I’m going to have to get a new computer, not sure how much to spend, how much to keep back as savings. Not a nice feeling. I always feel a bit sick when I spend money.

Given the enormous pretentious oblivion of my 20 years with major depression, given the sharpness of my long abandonment to emotional adolescence, it seems a little deflating that it can apparently be cured by taking four pills and running up and down the canal every day. And yet that is indeed what seems to be true. If I take those four pills and keep running, I feel, think and behave like something approximating an adult. True, it’s taken that time to find the right pills, and this on the NHS. But still. Looking back across the gothic gloom of the last twenty years I can’t help but feel a bit of a tit.

Oh well. If I am, in fact, better (the horrors of the middle of the night notwithstanding) I had probably best get on with working out what to do next. Baby steps, though. Every time I overreach I end up being too tired to go for a run, and then it all starts again.

Ooh, I did a tweetcloud! Look at it! Look at my tweetcloud!

This is based on the most common words from the last three months of my tweets.

Today I had to minute a committee meeting instead of my wife, which worked perfectly well. I can’t talk much when I’m concentrating but it was alright. For some reason I can’t now place, I’d expected this committee to be full of sharp-elbowed sharp-tongued people but they were all really nice, which made it easier. I was identified by my resemblance to my son before I’d introduced myself. Hm.

Earlier I’d taken the kids to school and nursery and got on with filling in some forms in the time before picking the boy up. Then home where I collapsed into sleep for a while as my wife took over.

I can still sleep anywhere, any time. But otherwise things are getting better. I think I’m more well now. I hardly like to start to hope, but I think this might be it.

(in other news this blog is showing up for some very strange searches on Google… people being looked up, or looking themselves up, who are obviously digging pretty deep into Google results to find themselves. I suspect political shenanigans but I don’t think I’ve ever been unpleasant about anyone on here, so it’s probably safe enough to leave the blog on Google. When people have hurt me I’ve tended to anonymise my more hurting complaints, and I usually take them somewhere else entirely. The internet remembers things long after we’ve forgotten. It’s got nothing else to do.)

Presenting my first faltering steps in audioblogging, I would like to present my son Charlie (known herein as The Boy) attempting to say the word “controls”. Click here to play!

I put this online using AudioBoo, where you can also hear him trying to say “chocolatey” should you so desire.

You’d think having l33t electricity left would get you into a special chatroom or something but NO. As usual the council can’t be bothered.

My mobile has finally died, which marks the merciful end of a long battle with increasingly mental text prediction. However this loss is but the latest in a series of events which, apart from anything else, are making it harder and harder for Skynet to track me down from 2014 and send cyborg assassins back to kill me.

First my internet connection was voluntarily revoked after I realised I was spending 95% of my writing time researching and 5% actually writing anything. Then our tv aerial became so beplattered with birdshit that Cbeebies grew first blocky, then weaker, then drizzled away entirely, leaving only a mournful “no signal” sign on every channel. And now, finally, my mobile phone, my little luck charm which I carry in my pocket down life’s harrowing highway like a sophisticated sort of rabbit’s foot, has died too.

This feels a bit weird. I wasn’t really very amused to notice proper addiction-type symptoms pop up, but they’ve levelled off now. I can’t send out panicky little texts when something startles me, but let’s face it, most of those were sent out at 3am and were entirely joyless to receive.

Skynet must be throwing a major computery hissy fit right now. Well, not, er, right now, but, like, right then. At some corresponding point in the future. I can just imagine it. She (let’s face it, Skynet’s definitely a she) has probably redoubled production at her weapons factories and rained down fire and vengeance upon the remaining human resistance, all because of me.

Oh well. I’m getting a big fat tax refund. Perhaps that’s a bribe from the future. Perhaps I’m not really understanding time-and-space and cause-and-effect properly. Anyway I’m still on email at work.