through the spin cycle again

Vertigo again.

Woke up feeling as if my bed was a tiny boat bobbing around among mighty waves. The doctor told me it was that harmless thing again. Really should know better than to go see the doctor for this thing again - last time I ended up waiting for seven hours in a barren waiting room with only a stale sandwich, my nausea and a boring novel to sustain me.

At least the emergency healthcare fees are very low and clinics are plenty in this cold but caring country. I didn't have to wait more than 15 minutes this time, despite the fact that I had brought two novels. Barely had time to study the waiting room posters informing me how to sneeze without spreading influenza and how much a smoking habit of one pack a day for 30 years will cost me (enough to buy an Audi A6, apparently). The doctor looked like she was barely out of her teens (they always do, do they all retire at the age of 20?) and I had the vague feeling she was the little sister of someone I knew.

And she couldn't cure my vertigo. But coffee and sympathy from a friend almost did, for a while. Now, it's back to my storm-tossed bed.

running scared

A balmy summer's night. Anxiety.

Holidays by the sea, endless days of loveliness in a beloved home, even re-awakened dreams. Back to the city for a necessary (and joyfully anticipated) catching-up on civilisation.

And then,

bill-paying hassle,
computer warnings,
little aches and pains and a lot of tiredness,
no access to my addiction,
and the sudden realisation that my life is not at all on track.

     I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
     When people run in circles it's a very, very
     Mad world

     (Gary Jules: Mad World)

the novel therapy

Citylife. I manage not to be devastated over the dog by occupying myself with flirting. Then I escape reality by watching my favourite TV series.

But when I occasionally settle down with a good book, I realise what really calms me down and inspires me at the same time.