Well, things haven't really moved on a great deal on the home front. Neither R, nor I, have come to any firm decision as to whether I should move out of the house or not. I've been looking on line at apartments to rent and to be honest the cost of even a small studio apartment freaks me out. I'm so used to living rent and mortgage free that the thought of having to use half my salary on rent is, frankly, shit scary. By the time I factor in bills and food, there won't be a lot left to spend on good times. So I'm trying to get my head around a life where my wants, rather than my needs, are severely curtailed. I have thought of renting in a house share as it'd be cheaper, but to be honest I think that'll just be undignified for a man in his 40's. I'm such a misanthrope anyway, that I don't think I'd be able to put up with other peoples shit. I could just about share a bathroom but having to share a kitchen would be beyond the pale.
My minds in overdrive, so one thing led to another, and I found my self sitting on a bench at Cannon Street Station phoning my boss to say 'I think I may be having a breakdown.' Thankfully, as a public sector employer, the organisation I work for is very forward thinking about mental health problems. Never one to not face life full on, screaming blue murder at it as I rush dauntlessly forward with broken bottle in one hand ready to slash and hack at it's pretty face, I arranged to see my doctor. I normally hate this as I don't think he's very good, but luck was on my side and I got booked to see a different doctor. She was very sympathetic and to cut a long story short, I've been put on Prozac, signed off work for a week and am being referred for counselling. Sounds perverse but I think this is a good thing.
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