Wednesday never comes

On the bus I saw a man wearing socks with 'Tuesday' written on. It was Wednesday. Perhaps he had unexpectedly spent the night elsewhere and not been home to change. Maybe he was rebelling against the quotidien hegemony. Maybe he had seven brothers and they were very poor so could only afford one set of socks between them. Or maybe he just made a mistake. I am perplexed.

I was on the way back from seeing the mental health nurse. She had given me more leaflets including one about burnout. I hadn't thought about that until she gave it to me. Maybe that's what happened to Mr Tuesday. Maybe he started out as a together right sock on right day of the week kinda guy. Maybe he was crushed by the relentless, endless misery of the ratrace and downsized himself to a seat just to the left of the yellow line, never crossing when the bus is in motion, never attracting the attention of the driver. Maybe he can't move.

Anyway have my third two star kayaking lesson tomorrow. I will try and not freak out when upside down in slimy water. I will not think about Weil's disease nor will I think about any other evil thing. I will dream instead of slicing through the water. The quays are beautiful in an odd way. I want to live there on a barge. I have started saving up for a barge but I only have a fiver in the barge fund and I need about £75 000. So together with a friend we have set up a tshirt site and are hoping to sell enough tshirts to buy a barge. Funnily enough all our designs seem to involve the Grim Reaper or large breasted manga type women. Setting this up has been quite stressful too. Now I worry about whether the server is up or down, is the dotnetnuke working, do people like our designs, will I ever have a barge etc etc.

For anybody who is thinking about barges, the Barge Buyer's handbook is superb. Its got a checklist and everything in it. I'm so glad somebody wrote a handbook. I am finding that reading about engines, oil and the dutch love of barges make stupendously calming bathtime reading. I think it could distract me from Tuesday and the socks.

Kayak 1 star

Now have a shiny new certificate for kayaking - a one star. This means I can go in a straight line. Brilliant. It also means that I am slightly more proficient and less scared of the capsizing. I have managed to turn upside down and sit counting to three before righting myself. As I am practising this in Salford Quays it means I can look out for local attractions such as shopping baskets, bicycles and other detritus thrown in. My new panic is that I will capsize and my hair will snag on a shopping trolley sank in the gunk at the bottom and my epitaph will read 'woman killed by trolley' which is just too horrid to contemplate.

Multi Me

Sunday evening. Washing, drying, panic attack. Always on the weekend. Rye bread, swedish rye bread, finger shakes, skipping keys, deep breath...think helpful thought, think count to ten, think this has been half an hour already.

Taken my medicine, waiting for it to work. Get up, sit down, puts shirts on hangers, think about ironing, clean bath, scrub bath, breathe, breathe, breathe....Its going to be another long night.

Think about car that I'm buying. Read the specifications, alloy wheels, keyless entry, break horsepower or is that brake horse power? Imagine crushed horses forced into the engine. Not helpful thought. Feel like there's two of me. Me One is on autopilot, performing sundry chores and not without a little effort and care. Me Two rides in the background sniping and scaring. Multi me would be quite useful if not 50% mentalist. At least Multi Me likes the same msic.

sorry miss

Right - am off to see the mental health nurse tomorrow where I will have to explain how come I haven't taken my medicine to combat my panic attacks on account of panicking about it. Its worse than apologising to your mother after forgetting her birthday.

Think helpful thoughts...

Ah here we go. What's the fastest land animal? Hmm, a cheetah.

In search of helpful thoughts...

'You shouldn't stop doing things because you're afraid you'll have an attack' said the nurse. So I signed up for kayaking lessons following sound principles of logical psychology what I have learned off the telly.

Anyway I thought I'd turn up and in about five minutes be merrily weaving my way between multi-coloured buoys, sliding down rapids and such. Oh no. First was the interrogation. We all had to sit around a table whilst our instructor, the Pat Robertson of kayaking (only with less scary hair and evil politics), made sure that our intentions towards his sport were worthy.

Instructor : 'Why do you want to take up kayaking?'

Me (thinking - don't say to get over panic attacks, he'll think you're a mentalist and never let you out on the water) : 'Err, I thought it looked like a good sport and erm , I'd, er, like to have a go when I'm on holiday and err, the course looked good...and I like watersports, er, yeah?'

Instructor: 'Well you don't need to just go mess abut when you're in Greece for a week...'

Me (thinking - what's all this about Greece, I've never mentioned Greece, never been to or planned to go to Greece)

Instructor continued:'...You could go on holiday on your kayak, it could be your means of transportation, you could go from island to island and let the tide do the work. Pitch up on a beach, get out your tent and paddle away the next morning. Kayaking isn't just limited to a hours paddling about , DID YOU KNOW THAT, EH?'

Me: 'Okay'.

Now I was scared, this guy lives, breathes and eats kayaking. All I wanted to do was have some fun. Another member of our group mentioned that it looked like fun to which the instructor replied ' Yes I supposed you could do it for FUN (c'mon feel the condescension) but its also a sport, a versatile wonderful sport, you'll always have fun, but it could be so much more.' His eyes then starting glowing a scary way so I decided to study the paddles instead.

I was thinking that kayaking makes you practice upside down in murky water so if I can get the hang of that, I should be okay. This is called 'capsize drill'. First your kayak gets turned upside down:Then you have to stick your paddle under your arm pit, thwack the side of the kayak thrice and finally lever yourself out of the damn thing. Once out, grab the front of the kayak and stay there. Personally I'm up for junking the paddle and squiggling out as soon as possible but not according to our instructor who looked very stern when I suggested that. Apparently a kayak is just a bit of plastic but good sticks are for life. Sounds like a candidate for the helpful thoughts list.

Everybody's got their something...

Walking down the hill after a meeting today, started feeling an invisible rubber band pressing against my windpipe. Thought 'let ignore this'. Thought 'not at work'. Thought 'what have I eaten - what am I allergic to?'. Thought 'where are the pills'. Thought 'these shoes hurt'. Thought 'what knickers am I wearing'. Arrived back at my desk hot, flustered and desperately trying to keep a lid on things.

believe this may be how nervous breakdowns start. Think helpful thoughts, think helpful thoughts...

Post party depression

Went to BBQ planning only to drink two beers and come home. 24 hours later, I'm still ill. All was cool and chilled out until a sip of my drink went down the wrong way. I was trying to splutter and gasp for air attractively whilst fighting a rising surge of panic - I'm choking, these people don't know what to do, even if they did they're too drunk, look they're playing rugby, will I be dead by the time they sober up and notice that I can't breathe. I thought of my pills that I still haven't taken, the ones that I'm not supposed to take with alcohol. Poor rectangular totem, left at home. Anyway eventually gasped my way back to regular breathing, in 1000, out 1000, in 1000, out 1000...my personal mantra is neither deep nor meaningful but shallow, just like me.

Anyway ended up seeing the men home. Less out of anarcho-feminist role reversal than I was a) most sober and b) lived furthest away. The adonis had learned a new phrase 'what the fuck' which he uttered at impossibly random intervals and the home grown rugby lad (HGRL) had passed far beyond mere inebriation. Cue driving around with increasingly irate taxi driver, Adonis and HGRL in dimly lit urban sprawl.

taxi driver: 'where to?'
HGRL: 'number 34'
me: 'which street?'
adonis: 'what the fuck'
taxi driver: 'which street, mate?'
adonis: 'what the fuck?'
HGRL:' yeah'
adonis: 'what the fuck?'
me + taxi driver [shouting]: 'where do you live?'
HGRL: 'number 34'
pause
adonis: 'what the fuck?'