Depressed again.

                                   

I'm just a fucking painter. I've never earned much money; in fact I've had more bloody work stolen from me than I've ever sold.

I live a simple life. Through bloody hard work I've managed to create a pleasant home from what was originally a tumble down one room ruin.

I grow most of what I eat, and have just about buggered my back in the cultivation process.

I have planted gawd-knows how many fruit trees, which will provide food for generations to come.

I don't poison the land, I don't drop litter, and I don't buy foods (or as little as possible) that have flown around the world several times.

In my own eyes, I try to be a 'good' person. I have never committed a crime, killed anyone, or been a drain on society. I'm that guy who helps old ladies across the road, and holds doors open for unappreciative women as they enter a shop. I do these things simply because that is how I was taught to behave.

But, where has all this got me! Nowhere really; when I pop my clogs I will simply become another name on a small piece of French stone. Someone of no importance, who probably wasted his life in the pursuit of an ideal.

I have been teetotal for the last 3 months. Last night I'd had enough, and returned to being an old soak. Now I'm regretting it.

So, another week begins. I have an old friend coming to stay tomorrow. She is a very 'live wire', so all will be well again.