An apology too late
On Tuesday night, Julie announced that I was nothing more that a stopgap for that whisky-drinking child-injuring prat of an estranged husband. Thursday she texted me to say sorry. How am I supposed to believe her? After all she has said? Someone explain that to me. Now, being Saturday, there is an email from her offering yet another pathetic, lame apology. Too little too late Julie, you scum-loving idiot!

I am only fortunate that my tablets are now starting to have their desired effect on me. I thought this moment would never come. I think I deserve a sing tonight. After all I have done for that waste of f*cking time, money, space and food, I had better start doing things for myself, as no one else is going to be able to offer a hand. In troubled times, we are alone. Well, apart from the really unhinged idiots, that is - they get all the pussy.
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Thanks a flipping bunch!
When I first started taking the Citalopram three weeks ago, I was hoping it would help me to start functioning properly. For the first three days I was getting stoned on them. For the rest of that week I just felt normal and calm. The last two weeks however have not been good. in fact, I can honestly say that the tablets are now not working anymore. One week of feeling benefits, then two weeks of being back to where I was before I even took them. What is the point of that?

I saw a doctor yesterday, and she was adamant that I remain on the 10mg as opposed to doubling it. She is so sure I will start to feel the benefit soon. I can only hope so, because right now I cannot see any hope. How is this progress?

Last night, Julie sent me a text to tell me she was only using me. A year and two months of being used. All I really managed to achieve was being a poor substitute for her estranged husband. That man has harmed two of his three children - one of them intentionally - and she would rather be with him. Work that out! If that man so much as puts a toe through the door of his family home, those children will be in care at the drop of a hat. As far as Social Services are concerned, he is a danger. Even her flipping sister maintains that he is a danger. When is she going to get the f*cking message!

Any man who thinks it is OK to down an entire bottle of whisky is clearly unhinged. Yet that is what he did - and she would rather be with him. Talk about the nice guy finishing last! And women not knowing what the f*ck they want - or even need! Just goes to show that hard work and effort will never pay off. Behave like an unhinged idiot, and she will come running back to you. A hopeless situation.
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Summer Holiday
I was in Camden this afternoon, as I usually am on a Sunday afternoon. Camden market is most enjoyable at the weekend, if a little busy. I was in a shop in the market, looking at Nepalese bracelets, when a familiar sound started to emanate from Chalk Farm Road. I recognised the song, and eagerly dashed outside into the street to see, once more, the incredible spectacle that is the band Summer Holiday.

As you can see above, they park up on a street corner, plonk their gear on top of the car (how it all stays on is anyone's guess), and climb aboard and play their happy brand of music. Very "in yer face", but utterly enjoyable! I took many pictures on my phone, but most of them have turned out blurred. I did make a point of buying their CD which is just fantastic.
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Soapbox Story
Yesterday I went to a concert. Not a major one, but a nice little one above a pub in Chalk Farm. I went to see Soapbox Story, a one man and his guitar act. And very good it was too.

A while ago, he contacted me here on Myspace to drum up some awareness of his music. I do enjoy his music, and made a point of sampling some of it live, and yesterday hauling myself up to The Enterprise on Haverstock Hill. He even recognised me and came up to say hello!

The act that came on before him was most intriguing. Another one-man-and-his-guitar act, this one gave us what I can only describe as Dizzee Rascal with an acoustic guitar. A spaced-out looking fellow, rattling off garage MC style lyrics in a monotone drawl while barely pausing for breath. It was quite something.

Support your small time artists. See their concerts. They will delight! None of this £80 a ticket crap. Real music, real passion, real enjoyment.
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Spin, spin sugar!
Third day on the meds, and things appear to be settling. I do get the spaced out feeling about an hour or two after taking it, but my emotions are made rock solid. All good so far. No ranting, no upset, just purpose and drive. I did have a moment though, where the head spin nearly made me fall over! But, compared to the relief the tablets offer, this is minor, I promise you. I don't mind falling on my arse, just as long as I can be happy as I do so.
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Far out and solid, man!
This morning, I took my first Citalopram tablet. And I can tell you, nothing prepared me for its effects. An hour later while I was travelling on the tube between Edgware and Camden Town, I found myself feeling somewhat tired. This, I expected. What I didn't expect was for my vision to start spinning, and to feel as though I would fall over if I stood up. I spent much of that journey hunched, with my elbow on the windowsill, head propped on my hand, eyes closed.

When I got to Camden, I felt better, though somewhat stoned. And more so than I felt when I started taking St. John's Wort! Everything around me was making me smile - aggression, loud noises, miserable faces, everything!

Writing this now, I have come down from the stoned feeling. My emotions seem intact. Of course, I am going to have to wait a few weeks before I start feeling the real benefits, but it's a reassuring start.
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