Buxton
was fun. Despite lacking most of the set, an elephant, or blue paint, we managed to fit pretty much the whole thing in. For the 20 or 30 people who watched it….
I think I have managed to break a bone in my foot from jumping around like a loon before lunch.
Feel free to ignore this next bit.
Spent a lot of the day feeling quite fey. This seemed to annoy a few people but, being fey, this just made me worse. I think I came to realise that, for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt that nothing I do or feel matters. (Which, IIRC, is a perfect recipe for inducing schizophrenia or something similar.) Basically, any action towards accomplishing a goal (particularly social ones) will either simply fail or rebound in some possibly humorous way. One effect of this, of course, is that after a while the goals themselves seem absurd and pointless. This may go some way to explaining my attitudes and behaviour since… for ever.
Anyway, the feyness thing: I think occasionally my goals become simply to amuse myself, often at my own expense. This is, of course, rather bitter-sweet but that sort of melancholia is an emotion I rather cherish. So I get to feel in control, and pretend I’m witty and hilarious… and when it turns out I’m doing something quite the opposite, annoying the very people I’d rather not, well, all you can do is laugh. Kind of like realising you’re crashing anyway so you might as well build up some speed.
I actually find myself having a good time when I feel like this. Parts of me feel like laughing, crying, apologising… it’s all rather intense and emotional. At the same time I feel both very real and unreal.
And, of course, it’s all still rather frustratingly pointless which is why I write things like this the next day.
