There were two drunk homeless men in the park today, picking on the pigeons, the elderly, a small dog...I honestly heard one of them call a squirrel a 'fucking cunt'. All while I was trying to have a panic attack, most inconsiderate. But I didn't point this out to them, because the squirrel was looking quite offended and I didn't want to cause more of a scene.
It is soooo hard not to have a bad day and think you're sliding right back. Even though I know I'm probably going to feel better tomorrow, it doesn't help when I'm sat in an empty house with the light fading outside and all these thoughts sneaking up on me.
Enough mithering. Worse things are happening all over the world. I don't know how the kids at work stay so happy and smiley. It must have something to do with culture, they must just repress it all, which can't be healthy. Although they all seem fairly healthy. So perhaps repression is the answer, perhaps we're far too eager to flag up every little problem in this culture, examine it from every angle. It doesn't seem to do anybody that much good. I know I don't feel any better thinking about my problems all the time, but talking about them does seem to help. 'Tis a mystery.
My dad went to Delhi for six days. He was spectacularly unappreciative of the whole experience. His exact words were: 'it's a shithole'. He said the poverty was unbelievable, and everywhere was dirty and hot and smelled bad. I'm just impressed that he managed six diarrhea free days, because his approach to any kind of illness is 'eat something'. eg. 'Hello, I'm feeling slightly queasy. I'll have a milky coffee and a tin of tuna, that should sort it out.' I thought this approach could pose all sorts of gastric problems in the bacterial playground that is India, but there you go, what do I know? I got funny about drinking the water in Amsterdam.