Anxiety 6: Dial it back up

I like my medication, occasionally I'd get a bit of a manic rush for a couple of hours where I was full of great ideas and enthusiasm, only for it to drift off later. I liked that state, it was like a window to achieve something and feel happy about things. The side effects are forgetfulness and being a bit fuzzy and demotivated most of the time. 

I'm cutting down on the medication. I've been told I seem more like my old self. This does include a less pleasant side of being grumpier and less tolerant. I feel more likely to react to things, which itself isn't a bad thing. I am in a space where I am more relaxed and can more easily spot anxiety driven actions, so I can re-learn to deal with events in a better manner.

Lowering the medication highlights that while it smoothed over the cracks, the issues were still there. An example might be dealing with people over something negative, I might be less anxious about coming forward and pointing it out, but I'm not learning a useful way of dealing with it, so when I lower the medication, I need to train my brain to deal to think about it differently. I've seen it work, now I need to make it work for myself. I need to learn to put the anxiety to one side and work out how to approach it from a more calm view point, since the anxiety generally dispels the calm and has an urge to get to the point and spit it out bluntly.

In an ideal world I'd win enough money to live on in a lone cottage by the sea and none of this would be an issue.

Disorganart

We've all seen art we think is terrible, we all remember our high school art teachers! We've all seen art we like. 

I made something ages ago, I'm working on two new different things now. 

Unique, quirky, one off items,  for... the sake of art. It's not about making money, it's about creating. Bringing into existence, those deep subconcious thoughts in a meaningful and humorous way.

I present you with Disorganart!

Abba-ttoir

Here's a clue to what today's podcast is about... yes that's right you've guessed it an abattoir! *pause* What do you mean you didn't like that joke?  

In my work I occasionally have to visit an abattoir, when I took this job, I was really unsure about about having to do so often to go to there. Before we go this isn't pro or anti beef, this is where beef, leather and pet food come from. I feel people need to know this, we are so used to pre-packaging, it's so bad I notice Tesco are selling frozen omelettes. Though in this case, I'd like to think it's for people who aren't capable make an omelette on their own and not some cynical ploy for making extra cash.

It's important to not stress the cattle. It causes the meat to become tough and lose flavour. This means as short a journey as possible to the abattoir to ensure the minimal amount of stress. The next part is from memory, so I may get a couple of steps the wrong way round.

A cow goes in to what is known as the kill box, is rendered brain dead by a bolt between the eyes, it's then hung up by the back legs, throat slit and the blood is drained. Once this process is complete the numerous stages of dismantling the carcass begins. Horns and hooves are removed, the heads chopped off and intestines and other organs are taken out, here the line split into two, one processing the carcass the other sorting out the organs. The hides are removed and then the tail is taken out. There are platforms that move up and down, one allows staff to cut the carcass in half, with what resembles a giant hacksaw. On another platform there is excess fat some of the fat is cut off by hand. In a distance of about 30 metres, it goes from being a recognisable animal to two large, hanging pieces of meat. In the kill hall there is the is the odd spurt of blood up the side of the white plastic walls, like some cheesy horror film.

Wandering around in white overalls, through the kill hall or walking through chills of half carcasses, it's impossible not to come out with them having stained by something red. Elsewhere there's more dismantling, flanks, bones and offal appear. Tripe disturbs me, the hexagonal looking structure of it, reminds me of a plant or a leaf, but it's not. It's white, and looks like a load of mis-shapen fancy bath mats hanging up to dry.

Outside is where the particularly bad smells are, especially on a warm day. Here is where the other bits come out from the kill line, the literal shit, fat and other material. A lot of this is classed as Category 3; not suitable for human consumption. Here is where your pets come in, Category 3 material can be be used in cat and dog food. Nothing is wasted, even the bones and blood find a use, they can sold off to be made into fertiliser.

There you have it, a trip round an abattoir, I'm always disappointed when I visit because I've still not seen any 70s popstars in their brightly coloured jumpsuits there.

As the legendary Keith Top Of The Pops & His Minor UK Indie Celebrity All-Start Backing Band once sang... Morrissey Will Never Forgive Me.

!

Whisper Words of Wisdom

The room at the hotel has an outside bathroom, 6 or 7 foot high walls for privacy. white tiles on the walls and floor. The toilet and shower are in the half of the bathroom with the covered roof, opposite there is an 18 inch high wall housing a raised flower bed that is pretty much just mud with some unhealthy looking plants that look like they've had too much sun. 

It's 2002 and I'm in the middle of the Indian Ocean on the island of Meerufenfushi, I'd ran away on a last minute two week holiday to get peace to de-stress from dealing with my nitpicking manager who was bullying me at work. I'm nearly at the end of my holiday, it's been amazing, me, the sunshine a couple of trips and sitting reading books in the sun while listening to my Walkman.

If you don't know what a Walkman is, it plays cassettes, it's like a more portable version of a record player that you need headphones for. 

It's about 11pm. I can't sleep, I don't feel too good. Today I know I got a bit too much sun so am feeling a little dehydrated. I'm trying to drink water, but I feel sick. I spend the next few hours not able to concentrate on reading. The fish curry from the buffet clearly didn't agree with me. I end up on the porcelain telephone talking to Huey, Huey and Ralph. The other end isn't happy either, I keep swapping ends on the toilet. 

I feel so wretched, I just want to be better, the previous night I slept badly and got only about two or three hours sleep. I'm exhausted, it's half 2 in the morning, I fly home in 12 hours. I've been listening music because I can think of nothing else to do. I'm sat on the floor of the bathroom watching little green geckos only a few inches in length running along the walls. I say sat, more propped up against. My stomach churns, throwing up leaves me with a minute of feeling on top of the world before the nausea comes flooding back. Part of me is red raw, too ill to sleep, too tired to move. I'm in a horrible elevated mental state where I can't think clearly and I just want to sleep to make it all go away, but I can't and I'm already agitated. Sunstroke and food poisoning, what a combination!

Plonk plonk, plonk plonk... on comes Let It Be by The Beatles. I focus on the music to try and distract myself. Delirium is kicking in, the song feels like a blanket, it makes feel warm and loved, the lyrics start, I start to feel the words make sense to me. I suddenly understand. The whole song, everything makes sense, I start crying uncontrollably, all the time I've got a sensation that I understand! Understand what exactly I couldn't tell you. The song finishes, I play the song a few more times, still crying  feeling wretched and everything in the world makes sense. 

12 hours later I'm on the plane home, 10 hours to London, it's after midnight, my flight to Edinburgh is 7:30am. In the past 48 hours, I've had about 4 hours of sleep, I'm staying awake and hang about in the airport until my flight is due to leave. I am due in at work at 08:30. My twisted sense of having to be reliable and turn up because it's the done thing is in overdrive. Not only is plane an hour late, the airline screw up my and other passengers luggage.  Walk into work at half 9, dressed in the same shorts and t-shirt I'd left the Maldives in, ready to work! The wanky manager isn't happy, the Managing Director is up today and wanky boss is worried that how I'm dressed will reflect badly on him and asks me to go home and get changed. I try and ignore him, go on a wander to catch up workwise, end up talking to the MD and another director who seem amused I actually came into work. Wanky boss walks in says "Ah, excellent, you're going to go home and get changed like I asked" and scurries off. The directors look at each other and laugh at wanky boss. They couldn't give a toss about how I was dressed.

What lessons can we learn from this? 

Holidays are important, nay essential!

Being delirious is great fun on hindsight and at the time.

Do what you think is the right thing at the time, it's better than regretting not doing it.

Don't give in to wanky bosses that pick on you due to their own insecurities. He took me to the pub that night, tired to get me drunk, I had about 5 or 6 drinks, then claimed he had a bottle of vodka, wen to his flat he tried to hide the fact he'd poured me a half glass of vodka and juice to get me really fucked, I cottoned on and poured it into a plant pot. The next day he had a dreadful hangover, I was fine, yet he had a dig at me that I had "Better not be hungover!" 

I got the last laugh though, he eventually got made redundant. WANKER!

Podcast Relaunch

The 'I Drink Tea' podcast is dead. It is wiped from history. In it's place the void will be filled with the Disorgcast!

What''s the difference? It's still going to be around five minutes long, they are going to contain philosophical musings, humour, stories and perhaps the odd tune. The aim is to produce one a week, rehearse before recording, and add in some quality control.

The first one is up and ready to go... (iTunes feed should be up in a day or two).
https://disorgcast.podbean.com/e/disorgcast-1-game-of-jams/

Bunnet Sonnet

The flat cap, sometimes known as 'the bunnet'
Yorkshiremen and pensioners wear them.
Lurking like someone in a whodunnit!
Smoking cheap cigarettes now and again

That hat doesn't suit you, aged several years
Reminds me of the seventies racists
When people ignorantly voiced their fears
Through vile words on a regular basis.

Thankfully today, things are far less tense.
We've started working together; a team.
Doesn't stop the public from being less dense.
They think that a whippet is an ice cream

He who sports a flat cap, makes his own bread
Hides for hours and hours, working in his shed.

A Tanka and a couple more Haikus

The Smell
It was a bad smell

You left me sad with the lies

and finger pointing

terrible accusations

It was the dog that farted

Long Day

The day drags onwards

So tired I can't stay awake

perhaps I am dead?

Spot

Sore bit on my head

How did the spot develop?

I drink Clearasil