Friday 7th September 2018 - Private School

[Retrospectively written - copied from handwritten diary]

As usual, I feel that I've been lax with my writing but I notice it's only been 4 days since my last update, which isn't so bad for me.

It seems to have been a busy week one way or another, despite not much evidence of progress being made. Events of Monday and Tuesday are currently consigned to the mind's recycle bin and can't be readily restored. The passing of time isn't likely to aid their recovery.

Wednesday, however, is memorable though not miraculous. I attended the Men's Shed and made good progress scraping the garden varnish and detritus from the solid pine coffee table I've been rejuvenating. Managed to get a bloody war wound when the glass scraper I was using slipped in my grasp and we took delivery of our shiny new lathe, just prior to my early exit at 13:00 to collect Dianne for our regular D.I.A.L. meeting. I helped with constructing the stand before leaving but missed the christening of the machine later in the afternoon. I look forward to having a play next week.

Just remembered that Monday was a meeting with my 'work coach', a pointless and humiliating chore inflicted by a callous government [Ouch! Did I really write this?]

Thursday was more interesting. I signed up for and attended the first of 8 weekly sessions at Community Roots (Wild Haven) entitled 'Producing [something or other]'. It's all about manufacturing crafts to sell under the chaharity's banner. Yesterday, we spent our time learning to weave dragonflies and corn stalks whikch were more akin to bullrushes in my humble opinion. I guess it was enjoyable to the extent that I met and interacted with people in a relaxed, non-judgemental and friendly environment. I will persevere with this and look forward to the woodworking elements in future weeks.

Totally exhausted when I got home, I still managed to write emails to the utility companies, half promising payment of the outstanding accounts in the next couple of weeks. This being subject, of course, to Dianne's P.I.P. claim being reinstated and a lump sum back payment arriving.

Today, I feel as though I should be in the workshop producing but innstead I've picked up Stephen Fry's debut novel The Liar and read the first chapter. Sourced this from a charity shop for fifty pence a few weeks ago and opening it for the first time this morning lfound what appears to be the remains of the previous owner's breakfast inside the front cover. At least that's what I hope it is!

Unsurprisingly, the setting (or at least the background) for the book is a public school, though a prologue to chapter one describes a murder in Mozart's house in Salzburg, a place I visited on my own one day during a family ski trip in 1990. The first chapter gives no inkling as to the connection and simply introduces a few characters.

Reading it made me realise that I would have thrived in this environment; maybe not academically as there would have been others far more well read than I but as a personalijty. I would have undoubtedly fallen in with the rebellious, subversive crowd more easily than with the swots but the ideas, attitudes and experiences gained could only have shaped me for the better. Notwithstanding, of course, the need to attain a decent level of academic success to satisfy the scholarship requirements. If only I'd have applied myself to the interviewas concertedly as I had the entrance exams and not been so pig-headed about honesty at an early age Imight have achieved so much more.

Still no sales on Etsy but another loco and a couple of poistcards have gone from Ebay.

I've just re-read Monday's entry and note that I'm repeating myself here to some extent. Sigh!!

Monday 22nd January 2018 - Still here

The letters from the bank have started to arrive, giving notice of declined payments. The trigger I had been expecting.

So, yesterday was to be the day. Last night in fact.

I had written some notes on the laptop, which was to be left open so that whoever discovered me in the morning would have a connection to the me that was a few hours earlier.

It begins, as it should do, with the following line:

"Please do not resuscitate - I am of sound mind and fully aware of the consequences of my actions."

There is a brief explanation of how I came to this point, directions as to where goodbye letters may be found on the pc, the funeral arrangements to be made (the service is written), who to contact about life and pensions, how a little money might be raised and a final goodbye.

However, I received a 'phone call in the morning from a relative who would like to visit this Saturday. I would like to see him and his partner one more time so I have resolved to try to make it to the weekend. It does seem a long way off, though.

To fill the days I will endeavour to do some work, engage on Twitter and keep home-life as normal as possible for my nearest and dearest. Having rediscovered my love of writing, the inability to continue with it will be my last great regret.

Tuesday 16th January 2018 - Surviving One Day At A Time

Here we are still.

'They' say that every day is a bonus but it doesn't feel like it. Constant worry, extreme exhaustion, loneliness & the inability to formulate a solution turn life into existence, not living. The end seems inevitable now - I'm just waiting for the trigger. I don't know where it will come from; a 'phone call, unwanted mail or a misplaced word but it's coming.

I agonise over the consequences.

A mentally ill wife, drugged up to the eyeballs, who "can't be bothered" or "doesn't feel like it" or "wishes" for or "wants" things but makes no effort or progress towards attaining them. Expecting them just to arrive, she numbs her intellect further with a diet of daytime TV, soaps & other nonsense, constantly informs me about every minor ailment that most of us would think nothing of, or unworthy of comment at least, and takes issue with every passing comment or minor event due to anxiety. All whilst grazing on junk food; the effects of which are now counteracted by the use of statins, rather than willpower or restraint. Traits and eccentricities that were once considered quirky, charming or quaint have become exaggerated over time, as seems to happen to us all as the years pass,I suppose. The daily ritual takes place without apparently noticing or considering others. The effect it has on my quality of life is akin to forced anonymity. At the same time, I feel the guilt and responsibility of someone who's shared so much of her life and who cannot reasonably be said to be blameless in the journey that brought us here.

In this situation, would my demise be the making or breaking of her. I try to convince myself that having to face up to life and responsibility may, after the initial shock phase, make her stronger in the long-term. The children will surely rally around with the support she will need in the beginning but that raises another issue. As young adults are they yet mature enough to accept and deal with this? Is it fair on them, anyway?

I spend every day treading on eggshells and with the spectre of debt collectors looming on the horizon. With nobody to turn to for support this really can't continue.

The recent return to reading and writing brings brief moments of solace but it's not enough.

To anyone reading this I apologise for the brevity, lack of structure & tone. And it feels like I'm abdicating responsibility which is disingenuous.  However, it's all I can manage today - maybe there'll be a 'bonus' day for elaboration and editing.

Wednesday 10th January 2018 - Regrets? I've had a few

I find it absurd and rather egotistical when people say they have no regrets in life.

It implies a lifetime of precise decision making and never a misplaced spoken or written word. A perfect life without a slip in word or deed. Balderdash!

No word or deed is ever unconsidered, if only for a moment, before being given life in the world & every action has implications. Cause & effect.

One need not dwell on past indiscretions or self-flagellate over missed opportunity, I suppose (though I admit I can't help myself). Particularly when an otherwise useful, productive and fulfilling existence has been had but surely only the psychopathic or sociopathic amongst us can be reminded of past events without feeling something; happiness, sadness, pride, remorse - the yin and yang experiences which serve to shape us. It is the weight that we choose to give each side that determines our own satisfaction and that is down to personality, which is largely formed in our early years and beyond our control.

My regrets are many. Chief amongst them, the soul-destroying years of unfulfilling office work, I always considered a necessary & selfless duty in order to put food on the table and a roof over the heads of a young family. On reflection, I should have done more to change the course of my life. It would not have been selfish to take the risk and explore other avenues more fully. Indeed, the angst and depression I felt must surely have affected my nearest and dearest to the point that any economic benefit from my persistence may have been offset entirely. Ergo, the consequences of inaction may be as detrimental as misplaced action.

I can have no regret about marriage and raising children. It's easy to rationalise that the whole point of anyone's existence is to ensure the survival of the species. Whether or not my own contributions to the human gene pool have been worthwhile, we may never know but to the extent that I have fulfilled my singular purpose for being I should be satisfied.

The question is, what is left to do now. Kids are fledged, I'm 53, broke & have almost no income. That roof I suffered selflessly for will surely be gone before long. Had I followed my artistic instincts and pursued photography and writing more vigorously, I might now be reaping the psychological & financial rewards. Both, I can confidently say, would at least have been much improved. Could I have played the game at interview & won that scholarship -Yes. Ought I to have taken that opportunity to study for a degree 15 years ago - Yes. Certainly, I have regrets and so should everyone else. Ultimately, it is to the degree that these affect others or they gnaw at your own psyche that really matters.

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