Disappointed in myself

I am disappointed in myself. I have been letting myself go.

Maria found a honey nut cornflake and a lettuce leaf in the bed. It seems they had escaped from my tee shirt having found there way in during a TV dinner. I got up this morning for a bath at 4:30 am having dreamt I had pooped myself. I hadn’t, but I think the writing was on the wall.

So I am clean now and will reward myself with 5 minutes of meticulous beard tending a bit later. Something that always make me feel as spruce as Jeremy Irons in ‘Swann in Love.’

Anyway this morning I realised how lucky we are having each other. I don’t think I would cope if I was on my own. Actually I know I wouldn’t. Despite the very cultivated persona I like to project of an “individual” I am actually the opposite. I have to be part of a group, even if that group has just two members, one of whom is Maria

Maria is resolutely pursuing Sainsbury’s who called us at 8:00 am to tell us that I was a priority customer for deliveries cos of the cancer and then made it completely impossible for us to order anything because I don’t have an account. Why would ya traditional husband and wife who still share towels and toothbrushes need two Sainsbury’s accounts? Needless to say you can’t register for an account because they aren’t taking new customers. Could it be that big business is more concerned about seeming to care than actually caring. If I see another advert on TV that implies that banks and supermarkets and petrol stations care about people and dogs and poetry and trees and sentimental ballads, and beaches and baby black horses and multi ethnic families, and all the crap cliches meant to evoke loyalty in the mugs like us that spend our hard earned cash paying for the bloody adverts, well I will forced to buy my E45 cream on Amazon prime in protest. Anyone else getting really sore hands from all the washing.

Maria has just asked me what I plan to do about the Kiwi fruit. They came with our family vegetable order. You know the one with the mushroom. Anyway Maria is allergic and I think they taste like hairy, sweet, tinned cucumber. So the dilemma is for me to eat them anyway (I suggested last night I would – actually just to curtail the conversation), allow them to rot in the fridge and then discard in a fortnight (my preferred option) or give them away to Steph (down the road, who does our shopping). Maria has gone off to mull this at length. It’s good to have all this time to think about the important things in life.

I am doubly disappointed in myself.

I am trying to complete my phone box project this summer and I keep hitting the limit of my problem solving skills. I try to think like an engineer to solve each problem one at a time. I keep pretty meticulous notes https://k6.gravityisahat.com/wp/ but the sad fact is that I am just not intelligent enough to do what is required quickly and I never was the sort of person who could do puzzles or brain teasers. A decent brain would sort this in a month or so. I have been at it for five years and still each day as figure one thing out something else comes unravelled. I find myself trying to force my brain to sharpen up by telling it off, but all that happens is my inner voice just gets shirty and repeats the problem back to me as if performing some sort of incantation. The only solution that seems to offer some hope is to rely on the first few hours of the morning, try to make one positive step between 6 and 11 amidst all the retrograde cock ups and then do something else. The alternative is for the inner voice to just get more and more raucous and less and less helpful. Argggghh I get so frustrated.

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