Impressions of Insanity

Impressions

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Friday, February 09, 2001

14:33

Now it's too late to go swimming.

14:18

Don't have much to post about today. Spent nearly 3 hours in the gym yesterday - the elliptical beat me again. Got back and just crashed. Managed okay for about 5 hours, but then I crashed. We were going to go out yesterday evening but I couldn't move. Feeling quite tired and sick now. Keep the spikes digging in, all that. It's like I've been running for miles and all I can focus on now is the feel of my feet pounding the road. Everything else is just a blur of pain and exhaustion but I can't stop, mustn't stop. Contemplating going swimming right now. Too tired, really, but I can't stop the urge to get everything done right this minute. Everything. Right now.

Going to be too late to go swimming this afternoon shortly.

RB

Thursday, February 08, 2001

10:27

I was going to write up the tale of Dr Tajer now, but I won't. I have to go to the gym because I missed it yesterday and that is a Bad Thing. But I can then come back and rant about this self-help manual I've been given for chronic fatigue that is based on Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Given the contents of this manual, if that is what constitutes Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, then I don't think that I'm going to be all that bothered by having to wait 15-18 months to reach the top of the waiting list.

Another rough night, by the way. I wonder how bad pain can get before one can honestly describe it as acute. It's funny how there is this tacit assumption that one shouldn't complain about pain unless it's acute. You know how it goes. "Everyone has aches and pains, it's just part of being human." Unless you have a broken limb or a wolverine is chewing off your foot, you're seen as being weak or pathetic for whinging about pain. Which is odd, you know, because breaking a limb doesn't actually hurt as much. All the really painful things that have happened to me have involved salt water or lemon juice and loss of skin. Nothing really serious. Apart from that time I burned my hand badly with some hot fat. Burns hurt. But only up until a point, because then the nerve endings are destroyed and you can't feel anything any more.

Getting shot in the gut. There's something no one can argue about.

Anyway, as I was saying, there is this tacit assumption that unless you have a broken limb or a wolverine (or a ferret, I know wolverines are hard to come by round here) is chewing off your foot, whatever it is can't possibly hurt that badly. And, you know, that assumption is right. It's not that it's intense or anything. But it is extremely wearing. And it is quite bad. Not bad enough to have me vomiting yet, but we're getting there.

Maybe going to the gym will help. Remember, girlie, we're not going down there. That's where the bunyips and the evil toads and the slimy weed and the bad Jack Palance lookalike are. Put some spikes on your shoes and dig in for the duration. It can't be any worse than some swiss cheese.

All of a sudden I miss Jackal, and he's not even real. Not even by my standards (although he is based on someone who is real by my standards but not by many other people's standards).

No, I didn't get much sleep last night.

Wednesday, February 07, 2001

12:31

Seeing Dr Tajer today. Trying to keep my head together but the crass generalisations being made on urbancyclist-uk are not helping my calm state of serenity. I've been pushed into ranting again (who, me? Never!) Almost shaking. That's what I get for assuming a basic level of comprehension of data sets and outliers.

Regression analyse the lot of them! That's what I say!

Sorry. Rough night. I had to put a marble on my head. Hee hee. And today I have to go and persuade Dr Tajer that I'm a perfectly sane person who should be allowed to get on with her life. And she's blinkered by crass generalisations too. Marvellous. How spiffy.

Tuesday, February 06, 2001

18:18

The slopes are very steep and slippery. You grab for a handhold and get splinters under your fingernails. Do you think the doctors understand how hard it can be to remain resolute?

15:47

14:27

We didn't get to the Pitt Rivers Museum. We spent all afternoon talking. And drinking. I feel dreadful today. It's not just a hormonal glitch, it's a slippery slide into another Pit of Hell. My own fault, of course, for over-doing it yesterday, but Work at the moment isn't helping. I'm hoping that this time around I am aware enough of what is happening to stay up as much as I can, rather than falling all the way to the bottom and having to wrestle with the bunyips. I don't know if my current urge to go to the gym this afternoon is a good thing that should be encouraged and given full rein, or a crazy thing that must be squashed. Given that both Nick and Wyrd say the latter, but I'm still having MUST DO GYM cravings, I feel rather confused. The pain is bad.

Dreadful, dreadful night last night. There was a part when I was somewhere where there was lots of snow, and some 'kin (E was there) were having some sort of musical festival. They all arrived in these huge snow cats that had living space in them. They seemed to be the Arctic equivalent of the VW campervan. The people were certainly semi-nomadic. The place I was staying was a timber farmstead, single floored. It was almost like the essence of Glastonbury back when it was genuine and not commercialised so much had been distilled and imbued into this house and the surrounding outbuildings. There was a veranda with a big swing chair and wind chimes. It was very light. The wood seemed to capture and redirect sunlight, so it always seemed warm, even though the weather was biting.

But there was an enemy, and word came that they had tracked us down as the people were winding down and thinking about getting ready to leave. They would be coming soon. The 'kin packed furiously, getting all their kit into their snow cats. They all gave the impression of being very capable. They reminded me of bikers in some ways. E took my hand and told me I should leave, that I should hang around. The place wasn't important enough for me to risk myself for. But she didn't try to argue with me, she just made a recommendation and then climbed up into her snow cat, face pale but competent looking inside furs that were rimed with frost, and fired up the engine. They took off in convoy.

I found an old vehicle in one of the sheds, but it was four wheel drive rather than a snow cat and I knew I was going to have terrible trouble getting out before the enemy arrived. I considered staying to protect the buildings, protect the place, because I thought driving that thing in the snow would be just as dangerous, but in the end I went for it, and the last thing I remember was spending hours wrestling this thing through the snow in very poor visibility, wondering what on earth I was supposed to be doing and where I was supposed to be going.

There was another dream, involving toads, and another one, in which aliens of the Sigourney Weaver type were killing children. They had been in this place before, and had been cleared out. They weren't the same as the ones in the films, not quite. They were smaller, more compact, more "politically aware" (that's the only way I can think of describing it). They had come back and started taking and eating small children, mainly toddlers. But it turned out that the next generation of aliens had been infected with some sort of micro-organism or something that made them addicted to nicotine, and so they were more interested in getting cigarettes than eating children. Their parent generation was mightily pissed off about this, and took it out on whomever they could get their teeth into. That was quite nasty and brutal. Somehow these aliens, although smaller, were worse than the ones in the films.

There was another dream too, that was truly dreadful and distressing, but I don't feel able to talk about that.