Locked inside my room, but that’s okay — I have small comforts: a large bed that I make constant use of, my laptop and desktop computers, and a bass speaker I dare not play loud because I share a house, and my father does not appreciate strong music, especially bass or any noise that his failing ears can pick up, no matter how quiet and mellow the track. The heater is on, warming my chilly bones, and my medication is always with me, including the more fun ones. There’s a complicated love/hate relationship with the people around me. I’m the sort of person who will raise a few fingers to signal thanks when someone coming from the opposite direction gives me the right of way — I’m a big fan of acknowledgement. This shows me that we are all connected in ways I hadn’t fully appreciated. I don’t spend long in my car these days; I don’t trust my driving anymore. I have a fragile sense of self-esteem, but nothing exposes that more clearly than the moment I’m behind the wheel. I’m getting older and I’m finding myself increasingly impatient with the young; I much prefer the company of my fellow oldies and can often be found chatting to the old man in the wheelchair. I want a new tattoo — I already have several, but I NEED more. I miss that sharp, almost sexy pain of the needle pumping ink into my skin. I’m struggling to think of the right design. I want to do this one properly, something meaningful I won’t grow tired of. I have an earache and I need something almost magical to get me through it; while the doctor prescribes something for that, I’m also going to need relief for these damn kidney stones. My body feels like it’s falling apart, both physically and mentally. Along with a ton of recent tests, I’ve been told I have kidney disease too. Great. Imagine having that news dropped on you in the middle of an intense psychosis. “Too much calcium,” they say. I used to be eating a pack of Quick-Eze a day for years — who would have thought those could come so close to killing me or putting me on dialysis at least. I’m lucky I went into hospital for a completely different issue. Echocardiograms ,ECG’s, chest x‑rays and MRI, continuous blood tests… my visit to Frankston Hospital was, oddly enough, a relief. It’s Saturday night and I should be out raging, getting drunk and high, only to lose my phone, wallet and keys and wake with a hangover in some strange place. I can patch together the blackout pieces, but half of them are missing. I’ve already hit my energy drink quota tonight — one and a half liters — and I haven’t partied with a can of V for over five weeks. I cannot drink alcohol; doctor’s orders. Apparently one more drink could kill me. That warning felt like a blessing in disguise. I needed something to make me stop, and this was enough. No more for me. I’ve had my fair share. There are no cravings, no withdrawals, and I don’t miss it one bit. In fact, I’ve developed a real hatred for it. I need to throw myself into art. I have a few ideas bouncing around in my head, but are they worth spending the usual fifteen hundred dollars? Money is scarce, yet the art keeps calling. What’s the point? I’ll be dead before you know it — and then what? I don’t want to spend my last hours scrambling to develop my skills. Time is running out, Dave. I haven’t had a cigarette in over eight months now, I haven’t been smoking the broccoli, and I haven’t been drinking. My meds are on track (I now use a Webster pack), my diet is good, but exercise is pretty much non‑existent. I’m trying, though. I just hate it all sometimes. It’ll all be over soon, mate, so just chill. I’m seeing my nephews today and I love them to bits. I’m not having children of my own, so I really appreciate the little dudes’ company and enjoy watching them grow. As much as I love them, thank God they’re not mine — well done to the parents! I’ve been suffering badly with heartburn. I am now taking three different pills to combat this, and they do help, just not immediately. There’s no quick fix for me. I don’t want to die today. Quick-eze are even sold over the counter at Coles without any clear warning that taking too much could be fatal. The doctors want me to have an endoscopy, but I refuse — I’m a big baby about being put under, one of my greatest fears. For now the medication is doing the trick. I’m listening to Sonic Youth while Waking Life plays silently on my PC. I don’t watch television and haven’t for a long time, and I don’t follow mainstream news, especially FOX. Let’s not get political, Dave — this isn’t really what the site or blog is about, but I wanted to share. Without going into details, I may have saved a life last night. A close friend was in a severely suicidal state and I spent a long time talking them through it. I’m no psychiatrist, but the conversation helped and, thankfully, it ended well. Was it a cry for help? Maybe — either way it’s left me feeling concerned. On the topic of psychiatrists, I have a consultation booked with a new one because my regular practitioner, whom I’ve seen for fourteen years, is taking an extended break. The first appointment is six hundred dollars — and I’m on a DSP, so I’ll need to start saving for that. At the same time I need dental work, and the dentist wants nine hundred for a single visit. Health really does cost money. I’m fortunate my GP bulk bills and is an excellent doctor — I’m glad I found him. That’s the end of my ramble. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Have a good day.