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10 Mar 2011

Post 274:: Skinning Charlie Sheen

It struck me in the last week that before my stroke I was probably 'winning' for all the reasons I give in the intro paragraph to this blog. But I'm not as mentally unstable or as malignantly narcissistic as Charlie Sheen,
who's very public mental breakdown has massively upstaged even Colonel Gaddafi's madness and his delusional rants are something special! What PR person would have equated them? Apart from perhaps that delightful advert for agent Orange, Max Clifford?! The whole Charlie Sheen business has been quite funny but is a bit like laughing at a video of me falling over because I can't stand up. I have also been getting in to series 5 of skins, which has made me think about how boring my late teens were, but it has also taught me how lethal boredom can be. To stave off boredom at age 16/17 we used to go and sit and look moody and drink special brew in one of Tunbridge Wells less exciting parks (are there exciting ones?), the cast of skins are much more Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'Roll. Swigging neat Vodka ( So disgusting I don't know why anyone would), hoofing large quantities of Class A drugs (I don't know where they'd get the money) and partaking in orgies (surely orgies only exist in porn films) to pass the time (in the house that one of their parents has foolishly left for the weekend), I know this is just a TV show but I can't help thinking I knew the wrong people, it is car crash tv and I'm expecting Charlie Sheen to make a cameo but instead, whoops, they set fire to the place and some poor mug has to somehow explain how the house burnt down to his shocked and disappointed parents! Even Russell Brand would be ashamed, I am appalled. The only comfort I take from the whole thing is that I don't fancy the lead girl because she's a bitch, instead I like Frankie because she's interesting and cute in a different way. I also allow myself a snigger at the nickname one of them gives his mum, 'Mumgabe'. My mum's nothing like this of course except when she's telling me that her and Dad having to worry about me has 'ruined their life'.
So back to my original train of thought, I know I'm not 'winning' but it's not right to say I'm 'losing'. I think 'surviving' or 'existing' is nearer the mark but I remember when all this sh*te started, a lot of the emphasis was on getting my independence back, but I want to be crystal clear and realistic, that's never going to happen. By doing my physiotherapy every weekday I am killing myself achieving the most pathetic things because that's all my brain will allow my body to do, but it's gotta be done, all other time is my own, for me to try and use what resources I have (that don't burden anyone) to try and make whatever I can of what little energy I have and I'm only going to listen to people I like and I judge make my life better because I've learnt there are no right or wrong answers to living, and especially living through this. It's quite simple, do I get a sense from you that you're a kind person or not? If not, you can sling your hook.
A quick example of how things go: A couple of weeks ago I managed to balance for close to 90 seconds, now I can barely manage 5. I haven't been doing less training, that's just the way post-stroke physiotherapy goes. At least a couple of people have told me I look in better shape. What sort of shape I was in doesn't even bear thinking about! That's enough of that.
Aside from that depressing nonsense the high points have been/will be about seeing some gorgeous girls I have met since my stroke -Jatinder (who took me to lunch on Monday and Amber visiting on Thursday, as much as I try and keep my sang froid about them, being cool is a shower of sh*t or worse, a bare faced lie! The only person who can pull it off is Reginald D Hunter.
I want to shout from the rooftops about how grateful I am to have Jatinder and Amber as friends. The same is true of anyone who has been kind to me otherwise you can do the aforementioned, with the hook.As is the way finishing with a picture of the kittens seems appropriate

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