Middling is a really a none word.

“How are you feeling?” “Middling”

What does that tell you? That a person is breathing but they cut their hand off, maybe too extreme, that you are working today but the bubonic plague symptoms have just begun.

There is my problem: my imagination!

It gets gross now –

I am on my eighth laxative in twenty fours hours, I have no compunction or desire to visit the facilities, the pain is tolerable supine but exponentials on vertical arrangement. My imagination is barred from wondering where all my spare sewage is going.

I am not hungry or thirsty and haven’t been since Thursday night. I have been force feeding linseeds in yoghurt, licorice, prunes and grapes.

In fairness – when she blows. she really will!

I have spent the last couple of months getting myself healthy, I have been on nicotine inhibiting tablets for eight weeks and with the odd relapse am doing okay – MIDDLING!!!!

which for me means I am not smoking BUT if pushed would happily murder someone, walk across broken glass, dive into a fire and climb Everest to smoke one now this minute.

at the same time completed my therapy assignment and got given a clean bill of mental health by the only being that counts – and I am EPIC! 

so wtf am I lay in bed again, I have spent years fighting to get me out of bed each day, some days it was an intergalatic warfare council that got me out, on other days just a mere “Will I won’t I”


now when I should be able to leap out of bed, I go get physically sick again.

I don’t do freaking sick, actually I don’t do any kind of sick. The last time I was at the doctors (apart from nicotine tabs – see above) was to get sick notes for my broken bone two years ago.


I am being productive, completed a study and homework of John of the Ladder, took the dictation off my phone and have raw lyrics to work with, did some background research for a series hand painted abstract( of course) postcards and discovering the most vital part of the process is choosing the weather to send them – being watercolours!

But how am I doing?


Fair to weathering


all right

joyous – all ways full of joy

Psalm 71:8 My mouth is filled with your praise declaring your splendour all day long

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