Saw Liz yesterday, and we bonded over Charlie's Angels, romance novels and sugar. Just like old times, without the Charlie's Angels and the romance novels.
My lack of sleep is astounding, and the dark shadows under my eyes are beginning to look like red-ish bruises. I don't want to go on Tamazepam again unless I can help it. I fear the possibility of making my anxiety attacks worse.
And, in a strange revelation I realised that the most influential literary figure in my life was not Blake or Byron or Tennyson or Dunn or Poe or any of those other standard figures that one would be overwhelmingly moved by. No-one quite so reputable would shape my view on poetry so deeply. Instead I realised it was none other than Jim Morrison of the Doors. This is strange, yet oddly fitting, I feel.