I'm having a few of what my sillier chums call issues at the moment having misplaced my medication, deciding I'd never felt better before going slightly but quietly bonkers again. To be honest I knew things weren't going well when I found myself bawling my eyes out yesterday over the whole MP's expenses row. I mean it is infuriating but I don't think they meant it personally.
However my tearful outburst seems to have acted as some sort of misery magnet. I've always aimed for a stoic response to things and I'm usually reasonably successful in my day to day life if not my blogging life characterised as it is by displays of rage. I hate sobbing all over folk. Not only is it embarrassing but it never gets one anywhere. With the rare exception of Mr Clairwil who usually get's practical all you get are pitying looks and cliches before the subject is quietly changed.
Anyway since going mental again someone has ripped out a very striking bush I planted at my bins last year which was growing a treat with it's black leaves contrasting nicely against the whitewashed wall. I find it quite hard to express how much this has distressed me. Normally this sort of thing just makes me angry and resolve to plant something bigger, better and poisonous in it's place. Today I just felt like ripping the lot out. I feel I've run out of steam. I know it's absurd getting upset about plants but what possible pleasure is there in ripping one out the ground, seperating it from it's roots and leaving it dumped on the street? Why can't these people buy plants of their own to destroy rather than wrecking mine?
Let's face it they are fucking rich enough -it may surprise the snobs reading to learn that most of the vandalism carried out in our street is the work of middle class students. The only thing that cheers me up in all this is my neighbour's tales of having caught the toffs in the act and reduced them to tears by threatening them with the police. Something that always prompts rapid blinking, tears and a stuttered 'I'm at university'. Less cheering is his apparent acceptance that being students they aren't real criminals and don't mean any harm. To me that makes it worse I'd be more likely to let some barely sentient ned off the hook than someone who should know better and in a few years will be buggering off to a nice suburb.
Could we not build schemes for wanky toff students where they are housed in squalor so they can feel edgy and a wee bit working class without wrecking decent areas for the rest of us? Failing that I know a housing officer responsible for three horrid east end high rises who'd be delighted to fill a few unlet flats where the young team will give you the warmest of welcomes.
Anyway the students of High Street will be pleased to learn that I'm throwing in the towel. I just cannot keep putting myself through it. It would appear that I'm not as recovered as I thought.
I'm not going to rip out what I've planted but leave it to be destroyed, I will admit that a small part of me is curious as to how long it will take them.