress and what’s apparently going on is making me ill. It’s also not helping my hosts and the head of the host family.
When I ran a company and was owner and director, some of my more inadvisable decisions (with hindsight) were those I made when I allowed my heart to rule my head. Back then I employed co-directors to direct me. I’m no longer the boss. I have directors above me now and I need them. So the head must now rule the heart. I need to move on. I’ve retired.
I still can and want to see those who remain; not on my side because there are no sides. Those who remain loyal to me, some of whom I helped and who helped me too. Others are no help and if they can see sides, they’re welcome to go to the other one. There is no drop-in centre anymore, so those I remain friends with, I’ll see around on the outside. For now, it’s best that I don’t get involved for my own sake. There have been those who say that they can’t bear to say farewell. I guess I won’t see them again. Others must assume that I’ve already said farewell and still others I’ll get to, in time.
I’m not being imprisoned. This is self-imposed exile; a semi-secret hide-away. The secret is out now though.
One month. And that’s the longest I’ll be here for. I am getting better and making progress. I have an interview on Monday regarding the next step on the housing ladder and a first key worker session with CRI on Wednesday. Once the next step on the ladder is out of the way, the new life becomes within easier reach: the house by the racecourse, running a business and sharing the life with the wife I have in mind: small, cute, blonde, fit, funny. Because previous long-term relationships have been with tall (or big) girls who have variously been none of the above. This is a new life I have planned and therefore things will be different. She already visits me daily in this life as I dream of the new one.
I’ll run the business from home while the wife goes out and does what she enjoys. She’ll wear the trousers (she looks good in jodhpurs) and I’ll wear the apron.
I’m continuing to be occasional in-house chef in the current home. Tonight’s culinary offering was mackerel and mushroom parcels (wrapped in bacon) with saute potatoes, green beans and a vegetable and cheese sauce. The diners appeared to approve.
I’ve been accused of speaking in innuendos and muttering double entendres here but as with everywhere, I’m just misunderstood. Food is a particular minefield. I mean, what could possibly be misconstrued from my home-made stuffing, which I’m preparing tomorrow night for the roast chicken family dinner:
Peel the sausage skin back and remove the meat. Part the flaps around the hole in the bird, insert the meat and place in the oven. After a couple of hours, the bird is done. Remove the meat and place to one side. Allow the bird to rest. And so on. Perfectly normal. It’s not me, it’s the others.
Just like all those misunderstandings before, about things going on at the squat, which didn’t. Unfortunately, rumors are persistent and so are those who start and perpetuate them. If only they’d move on and actually get lives; Turn the page. You’ll never get me.
Keep turning; keep stoning.
And I just did a word count for this blog: if it were a book, so far it would run to about 831 pages.