If there was a song to signify today it would be The White Stripes ‘I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’. I’ve unpacked, tidied up, gone through my diary, emailed a few people and now, have just stopped, at a complete loose end with what to do now I don’t have a show this evening. Don’t get me wrong, I in no way want to do a show of any sort for a few days. This however doesn’t stop me fidgeting to the extent where either my chair or bum will wear away were to not stand up every few minutes to pace around. I’m terrible at slowing down. I have been prescribed by friends and family to sleep a lot and watch TV, but its a beautiful day outside and if I don’t go and do something I will just go spare. Thing is I don’t have the brain capacity to write or be proactive, and so what will probably happen is that I’ll go somewhere else and be bored there instead. Post Edinburgh is rubbish. Its almost just impossible to go from doing so many things to absolutely nothing. I’m almost jealous of those with day jobs just as they are forced to do something. Oh no, wait. No I’m not. Ha.
Today will involve getting my hair cut, possibly buying some trainers and then being bored somewhere else until I spend money I don’t have, regret it, and then be bored and miserable somewhere else. I’ve got no comedy related activities till next Monday and as torturous as it will be, it needs to stay this way. I’ll hopefully coax myself into writing some new stuff, doing some new cartoons, and other things like considering growing a beard and start running again. God its hard keeping yourself entertained. I need one of those ‘big brother’ types to take me on day trips before I injure myself. I mean the activity workers, not the dude you can only see when you sit in the chair. I can’t imagine he takes anyone on day trips. All the people he helps appear to be too stupid to be allowed into the real world.
Last night I ate a vegetable soup that my parents had made. It wasn’t fried or anything. Primarily because its hard to fry soup or it all evaporates. So lack of grease made me worried my body wouldn’t take it well after a month of rubbish intake, but all seemed to be ok. Then I slept from 10pm to about 8 this morning. That’s around 6 more hours than I’ve had since late July. Its all a bit odd. I just don’t know how I’ll adjust to this. No booze from now till Bestival either. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, but I also think its necessary. It could also be that I’ve rewired my entire internal system and now am killing myself through health. I’ll give it a few days and if limbs starting dropping off I’ll hit the whisky and chips.
Oh and I’ve realised that I left my insulin in Edinburgh. Well done me. Fucking well done. For my next trick I’ll fall down some stairs.
I’m going outside before I decide to learn to juggle with scissors or something.
