Sweet Fanny Adams is what I've achieved. Yes, yes, it's yet another fucking negative blog entry. But at some point along the line I have to switch on. It nearly happened today, but didn't. And again the thoughts of ... unpleasantly unpleasant things intrude.
I'm thinking - seriously - that I should go and talk to someone. Yet that would mean admitting defeat. Admitting that I am a total fuckwit, and not just a bloke with a problem.
Here's the rub. If I don't pull my finger out I'm going to sink. And all the nice fluffy thoughts of a future with Mick will come to nowt. Perhaps we've known each other too long, too well. Perhaps whatever I do I can't change the way I am. But if I don't, and NOW I'm fucked.
I go to bed at 4am get up at noon spend all day reading instead of getting down to achieving goals that I know I can achieve. Why? Why do I do it to myself. It's as if I'm seeing just how far I can get before I fall.