Surviving

There are only a few things I still remember now from the many years I spent at school: an extract from Ecclesiastes ("All is vanity"); the first time I read Wilfred Owen's "Dulce Et Decorum Est"; the diagrams we drew of rivers and the formation of deltas; and a programme we watched in primary school about the emotional power of music. They showed the same clip of a family picnic, the first time with cheerful, happy music, and then again with something more sinister. It amazed me how different the whole thing looked.

Nothing particular has happened in my life recently. I live in the same village, in the same house. The same books and other belongings surround me. I mostly do the same things and see the same people. But the background music has changed and everything seems significant and ominous and dark. I am experiencing almost constant fear.

It will be OK, it will be OK, it will be OK has become my mantra. My focus is survival. When you strip things down to the bone all that really matters is that I take good care of my animals and retain my self-control. It is very important, I think, not to spend too much time trying to figure out what is going on and what it all means.

So yesterday I picked up a couple of thrillers. Stories without too much depth, without, hopefully, any messages. Just good old murder and violence and the solving of crimes. It's hard to read, it exhausts me, but it does fill the time and somewhat distract me. And I have a couple of things lined up to watch tonight. And at least I still seem to be sleeping, even if rather erratically. If that changes I can always get some more promethazine.