A rebel without a clue.

Instantly those thoughts of suicide came back. The morning I set off for the X98 towards Wetherby and what appears to be the meaninglessness of everything here. I struggle to see any worth in any of the activities I perform? Doing anything at the allotment was hard going. Will try again on Monday? This must be untrue... I let Ruby out of her nighttime crate: where I left her at 8pm, and I sought sanctuary in sleep, she leap out and gave me her wriggling good morning, happy to see you, cuddly thing and then went to find the remainder of her solace up on mummy's bed. For the previous two nights I'd had Lola over too, in my bed here on Chestnut Avenue, keeping me warm and snuggling: but that was on a belly of wine. Try again this evening but on an empty stomach. Yesterday morning we were on the bus by 8am heading for the Show Ground in Harrogate for a nosy around Crimple Beck, up to Hornbeam Park and Hookstone Woods: the closest expanse of parkland this side of Harrogate and only ...

The long journey back to Leeds. I was crawling into bed at 11 o'clock. Is it worth it? The tram journey through rotten at the core Manchester to buzz about Victoria Station and pay too much for the short, overcrowded Transpennine Express... It really isn't Express? Into another city who's core is diseased beyond remedy? Leeds. But I got back in one piece. Just a couple of halves along the mile or so up to Lovell Park Hill. A wash done. No hangover. Hot water for a bath, soak, cleanse, before heading back to Boar Lane to catch the X99 to Westgate, where I will pick up some dog food and milk from Sainsbury's, and the go and connect with all things Wetherby? Was it worth it? The last 15/16 days? Of course. I didn't think of suicide at all and only briefly considered those folks around me who do me no good abs and I ruminate over. Especially Adrian, who I didn't consider once until the morning of Wednesday...