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December 30th

December 30, 2016

Obviously I need to keep posting things, because I need to know that, even if only digitally, someone is keeping an eye on me.

Following in italics is yesterday morning’s bit of writing. More from today afterwards.

December 29th

Enough with the days already. It will soon be too hard to keep track.

I’m going to put it down to delayed shock, because there certainly was some of that yesterday when it suddenly hit me: I really could have died on Boxing Day.

How did I respond to this realisation? I sat here and played stupid fucking spider solitaire  until it was time to go and meet friends at the pub for a pre-arranged burger and beer dinner. Hours and hours of SFSS. Okay, I’m going to give myself that one. I am not going to beat myself up. What I am going to do is try my best to prevent that ever happening again.

And what I am going to do now is write the sentence I wrote and then deleted after the possibility of dying on Boxing Day. That sentence started “Or I could have been seriously injured, stuck in hospital”. I stopped there because the sentence logically ended “knowing there was no one at home who could take care of me, not sure if I would even be able to return home”.  A minute ago I could not make myself write those words because they were just too bloody depressing.

My life, my all too tenuous life. Not only is it hand to mouth as far as finances go, but because I really am all alone, my life as I know it really could come to a stop due to a major physical injury. If I had a broken leg, I could not drive. (Not that I have a car, thanks to those two dickheads.) I know people would rally round, give me lifts to the village to shop and bank, take me on the ferry to hospital appointments. I know they would and I would somehow get over my stubborn independence and accept these kindnesses in the spirit of friendship in which they were offered. But who would help me dress in the morning? Who would help me shower? Who would just be here as I was for Mike? No one.

There really are fates worse than death. Bloody hell.

Okay, back to today.

What did I do after spending fifteen minutes writing those self-pitying words? I went to Facebook and played my scrabble moves. Then I went on the Guardian site and did three crossword puzzles. Then, despite vowing to myself that I would not, I started playing SFSS. No idea how long that lasted. Then I played a couple of games of Freecell. Then I played a couple of games of Hearts. Then I played a couple of games of backgammon. Then I went back to SFSS. Then it was 8pm and I hadn’t had any lunch, let alone dinner. It was almost as if I was watching the will power seep out of me. All my hard work disappearing in a puff of smoke. And I just didn’t care. I have a doctor’s appointment next Tuesday. Maybe I need to talk to him about increasing the dosage. Or maybe I just need to find my will power again. Wish I knew where to start looking.


After a short break to go to pick up my neighbour from the ferry in my stupidly big “small” rental car (a foot and a half wider and three feet longer than the Echo), I come home just in time for the phone call from a guy at ICBC, confirming what I already knew. My beloved car is a complete write off. Its corpse awaits assessment which will take a few days. His guess (and it is only a guess) is that I will be offered somewhere between $1200 and $2200. Ha, bloody ha.

A friend of mine pointed out after my last posting, that I might be able to find another Echo. The thought hadn’t occurred to me for some reason, but it is true. I’ve started looking online and there is indeed the possibility. Not even within the high end of what I may (or may not) get from ICBC, but a much better prospect than I had anticipated. The interest on the mortgage line of credit wouldn’t increase by 30%. And I would – more or less – have my car back.

So I am going to have a look at it on Monday, accompanied by a mate who knows a damn sight more about cars than I do.

And now I am not even remotely tempted to play SFSS. Now I see what the problem may have been. I’d just thrown in the towel. Okay, enough already.

From → Black dog diary

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