Sunday 19th August 2018 - The Meaning of Life

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

It always surprises me how much deep thought runs through my mind that I decide can wait until I put pen to paper.

Then, I sit here amongst the breaker rocks on Caister beach on an overcast but warm Sunday molrning and it's all gone. Not forgotten, just temporarily misplaced and waiting to be taken out again like a dust-covered book on a shelf. This should be reason enough to commit thoughts to the page in a more timely manner.

I'm sure I've mentioned before how disillusioned I have become with life in general. Whilst this has always been the case to some extent, I feel it's manifestation now informs everything I think and do. I know that my life has to be different to have any meaning or purpose and to expereience contentment, if not happiness...............

I just broke off writing for about half an hour. The normally slow ebb and flow of the tide had been taken over by a sense of urgency (maybe on account of the strong wind) and the shoreline laps that were 10 yards away when I began jotting were nearing my feet. Whilst I wasn't immediately in danger of an unwanted salt bath, the distraction was sufficient to cause me to move.

Thus, I proceeded along the shoreline for, perhaps, another 100 yards but unusually the sense of despair, frustration, restlessness and foreboding that normally dissipates on a beachcombing trip remained. A wander higher up the beach and a trudge back to the car through clawingly soft sand followed. The search for driftwood and flat stones to carve took me pakst numerous sand hills and circles of nondescript stones left behind by holidaymakers.

The random distribution of small, burnt timbers that are found in some abundance always surprises but probably shouldn't. Presumably, the washed-up remains of reclaimed beach fires. I romanticise about them being the remains of sea-borne funeral pyres, if romanticise is the right word...............

Anyhow, back to the theme I started with. The loss of control, privacy and self-determination in my life is increasingly difficult to deal with. Whilst I can declare that suicide is not the only option under consideration I'm finding homelife more claustraphobic by the day and am beginning to ponder life as a single man again. Whether that involves intentional community living, a home in the woods, roaming the country in an old Transit or some as yet unconsidered option I really have no idea. If I could convince Dianne of the merits of I.C.L. that would still be my preferred option but it appears to be the least likely outcome.

Yesterday, I presented myself at my first craft fayre. The compliments and words of encouragement were welcome and convince me of the merits of pursuing mixed media and jewellery making further. The hard work of the pakst few weeks was made particularly worthwhile by one patron's genuine surprise that such a professional looking stall was a first visit to a fayre.

Having just proof read today's musings I must confess to some disappointment at the brevity of it all. Three pages of an A5 notebook don't seem to amount to much and leave me well short of the stream of consciousness writing that I would hope to achieve in the long run. More practise needed!

I think maybe I should get back to writing my blog. A reader or two might help with another of my dreads, dying in anonymity. This is a strange thing to fear for a private, introverted individual but perhaps ties in with the desire to lead a more purposeful and meaningful existence. I don't know!?

Wednesday June 20th - Medication

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

Yesterday, I skipped the Sertraline on the basis that I can't pay for the prescription. They also don't appear to help much, I'm concerned about negative side-effects (Why?) and I'm struggling to function on a daily basis with them. I also received a call from the doctor's surgery telling me there was a prescription for Folic Acid waiting to be collected. No indication as to why this has been prescribed!

Yesterday was a better day overall. Dianne had a friend and her husband from Colorado visit in the afternoon so I hid away in the workshop, made some progress on the picture frame I'm upcycling and prepared a few price and attribtion labels for my completed mixed media projects.

Today, however, I'm back to feeling totally exhausted and helpless. In the mail was a letter from the surgery stating that I'd been referred to Urology. Dianne made me open it in front of her. We both hoped it was a follow-up from Wellbeing services but after 4 weeks, still nothing. Told Dianne that it was a general appointment confirmation letter with the G.P. (don't want her to worry or pester me). There was also another questionnaire from the E.S.A. people. I say questionnllaire but it's more like War and Peace. The Department for Work & Pensions could never be accused of brevity!

Made an Ebay sale and have boxed the locomoltive ready for dispatch but the thought of going to the Post Office fills me with dread after Monday's embarrassment. Expect I'll manage to get there somehow, though.

Dianne's just gone out but felt the need to ask me if I was going to be alright. She's obviously concerned and I must be making a bad job of hiding my mood now.

Late on Monday, I received a reply from the Old Hall Community in Constable country, near Colchester. They would welcome a visit from me/us on a convenient date. Some weeks ago I spoke to Dianne about the appeal I felt for 'intentional community living'. She wasn't keen then and I don't suppose she is now. I'd dearly love to organise something but I think it's a non-starter.

So, here I sit in the workshop pondering how someone with such a high I.Q. could finish up in such a predicament. I never fail to be frustrated, angry and disappointed with myself.

My sole lachievement in life has been to raise 2 children to adulthood in a safe environment with honesty, openness and a commitment to self-expression. They've turned out OK but at the expense of me kicking the financial ball further and further down the road to the point where it's rolling over the horizon.

At this point I'd like to return to the topic of intentional community living. I have long been disillusioned kwith modern life in general. Everything from celebrity culture, selfishness, greed, consumerism, 24-7 marketings, media propaganda and the corporate takeover of everything to environmental destruction, lying politicians, the business of war and narrow-mindedness. Whilst I.C.L. draws people in from varied backgrounds and belief systems , the important core values of working for the common good, preserving the environment, simplified living and respect for one another trump all the other bullcrap in life.

Dianne just returned from a fruitless trip to Citizens Advice with the grill missing from the front of the car. Apparently, she "heard something" but "didn't think much of it" and a search proved fruitless. What can I say; not even "never mind I'll order a new one". Good grief!!

To complete my self-assessment, I'm O.C.D. when it comes to organising and planning, have no respect for 'authority', resent being instructed unless I've asked for it and deplore a society that signs me up for citizenship as a newborn, then demands a code of behaviour and money from me but neglects me in my hour of need. Citizenship should be an option at one's coming of age, not a mechanism for a lifetime of conformity and slavery. Then, perhaps, the political class would work for the people, providing care and incentivisation, rather than selling themselves to the highest bidder.

This has always made me feel like an outsider looking in rather than a part of a dynamic organism. Life is too irrational, illogical, unreasonable and frustratiing. Or, maybe I'm just insane!?