Road Rage

I have the dubious pleasure of a rather long commute each day, almost 70 miles each way. In the morning the usually takes an hour and a half, in the evenings an hour. But not today.

The schools around here are on half-term holiday, so today the roads were full of people who didn't know what to do on motorways and cars that weren't up to the job. Breakdowns, panic braking, near and not-so-near misses.

Normally H and I take turns - I drive in the morning she sleeps, she drives home in the evening. Today she wasn't feeling to great and, as I'm not going into the office tomorrow, I thought it was only fair I did both trips. Lucky me.

Tomorrow I'm on a training course, so the joys of rail travel await.

In the meantime, if a black Alfa comes up behind you on the motorway, pull over when you finish overtaking.

Please.

--
Sent from my Treo

Danger Mode

Thanks to various bits of software I am once again virus / spyware / adware free. Off goes safe mode.

So I can get back to work. Bum. The weather is so good out there, as my little Pixie friend is showing you. We should all be sent home.

--
Sent from my Treo

Safe Mode

Oh joy. Laptop complaining about another virus. Now I'm sat watching a scan running in Safe Mode.

Wouldn't that be useful for humans? A reset switch and the option to boot into Safe Mode. Restart without a load of hang-ups and baggage.

I suspect I know where my reset switch is. However, I have yet to find my F8 key.

--
Sent from my Treo

Longevity

Drugs of choice:
Amaretto Disaronno (large, with ice, please)
Vanilla Cigar
Last night's sunset
40mg Fluoxetine

An perhaps some dapoxetine? A new drug being tested by Johnson & Johnson to treat premature ejaculation. Apparently discovered because a side effect of SSRIs (of which fluoxetine, or Prozac is one) is delayed ejaculation.

Not a side effect I've noticed, probably a good thing. Fortunately a problem I've never had, in fact sometimes the opposite, and if it took longer I think H would be worn out!

Anyway, enough of that modesty.

The drugs of choice listed today were enjoyed last night. Although it wasn't exactly hot, it was a pleasant evening and just before nine I decided to sit out on the back step and chill out. The sky was almost clear, looking like a sheet of pale blue silk. As the sun dropped down towards the horizon, it reflected in the vapour trails of planes heading for Heathrow in the west, making them look like small razor cuts in the silk.

Even my metaphors should be kept away from sharp objects.

Affairs

Drugs of choice:
L.A. Song, Fischerspooner (#1)
Ginger Beer
40mg Fluoxetine

Men have affairs. With perhaps the exception of monks.

By which I do not mean that every man commits adultery. No, the passion with which we can embrace our hobbies can be almost as consuming and in some cases almost as expensive.

For years my mistress was my PC, an excuse to disappear off to another room and drown in usenet. Then there was the secret spending-spree on eBay that lasted for months while I bought the train set I always wanted as a child but could only afford now that I was 30, but couldn't do anything with it because I kept it hidden at the office. There was the off-roading, where it felt like my Land Rover was the other woman.

Ok, so perhaps they are just escapes or recreations. Not so bad, at least they weren't 'proper' affairs. No, they're just the start...

I have managed to rack up quite a history. Whether it be the unrequited love of a long-term platonic relationship, weeks of tongue-tangling with a girl years younger than me or the full on fling that was sexual, emotional and turned into love. I have shared emails and MSN conversations (including video) that blurred the line between erotic and downright pornographic, with strangers, friends and colleagues. Oh, I think I can chuck in a one-night stand somewhere along the line too. All this, and married at the time.

I am no longer married, there's a surprise. Although I will be again in just over 8 weeks. So, have I really changed? Will I now be faithful? I think so, I certainly feel different, I've grown up. I'm also in love, in an honest relationship.

Mind, there's always you, my darling blog. How does it feel, being my 'bit-on-the-side'?

Self Aware

Drugs of choice:
One Word, Kelly Osbourne (well, why not?)
Henri Winterman's Cafe Creme cigars (no class at all)
40mg Fluoxetine still

Well, what was all that about yesterday? Melodramatic or what?

Yesterday morning I had a doctor's appointment. It went ok-ish. My GP was on holiday so I saw someone else, who was one of the grumpiest doctors that I have met and she could well do with sharing my medication. However, I only wanted my prescription repeating as I have decided not to try weaning again until after the wedding.

Then to the pharmacist to collect another two month's supply of happy pills. No problems there.

And then to work. A slow, quiet and boring day. I had plenty of work to do but was going nowhere, slowly. I was supposed to have a teleconference at 1230 (postponed until 1600) then another at 1500 (other person didn't turn up). So, by the time 1600 rolled around I was grumpy.

The 1600 teleconf was to discuss plans for a trip some colleagues and I are taking to Madrid next week. As they talked about the various presentations and shared out the action items I slowly and quietly started to panic. As I calmly agreed to things on the phone, I distracted my real thoughts by making two shallow, 2cm cuts in my left forearm with my penknife.

I hung up and drove home, feeling sick, shivering and trying to drive and cry at the same time. I walked in the door and H was there, it didn't take her long to realise something was wrong. We talked, I sobbed. We agreed that I'm obviously not ready for the pressure of a trip away and all it entailed.

I didn't tell her about the cutting. I nearly did as I struggled to fall asleep last night, but I didn't want to scare her. When I showered this morning the cuts just looked like nasty scratches.

I told my manager I couldn't go to Madrid and I was honest insofar as I told her about the panic attack. Obviously, not the cutting bit.

I will keep that to myself. Oh, you can keep a secret, cannot you?

Self Harm

What is more depressing?

The fact that I want to hurt myself...

...or...

The fact that all I have the guts to do are a couple of small scratches?

--
Sent from my SPV

Mundane to Sublime

Drugs of choice:
Roast Beef
40mg Fluoxetine

I wonder how long I spend reading blogs? Longer than I spend writing this one. Not quite as long as I spend working, although thanks to multi-tasking, it could be close. And the trouble is, it's like a pyramid scheme. Every blogger has links to the blogs they read, so if you find their blog interesting you may like the same things. So you start reading one or two of them, and then follow their links.

So you add links to them and read them every day. The time blog reading increases but with this pyramid scheme you don't get a free MP3 player. So it's not all bad.

Latest addition to my daily list is a girl with a [dot] com which is my inspiration for this post. What makes someone wondering what to have for dinner interesting? In fact, how does something this mundane justify my not only reading it, but also posting a comment in response to it?

Granted, the first post I read certainly caught my eye and made me dig further. But I am male and human.

Being able to follow someone's stream of thought as it meanders through their writing. Enjoying their style, finding specks of gold in that stream. That's the sublime.

Ok, I think my metaphor is breaking down. In my head gold panning was working, but on the screen it looks like I'm heading for a golden shower.

I won't give up the day job. Not yet.

Challenge

Drugs of choice:
Vanilla Black Americano (this is now leaning towards addiction)
The Today Programme, Radio 4
Paula Temple
40mg Fluoxetine

I fancy a challenge. Somewhat superfluous one would think – my life is overflowing with challenges at the moment. Not long started a new job, which requires learning some new skills, less than 10 weeks away from the wedding, a house full of DIY requirements, oh, and a desire to kick anti-depressants.

What do I need another challenge for?

Good thing I have H to ground me. Last week I had all but decided on my challenge. In the 10 weeks before the wedding I would cycle 850 miles. The virtual equivalent of cycling from Lands End to John o'Groats. I set up my sponsorship site and was ready to forward the URL to all my friends and colleagues, when I thought I'd just mention it to H.

She kindly pointed out three things:

1. She would support me.
2. She would not join me – but who can blame her?
3. Exactly when do I think I'm going to have time to cycle 85 miles per week, in between work, wedding plans, DIY and children visits.

Good point, that last one. We have to get up at 0510 each morning to drive to work, so we usually go to bed at about 2100. By the time we get home, eat, tidy up, prepare lunch for the next day, there isn't a lot of time left.

I'm not going to give up though, just postpone. I think I will set myself the same challenge but after the wedding. It will be good to have a goal and lots of exercise, to stop me 'coming down' after the honeymoon.

At least I have learned an important lesson in life. Talk to H before doing anything too silly, so that she can ground me. A few years ago I bought a fire engine on eBay. Yes, a real fire engine, a great big Dennis one. Later that day I mentioned to my (now ex-) wife how my colleagues and I had been discussing how 'cool' it would be to buy a fire engine. She pretty much thought it was a stupid idea, so I ended up withdrawing my bid and paying the seller the amount he lost between my bid and the next one down to keep him sweet.

I never did tell her that I had actually bought it for a few hours.

I still think it would have been cool.

Dreams

Drugs of choice:
Black Americano with a Vanilla shot
Pork Pie
40mg Fluoxetine

One of the side effects of the fluoxetine appears to be an increase in dreams, or at least an increased awareness of dreaming.

I used to rarely be aware of dreaming, unless it was one of those dreams. And if it is one of those dreams, then I'd much rather remember them! However, most mornings I would wake up and I would have no idea if I'd had a dream or not. The whole REM sleep thing would suggest that I must have dreams, I just had no idea.

When I had untreated depression I was pretty similar, although my sleep was disturbed insomuch as I would lie awake thinking, staring at the ceiling, working myself into a more worried state and planning 'exit strategies'. So when I started taking the fluoxetine and I read that it could affect sleep patterns then I didn't mind. I would rather wake up ten times a night for a few minutes than lie awake for hours thinking self-harming thoughts.

It did become a drag, months passing with rarely a disturbance free night. A variety of herbal remedies did nothing, although a few glasses of wine seem to help (please, no comments about depression and alcohol not mixing). More recently it does seem to have improved, except during my attempt at weaning and the days after, as the dosage changes screwed things up.

However, the one thing that has been pretty constant since starting the fluoxetine is my increased awareness of dreaming. More often than not they are somewhat strange and involve people that I haven't seen for years in situations that are related to more recent events. I am usually angry in the dream or when waking, but then I guess depression is just 'anger without enthusiasm'.

On Saturday morning, the first words I said to H were 'I don't want goldfish'. I had had a dream in which we argued about fish. I was so concerned about it that I had to tell her immediately.

The world of dreams is a strange place indeed, but I have learned that honesty is vital in relationships.

I really don't want goldfish.

Cars

I enjoy a love / hate relationship with cars.

I love them. I have owned quite a few different ones, from sensible little things to huge off-roaders, to very fast mid-size cars. And each of them have been driven to the limits and beyond. Whether it's extreme mud-plugging or extremely fast, if I own a car I expect it to live up to its purpose.

Which has a downside.

I hate them. I hate getting them serviced, insured and repaired. I drive a lot of hard miles so the maintenance is high. I hate the inconvenience of organising getting them in the garage.

I adore Land Rovers and Range Rovers, but I take them off-road and break them.

I adore my Alfa Romeo, but its Italian beauty is matched by its temperament. Fortunately it's a company car, but just because it's paid for by someone else doesn't make it any less hassle.

Case in point today - the catalytic converter in the Alfa has gone. I have to wait for the fleet company to approve its repair and repairer and then organise my life around it.

But she is my Alfa, she is beautiful and I love her.

I need to be very rich. I need to have the funds to maintain cars and to have enough so that even if one or two are in the garage, I've still got one or two to drive.

I need to dream on.

--
Sent from my Treo

Training Part 2

I used to love commuting on the train. Well, I'm not sure I loved it at the time, but I have fond memories. The whole hustle and bustle atmosphere of it all.

It is best to approach it all in a 'not too bothered' frame of mind. The train will turn up late. On special occasions it is on time, or even early, and then that is a cause for joy. But there's no point getting worked up by the delays. Sit back and watch the wildlife. By which I mean the other passengers, not the sheep, cows and such that pepper the view out the window.

So two days in London is an opportunity to relive this. I haven't I commuted by train daily since 1991 and it has certainly changed...

1. It is much, much busier. Having to let a tube go because there wasn't enough space on it was almost unheard of. In the last two days I and my fellow passengers have done it 3 times.

2. I feel naked without an iPOD. Everyone has those white headphones. Let me rephrase that, the majority of the most attractive people do. Unfortunately that is not because iPODs make you attractive. Trust me, they don't. For while the trendy classes may be predisposed to owning them, so are the nerds.

3. Etiquette has changed. Early morning trains used to be silent. No chatter, no ringtones, no phone conversations. You always made room for passengers to get off first. The social graces are no longer.

4. The tube lines were cleaner - is there a fluffer shortage? (Fluffers clean tube tunnels at night, I believe they have existed longer than those in the porn industry. Perhaps porn pays better and they've all re-trained?)

5. Most of the trains are quieter and more comfortable, assuming you can get a seat.

6. It's much, much busier.


Another memory I have enjoyed reliving is a visit to Beatties in High Holborn. The shop is pretty much unchanged apart from it now being called Model Zone.

I used to get so excited on the rare trips to Beatties with my mother when I was a boy. I had a pretty large model railway and I used to spend hours drooling over magazines and catalogues. Unfortunately my model railway desires were far beyond my skill, patience and, above all, budget.

I probably have all those things now, I just don't have the time. I am not alone - wandering the store it was obvious that this industry is fuelled by the grey pound - men older than me, their children growing up, who now have enough time to relive their childhood.

Good thing too - model trains are no longer at toy prices, but then they are no longer of toy quality. Roll on retirement.

Training

Yesterday was a Bank Holiday, so plenty of DIY.

Today is another kind of holiday - I'm on a training course. Oh if only that were true (the holiday part). Get up at the same time as usual (0510) to catch a train into London. Then have to spend most of the day listening and thinking - no desk skiving, no gossip and idle chat. Finished at 1700, almost an hour and a half later than I would normally leave the office. And then I get to battle more tubes and another train to meet H at a hotel near the office.

My training course today was on relational databases. Not that I haven't worked with them for 14 years. However, I was never formally trained on them. Well, I certainly didn't know any of the theory! Hopefully I can unlearn some bad habits too.

For some reason the trainer has to end every sentence with an abrupt 'hur' - I'm hoping not to pick up that particular habit. Apart from that, the only downside to the actual training is the room, it is far too hot. I came very close to falling asleep, at one point I'm sure my head nearly hit the desk.

The idea behind the training, as well as assisting me in my new Reporting role, is to boost my CV and therefore my confidence. While I don't intend to leave the company, one of my fears when I had my breakdown was that all my experience was so business focussed and so full of 'on-the-job' training that I was unemployable anywhere else. For peace of mind I want to be more marketable, even if I'm not on the market.

I will now try to catch forty-winks on the train. I suspect that the cacophony of buzzing iPODs (and their under-breath-singing wearers), ridiculous ringtones, newspaper rustling and coughing will prevent me from doing so.

Probably best, I'd only miss my stop.

--
Sent from my Treo