You know something’s going wrong with your eating patterns when you find yourself struggling to make room in the freezer for a new frozen ready meal because of all the old ones you never got round to eating, having decided just to have a cup of tea and some chocolate instead.
You know something’s going wrong with your sleeping patterns when you find yourself turning on your bedroom light to get undressed for what feels to you like an early evening bath and realise that, to anyone watching outside, it’ll look like you’re going to bed after catching the late news.
You suspect something may be going right with your deductive abilities when you connect your inability to feel like eating proper food with the fact that you’ve been facing the prospect of eating at about midnight. So, ready meal (Morrison’s own brand Vegetable Balti) is currently in the oven about an hour earlier than I would usually think of putting it in, and hopefully it will be nice. I have my doubts, since it contains aubergine. Or, as the Americans call it, eggplant. Or, as I call it, that deeply unpleasant vegetable that has the taste and texture of a Haemorrhoid from the very Arse of Satan.
Not a fan of aubergine/ eggplant, in case you were wondering.
In other news, and in an attempt to stitch myself back together, I took myself on A Long Walk this afternoon/ early evening. It all felt very autumnal. Rivers in spate were flowing fast and filling the world with the glorious sound of rushing water. (My fourth favourite noise, after: (3) the sound of dry wood crackling in a bonfire; (2) the sound of a heavy sea breaking on a sandy beach; and (1) the glugging sound you get when you pour the first glass of wine from a fresh bottle. That beautiful, delicious sound, that goes together with the solitary drop of wine that runs down the outside of the glass which you catch by running your finger upwards to meet it, and then you lick your finger, and though the drop is only tiny, still your mouth is full of the heavy, rich, intoxicating taste of Cabernet Sauvignon…)
Bugger. Now I want to get drunk. But I will be good.
Where was I? Oh, yes:
In other news, and in an attempt to stitch myself back together, I took myself on A Long Walk this afternoon/ early evening. It was all very autumnal. Rivers in spate were flowing fast and filling the world with the glorious sound of rushing water. The wind was tossing the tress and making everything feel so wonderfully big. Squirrels were scampering around, gathering up the beech nuts that fell from the trees. I could have done with it a mite colder, but still, it worked; I felt a lot better for those 4 hours I was out and about, and I still feel some benefit now.
I know I’ve written here about there being a seasonal aspect to my moods, and that I feel worse in the winter. That’s true, I think (it’s been true; I hope it doesn’t happen this year), but still and all, I love the autumn. I love the spring, too, I like the seasons when you can feel the change, summer and winter are a problem because they’re full of the same old same old. But, still, I love the autumn best. I love that it connects me to my inner 7-year-old, the part of me that puts on a blue coat with a ridiculous hood and yellow boots that used to belong to my sister and goes stomp stomp stomp through the puddles, and down to the river that rushes and rushes and goes all the way to the sea and never, ever stops.
Sorry for this being all over everywhere, but I did warn you I was going to post more of this stuff, and less (fewer? yes, fewer, I think) fewer of the exquisitely dull posts about how everyone in the entire universe apart from me is wrong.
And it feels GOOD when my mood’s on the up like this. Sometimes it even lasts for whole minutes at a time.
Right, been writing this for a while now. Wish me luck as I brave devilled devil’s haemorrhoids…