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Posts Tagged ‘routine’

The Long Dark Weendend of the Soul #2

In Autism Research Unit, Department of Psychology, Unforgiving Minutes, Work Diary, Writing Diary on September 27, 2009 at 3:26 pm

The weekend blues continue today and I’m going to have to keep on trying to analyse this from time to time to put together the longest-yet work in progress that is the Haynes Manual to my head, an Aspergic head, an ADD head, a cyclothymic head, a romantic, apostate catholic overeducated small town dreamer’s head to boot, because it’s no one single thing.

This isn’t just a matter of routine, though that’s important.

I have been teetering towards depression for somme time now. And it could be one of many things, which I will look at briefly – I’m working with very low levels of motivation here:

  • I have briefly mentioned elsewhere that a childhood friend of mine died just over a week ago. We hadn’t seen each other a great deal for a long time. His awkwardness and obsessive tendencies reminded me of myself. Another Orlick to my Pip. That is, a shadow, a character who reminds me of what I dislike about myself. I have known many such people, and tend to have a love hate relationship with them, an intense ambivalence which swings this way and that; the kind of relationship many men have with their fathers. At the very funeral many of his aspergic traits came out so strongly. I used to say to myself that he spoke like somebody on a Teach Yourself English tape. Something of course, I do myself. We were together all the time as kids, and, intermittently, into my adult years. We were together the night before I was due to go to university. My Dad left a message on his phone early in the morning, which had been diverted to his boss’s phone: where was I, he demanded, I had a big day the next morning. We used to write stories together, make videos and I spent a large part of my childhood with him.
  • Women constantly play in my mind. Strangely, this stopped for a while when I was with my last ex, Marketa, the brunette of an abortive story Greetings to the New Brunette that I began to write on coming back from Prague, or on her going back after she came over for a disastrous trip that’ll be hilarious with a little distance, when I knew already it was a mistake. I say strange because I didn’t enjoy time with her at all and I still kick myself whenever I think about it. But I’m finding it hard I think at the moment knowing how difficult it will ever be to find a woman who can deal with a man as obsessive as I am, who wants constantly to work and who finds it so difficult to send time with others. I have become a recluse these last few months. Read the rest of this entry »

The long dark weekend of the soul

In Autism Research Unit, Progress Review, Unforgiving Minutes, Work Diary, Writing Diary on September 26, 2009 at 11:44 pm
What is it about weekends that I am doomed always to spend them in a state of high anxiety, flitting from one thing to another, unhappy in each of these pursuits?

Today is, or certainly could have been, a case in point. I got up a little late having gone to see a film last night (on my own, perhaps emboldenened by stuff asperger people like‘s #24 Dating Themselves, something I have commented on at the bottom of the post) watching Newsnight Review and then kicking around posting nonsense on The Booker Shortlist and letching over typewriters on E-Bay.

Everest Model 90

Everest Model 90

This is what happens when I have nothing to do with myself. Well, I’ve stocked up my E-bay watch list, and put in a few wanted ads here and there. Indeed, When I did, finally, get up this morning after getting to bed so late, and when I settled down onto the computer to write a few UoG posts, hoping indeed that this might become a sustaining routine for me over the next few weekends, Dad came back and told me he had been down the car boot sale looking for typewriters. Well, for typewriters and fishing rods for himself and a couple of other things, but basically, he wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the fact I have been obsessed with typewriters since one of my several new, plasticky portables broke on me when I was working up in the summerhouse about a month ago. Since then my routine has been punctured, and I’ve been working on my aesthetically, sonically beautiful Imperial Model 50 upstairs with and without earplugs to block out the noises of my mum and dad (quietly) going about their business.

Back when I first quit work and took to writing full time – supported by my ever-understand (ok, recently ever-understanding) parents, I was going up to the summerhouse every day to write. That short 30 second walk, and the ritual, often enough, of tucking myself into my sleeping bag was really important, and kept me going. I was up there often enough, from nine in the morning until ten at night. Ok, with sometimes long breaks in between. But I kept going. Read the rest of this entry »