A Little of What You Fancy Does You Good
Would a world where we had regulated free choice over what psychoactive substances we ingest entail there being copious addicts? Would we consume crack like kids let loose in a sweetie shop? Or not?
Picture the scene.
It’s six o clock ish on Saturday night. I open a bottle of wine. A gift, it’s pretty good wine. I’m not stressed. I’m quite chirpy in fact. It had not been a hard week, I’d been in Tangier for half of it and even though I was werking it was a mighty pleasing time I can’t deny. What bliss to take a break from my abusive relationship with Europe and its five quid coffees and £20 GnTs and £35 local cab fares. I’m back now (leaps out of cake) and while my neck hurts because of hammering away at a poorly positioned laptop non stop since I landed back, I’ve also filed two pieces of copy, buggered about outside for a few hours and had a sauna and cold plunge, probably the coldest cold plunge I’ve ever done at 0.5°C. I’m well slept. That’s a lot of dopamine sources there. I tell you, holiday vibes, sunshine, work done, wine, cold, heat, yay, I’m chirpy.
Maybe another reason I feel chirpy is I feel seen. Being “seen” is a whiny bitch expression, I know, but I can’t explain why else I feel kind of positive. Seen? As well as toiling away at the toy job of lifestyle journalism, I also spent three hours having an XXXX (full disclosure after the money jump) assessment with an eccentric mental health professional who I will call The Scouser. You can read more about The Scouser in my new exciting Life of Brian series which starts tomorrow and will be a diary of the hoops required to jump through to fix my shopping trolley with a wobbly wheel brain (aka Brian). Perhaps I will fix some of the symptoms that cause distress, inconvenience and irritation to both me and those that have to deal with me professionally and personally. Perhaps we’ll just get a few laughs on here out of it.
It’s a very middle class and privileged 21st Century activity isn’t it, being a person engaged in the genteel subsistence work of writing words while displaying her mental health issues like a peacock fanning its tail. Ah well. Never mind.
I plan to chart my XXXX “journey” (dangles fingers sarcastically around the word) here but not today and strictly behind the paywall. I like keeping things paywalled, we can talk about bad stuff without the parents listening in. If you aren’t a paying punter you won’t need to think about Brian ‘metnal elf’ issue du jour that is estimated to affect one in 22 British people. If you pay and don’t want to read it, I’ll make it up to you somehow and make sure I put up Other Stuff in my usual long unedited rambling roads paved with psychedelics, fibre, vegetables, wine, the unholy effort of trying to feel normal, dogs, hangovers, the highly irritating people of wellness (pow) and all the other space junk that litters my tiny cosmos. Or you can be one of those people that leaves. I don’t mind. Thanks for stopping by, I will miss both you and your $4 a month.
Today I don’t want to talk about XXXX, I want to talk about one of my tip top most favourite subjects to discuss ever.
Which is a paywall subject.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Kate Spicer says Sort Yourself Out to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.