Ok, let me get this right out in the open from the start, I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to hide anything from you or am trying to be something I’m not, because I’m not.
So, yes, I admit it, I’m a little but tipsy as I’m writing this. A little fuzzy round the edges? But you know what? That’s fine! It’s Sunday afternoon, I’ve just had a wonderful Sunday roast with the family (lamb, my favourite), I’ve got nothing else to do this afternoon, and that bottle of rosé went down a treat and was just what the doctor ordered, I reckon. V and I have had a long week and it’s great to be able to relax with a glass of something and unwind with the kids. It doesn’t mean anything, ok?
But anyway. The photo of our car boot with all those glass bottles on their way to the recycling. (OBVIOUSLY I hadn’t been drinking when I took those bottles to the recycling. that was this morning, this is now, late afternoon.) There did look to be a lot of them, and I remembered something my doctor had asked me. No not the doctor, it was that occupational therapy nurse I was sent to as part of that capability procedure I went through at work. Whichever.
They were talking about my recent diagnosis of anxiety, stress and depression and had asked me about any medical background my family might have. I had said there wasn’t really anything unusual, but that obviously I don’t know much about my dad’s side of the family, though there was something about him now being an alcoholic but that I couldn’t really say anything either way as I haven’t seen him for many, many years now.
And then they said, with that condescending look of concern (I hate that), “Interesting. Do you use alcohol as a coping mechanism, do you think? Hmm?”
I remember saying quickly, “Oh no, certainly not, I only have a glass or two with a meal at the weekend, if at all, I certainly don’t use it as a coping mechanism.” I knew that was the answer required, and i wasn’t about to disappoint them. I continued, “It’s interesting, actually, when my wife and I gave up smoking eleven years ago now, it was when you could still smoke in pubs, so as a result of stopping smoking we stopped going out too, as we didn’t want to drink and then be tempted by all the smokers around us. So we ended up cutting down our drink quite a lot too.”
this satisfies them and leads on to other conversations. But you know what? I’m not too sure. I do like this ever-so-slightly fuzzy feeling. It stops me from worrying about the ongoing consequences of that capability procedure I went through at work, about my change of jobs, about the pay cut, about those nagging behind-the-scenes worries I’ve had about being no good at my job, that turned out not to be so behind-the-scenes. It puts things in perspective, in their place, not constantly at the forefront of my mind. It’s nice to not worry all the time.
I think I need to find better ways of relaxing.
A kind of gift
Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa
I had forgotten why I stopped going to gyms
Whenever I am in Leeds Art Gallery I say hello to my Grandfather, George Dearden. He is the third soldier from the left.
Today I got lost in a wood.
Small lungs shouting
I've never been in, I wasn't there, this isn't my photo, but ...
First ride into the city this year