Had an ok day. Woke up about 13:30. B let me sleep. I went to the shop and bought pink Fanta and yoghurt.

Later I had a bacon sandwich.

Pottered around a bit. B went shopping. I bought a book of Garcia Lorca plays from a bookshop. I tidied the kitchen and played Manic Street Preachers and did some admin.

Later we went to Piccadilly to the train station to find a cafe and do a shop. All the cafes were shuttered up so we went to a kiosk. The railway station has kind of a shitty atmosphere. There was like a nasty girl gang snickering by the cash machines and it feels edgy like something could explode at any minute.

I felt pissed off.

We went in the supermarket but we kind of rushed round or I rushed B because there were lots of loud people. Some were just Saudi tourists being loud.

My friend the other day suggested I do some stand up. On one level I feel like I could. I feel like either I would be the worst comedian or the best.

We are doing a lot of work on our suicide podcast at the moment. One of my thoughts is that often “identity” is somehow at the core of people’s issues and often the issues of identity are linked to sexuality.

The flat feels very cold at the moment. I can’t seem to make it feel cosy. At some points I went on Netflix and switched on the TV stream that is just a crackling log fire.

I’m convinced the Yakult is helping me. I need a blood test for vitamin D but there is a lot of bureaucracy to get to speak to a doctor. My hernia appt seems to have been kicked back into January.

My ex-friend whose blog I still read was talking about the poetry world being like people like crabs fighting over too few resources. That kind of made me laugh. The essential futility of it all. I’m still thinking of doing an MFA of an MA (might not be able to afford the F).

I dunno poetry does seem quite futile at times and like Amanda Gorman (the Biden inauguration poet) becoming the face of Estée Lauder or whatever?!?.

I must say my writing is not bringing me a great deal of joy atm.

Oh well.

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