Stairy Stairy Morning.

I was upstairs. Abbey arrived at speed. "I need out again!" She seemed to say. I headed for the stairs. I went down them, at speed, falling. Ripped my left arm open a bit, arrived at the bottom, bruised but unbroken. Cleaned up the wound and headed back upstairs for a quiet break. Didn't bust my new teeth either. Win-ish?

Dental Hijinx

Today started with an ever flushing toilet. Thanks to Beth being practical it was fixed by 9:25. Dentist at 10, bugger. Shower, rush, to the dentist for 9:55. Ah, just a cleaning. That'll be an hour or so, right?Well, not really. X-rays showed that a couple of my teeth where at the edge of apocalypse. Immediate crowning or else! Ok. Into the space I'd always wandered about. Puzzle solved. You don't enter that space unless choice is gone. Video goggles. "Pick what you want from Netflix."

 I chose Half Baked, and then tried not to giggle too much as the smell of burning teeth filled the air.  Two hours and a un-locked jaw later, job done. Face still numb on the right. Didn't feel it for another 4 hours. Coma.  Seemed appropriate. Woke up a 9:30, able to eat with minimum dribbling. Glad it was fixed, I saw a picture of the open filing. Yuck! Now, reset for infusion tomorrow, with much better teeth. Ice cream isn't supposed to hurt? I'd forgotten that.

Gold Flush.

Abbey wakes me up. She would like to go "Outside, right now, Please!" Fair enough. Downstairs, radio  on, discussion on Gold on the radio. The talk is of how malleable it is. Ironic, considering how discussions of its ownership are anything but.
Toilet flushed, a water ride, that will not end.There is nothing quite like a knackered never ending flush at 4am, to start the day off. Figured out how to get it to stop, but now living with the knowledge that it has to be fixed. Today, please.
Gold. Looks pretty, kills a lot of people, shuts down the mind until it can be acquired. I prefer platinum, not that many wars fought on its behalf.
If you go to the headphone section at the Apple store, they have tons of headphones that look ok, sound ok and are expensive enough to make you feel you are treating yourself and are part of the sound crowd. The best headphones are on the side, barely advertised, Klipsch, which are the best sound  by a long way. Not that expensive or shiny but elite. Gold, in fact.

Improv.

Fantastic evening knocking around with improvisers, some I'm known and worked with for years, some I just met. Reminded me how much  like improv. Walk on stage, having learned the rules and build something from nothing as best you can. I love the purity of it, its genuinely coming from nowhere, built using the rules you have learned. I can't really do it much anymore, so it was a real treat to play in some games. Cheers.

Arty Fest

I am an arty fucker. there is nothing I like more than being moved to tears by the purity of something I see or hear. I don't even have to understand the mechanics that have got me there. Its the indefinable that I am comfortable with.  This links all the things I really like and move me, is that they are all under the umbrella of best pitch possible. The idea doesn't have to hit exactly, if a sense of movement lives behind it.
That's why Warhorse was such a treat. By the end I found myself taken, and blubbing like a child. The rationalist in me understands the mechanics and can see the work. Initially. Then, it doesn't matter and I get to exist in the world they've created for a while. All art I love is like this. You put in the work, present what you have as best you can and give it to the audience. Their interpretation of what you have done, is what gives it life. The space for constant reassessment is what sustains it. Tricky, but my favourite thing, anywhere.

Widdershins

The screensaver on my Mac shows words. today i had a choice of using rant, which I'm very comfortable with or widdershins, which I'd never heard of.
Widdershins: In a left handed, wrong, counterclockwise direction. Sold. Rant is a staple for all comics, go for the jugular until you figure out the more palatable way to put it, maybe. Widdershins encapsulates who I am. Left handed, my life runs on a reverse track to everybody else. I will walk from opportunity because I have to, knowing that I've done the work to justify my being there. It has happened to me over and over again over the years. I walk/limp into everything knowing it can be over any minute. I then re-group,and counter to what disease suggests is the sensible path, do it again until time runs out.
I've come around to working with reality a little better. Having spent two decades in an invisible war, I now ask for help, rather than begrudgingly accept it. I write about whats happening now, rather than cover it up. I still do not tell the whole truth, but I'm a lot closer than I was. If you are reading this and think, "MS again? blimey." Fuck off and read something else you witless cunt. There a lots of cartoons you can find on the web. Ah, got the rant in after all.

Up

Happy Greek for dinner last night. A nicely full, contented sleep. Now up, all of us, day has started. It is dark but America's Funniest Home Videos saw us through the worst. Birds singing, offsetting the dour, " Fuck me I'm awake, everything is terrible!"pitch of the early morning newscasters. Planning for Beth's Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary well under way.
Today will be warmer right? Its nearly May. My coats are in need of some rest, my shorts are sulking.

Options.

I filled in, with Beth reading out the questions, a load of multiple choice questions for the psychotherapists yesterday. They would reverse the order of your options every now and again, to check you were paying attention, rather than my reading, that is was an Alesteir Crowley-esque mind snare to trip the unwary. The response would change slightly each time. We wrote the different options on whatever cards were knocking about. We wrote on a card for Boden, which was advertising a secret sale. Can You Keep A Secret? The card queried. Here are your options:
1Never
2Almost Never
3Occasionally.
4Usually.
5Almost always.
6Always.
Trickier than you'd think.

Trade Instant

We have become used to the instant. We like it a lot. Booting days worth of music takes no time at all. If you are so inclined, you can make your own album without ever touching an instrument. Is this the end of bands? Of course not. The ability to be able to make something, doesn’t automatically make it a good piece. For comics, everything you try can be sprayed across the internet, for good or bad. Your words can be read as soon as you finish writing them. You can pick up followers you may never meet, most of whom are alright, I think, I don’t know having never met them. Everyone wants to be liked, and the people who like what you do must be alright, right? A lot can be based on instant karma. LOL and such. Does it really mean anything? We don’t know. We are living at the beginning of a social revolution that is different, in that it is so personal.That’s why trolling gets more power than it deserves. The mumblers in the corner get to attack directly, and then go back to staring into the black basement mirror trying to work out why their life is so shit. Everyone has a voice, the trick is to figure out which ones are worth listening to. And ignore the bullies.

Memorivened.

I've joined a course at the pyschological institute at Ohio State, Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction for Individuals with MS. Spent today doing memory tests, to set a base line for how fucked my brain actually is. Hard work, but remarkably stress free. i think they might be onto something there. I get 8 weeks of training to fire my brain up a little. Their building is really nice, set away from the others. Not on the edge of a darkened forest glade or anything, but clearly in its own little space.
Having run tests for a couple of hours Beth and I had Ramen noodles at Double Happiness downtown, bless trendy for the young-uns. great food too. Came home and spent the rest of the day asleep or awake waiting to go back to sleep. That memory stuff is hard work.

The Dark of the Day

I'm always up way earlier than anyone thinks. Its not that I don't sleep, though i went through years with barely any. I actually suffered from severe insomnia for a while, which culminated with a gig in Hemel hempstead, compered by Jo Caulfield, that i remember nothing about, apart from it working, a bit, then sliding into some dimension I didn't understand but was weirdly comfortable with. I'd whacked in muscle relaxants, possibly too many, and adjusted to living in a permanent haze where everything was either the birth of a new dawn, or the end of a long day. can't wait to go through that with the pyschothererapist, always nice to watch someone's book learning stumble into a WTF!!? abyss.
My early morning starts: I watch/catch up with British comedy. I really like Russell Howard, which as far as I can tell, isn't a popular view. If you can play a room that big, that well and they're not paying? Fair enough. I know that my personal habit of tipping a gig into a word abyss whenever I like, does reduce my room size playability somewhat. Same with Michael Mcintyre. It may not be my thing, but skill is skill.
Abbey is groaning, mournfully  hoping for breakfast to arrive, its still some hours out. There will come a day, when I hear her talking. That's the day my brain has rewired itself one too many times and is not coming back. Scary, but I am interested to hear what's on her mind.

The Hills Are Alive.

Today got washed away. Awake, asleep, awake, out. The whole day was a set of neurological windscreen wipers. I jumped in the shower to buy some time, and we went off to the Hills. The big hint comes in the car park and the parade of nearly trendy but not quites who inhabit the store. Next hint, the trolleys are really small. This is going to cost.
However, the food is really good and I'm actually going to eat it. The fridge is now a place to store food rather than a cold grave on the way to the bin, as the OK gets replaced by anywhere else we feel like eating at.
The on and off wipers are still pounding, but, the fridge is a lot friendlier than it was a couple of hours ago. The Hills, a bit expensive, great food, and definitely not Portlandia.

Mindfulness. Hmm...

Having been vetted on the phone, I'm going in to join the mindfulness stress reduction program for individuals with MS on Tuesday. Mindfulness is a buzzword I've been hearing for months, so I'm interested to find out what they are on about. Not so long ago I'd have dusted this idea off without thinking about it. But, turns out I'm ready for whatever help happens to be going. It sounds like its based on meditation and chilling the fuck out, which certainly has my vote. Its at the psychology institute which does give an "oh..right" element to the proceedings. If I start talking to you about my previous life many stars away, you'll know I may have taken an odd path, and could do with deprogramming.

Sunday? Phew...!

I must of gone upstairs, for there I awoke. Quick check, time left. Into the bathroom with abandon and cleaned the clean of the righteous. Back at the table sitting with the Kermode film podcast rolling. Relax.

Sunday OK

Sunday was looking crap. Then, 10am, John Feather picked me up and we went out for breakfast. The day opened up and got infinitely better. I'm now sitting with Mark kermode's film reviews playing in the background, with a copy of THe New York times which I'm picking my way through. Beth and Abbey will be back around 11pm. This gives me room to read and watch the telly, ahead of tidying the house up before they get back. Health still cack, day? Really alright.

Adjustment

My life is in a constant flow of what I want to do, and what I'm physically capable of. speaking to Joe last night I finally admitted what I know to be true, I don't think performing again is for me. Its not that I  don't want to, its that I know I can't, and I cannot see how things will change so it will work. Crap, but there's other things to do. Having had my mind shut down for a month or so, I'm now moving back to the writing I was enjoying over Xmas. MS is a constant game of going and stopping. the trick is not to judge the stops too harshly, rather see them through and get back to what I was doing. Constant adjustment. Pain in the arse, but better than the alternative i've been told about by numerous, puzzled, sad doctor faces.

Morning Massive Attack.

My rapid fire opinion on Dan Brown, "its shit." got called out today. truth is, its not my sort of thing, but it reads well  and I get why a lot of people like it. Dan's quite happy too, those houses don't heat themselves.
I wake up everyday ready to lash out a little. Coffee and breakfast chill this out, usually until I realize I was right in the first place, though this morning I was wrong. I'm always raw in the morning. Think of the worst time you ever woke up, times that by 10, that's every morning for me. I wake up not knowing how things are going to be, walking, hands, what did I do yesterday? Doesn't excuse being a bit rampy in the morning, thats just how it is. Ah, much better.

Aloney Day 2

Woke up as early as I usually do. Repaired the night before, not too bad. Joe came over and our big night out solution was stay in, drink loads of beer, order a big pizza, wings and eat all of it. Amazing how rebellious that can feel. Today, Yury coming over and maybe Jenn, play loads of music. No pizza. i can't. I just can't! For at least a day or so.

Aloneyish.

I'm in my front room. Doctor Who on the telly, my mate Joe coming over later. I'm snacked myself up and have the couch to myself. I'm 2 hours in, so the novelty of having the house to myself has worn off. I lived alone for years, loved it. Now I'm a lot happier being around Beth and Abbey. The old me couldn't take the risk of needing anyone that much. Turns out I was wrong, and I'm very glad to stand corrected.

Start. Stop.

For years now I've been listening to the radio from England streaming across the internet. Its great, then its gone. Then there is a pause, then its  great again. I was leaned-ish the concept of binary years ago. 10110, On. Off. On. On. Off. Right? I just checked my vague understanding of binary and read an article on the derivations and such. My eyes drank in the info, my brain sought to turn it off as quickly as possible. Function, right? I remember the kid's at school who were doing pure maths, if you caught them pondering and staring out the window, they wore a slightly haunted look, they knew why they were doing what they were doing, but also knew the mountain was near impossible to climb. They would then turn off that overbearing thought and smile their way back into the room. 1001.
As the internet takes a firmer hold, binary on off thinking is everywhere. If something doesn't work switch immediately, the next stop will do what you want. You don't have to wait, 101. Its a long way from the days of trying to get the volume just right on your Spectrum or Vic 20 so you could boot in the game your mate had copied for you. Now, Netflix or bit torent, if you are feeling illegal, will give you what you want immediately. You don't even have to want what you boot particularly, just poke away at a computer you don't understand and let it get on with entertaining you. I'm beginning to think those haunted pure maths kids and the time when you had to put effort in to make a computer do what you wanted, might have had a point. Or, I'm a luddite. 110010

I said Wake up!

Ok, now I'm awake. I was sure I was set to wander through the day, my top barbecue ribs and chicken thought otherwise. I just woke up, upstairs in my house, no recollection of how I got there. I did my usual check of objects  around me, and put together my final waking moments as well as I could. I know I booked an appointment for next week, I found my phone and I listened to a book review, I checked out my iPad. Shower and go to the the gig thatI know I booked for this evening, that'll do. If I ever appear to be unclear or unfeeling about what we are supposed to be doing? A lot of my days go exactly like this.

Fail, Win, Repeat. Fail....

I shouldn't be up. I have a scheduled physical therapy kick in at 11:30 this morning, so they can assess? Ability to float? I keep telling them, I can't walk that well but I can really swim. I've always loved swimming. I was on teams when I was a kid and was the team captain at my middle school. I didn't even get fired! I don't swim enough, so aqua physical therapy is ideal to kick me into a better routine. Drinking the night before, eating too much pizza, wings and such, not helpful. Thank goodness today is going to be a dry land assessment, crap though I feel it may be. If you've never had PT, like an MRI, I'd advise avoiding doing it if you don't have to. The rules are simple push until you start to do well, then crank it up a notch and fail again, until you get a hold of that. Then.... Once I got used to the fact I wasn't supposed to succeed,, just keep building, things got a lot better. We've all had dates like that. Concerns me a little, what is the water nightmare? Ah well, I'm sure it'll help.

For Fucks Sake! And, Relax.

I wish I could say, "The weather has got a lot better, I'm pootling around right nice. That MS has turned around. It hasn't. What is has done is say, "You enjoy the morning? Bit warm innit? I'll need a while to factor that in. Best pass out for now." Well, cheers. I awake to a lot of twats blocking a gun control bill from even being heard, having weighed innocent massacres against what their gun selling cunt masters want and found them kids wanting. Needless death usually teaches at bit a bit of a lesson, right? Nah, best let the psychos realize the error of their ways. Bless.
And relax. I just got off a phone call with my Tysabri monitor where I told her the difference infusing Tysabri every 28 days has made. It really has, the life I had before to where I am now doesn't even compute. Its so much better. I still have lots of work to do, apparently you can't just whack the drug in, eat biscuits and go drinking, but overall my options have opened up to such an extent that the work I have to do is something I'm looking forward to, rather than the last ditch 11th hour effort it felt like before. So, gun control? It'll be alright, idiots can only work against life for so long and America is full of it. As you were.

No return

When certain things are put in place, there is no turning back. If they have momentum they will settle in and create a new reality. Tax increases are a good example. I've seen them creep up, they are never coming down. I remember when 15% VAT seemed unthinkable, that it would destroy spending. We are now at 20%, which is seen as destroying spending. Where I live now, America, they ruck back and forth on tax constantly, keeping it from ever really going anywhere if they can help it. There is no VAT, its a sales tax set by the different states. This is malleable and does change. The tax on fuel and cigarettes are mobile. And no one kicks too hard against them as the tax comes in on things that can be seen as a bit bad.
 The internet has presented huge problems for the tax hawks, positioning themselves off shore, putting their physical presence in the cheapest places and charging no sales tax for their products. They are in trouble for the little tax they have worked out they have to pay, employing a legion of accountants to spot the loopholes left by an old economy. Sounds bad, but your books and music, if you buy physical product any more, are a lot cheaper and good in a way that smoking and boozing it up are not.
There are some who have really figured out how to take advantage of the new reality. Ticketmaster is a great example. I'm paying you a convenience charge? Get fucked! But I do want to see that band though.
The world has always been the same with people seeing what we are going to need, though we don't know it yet, Tetrapak, Amazon, Apple and then they mint it. The governments then go back to the old methods, which all of us hate and drag out the party out as long as they can.
So what's coming next? I keep hearing about bitcoin a new digital peer to peer currency whose value is based in the old for now, that someone made up. Lets see how that goes.

Religioned

Years ago, my RE teacher went around the class getting everyone to read out what they had written for their homework. She went around the class anti-clockwise, so I knew I was last. I also knew I hadn't done the homework. Everyone proceeded to read their work out and I realized I was the only one who hadn't done it. She got to me. I looked at my blank sheet of paper and made the essay up, building from what I'd heard everyone else do. She really liked it. It was going well until she collected the essays at the end. I remember her looking at me, her nickname was Popeye, due to an ill fitting glass eye. The seconds passed like hours. She smiled, "Go home and see if you can write down what you just made up."
I wish she'd marked my RE O level. I think she would have seen my selection of Satanism to describe an alternative religion quite amusing. The examiner didn't. D

OK

Today I went to yoga for MS.I hadn't been for a while, having missed the end of the last term by leaving for Jamaica for a couple of weeks. I love the MS class. Like the infusion suite its a room where there is absolutely no bullshit. No one lies, nobody covers anything up. I remember when I first went years ago, before I understood the rules of the room. I stayed very quiet, trying to figure out whether this was going to work out. I saw very quickly I was in a room, for the first time. with people who were dealing with the same thing I was. Years ago in London I'd turned down a chance to go to an MS meet up drunkenly saying, "I don't want to spend the evening around a load of raspberry ripples!" {Cripples if you are not up on your British slang}. I actually spent that evening getting drunk in Belsize Park and chatting with my chiropractor. And i saw, no irony at all.
The yoga class has been amazing, it took the churlish child who tried to insult his way out of the awful and turned me into a much nicer accepting sort. I still miss classes, I'm seen as only turning up for the pot lucks. But, if I can at all, I'm there. The class has helped me immeasurably and changed the way I approach MS. I still tank and do whatever I want every now and again, but I know the MS Yoga anchor is there when I come to my senses.
The infusion suite is another true room. You do not walk/limp in there unless you are right at the edge of apocalypse. This means the room is bullshit free, friendly and a lot of fun. Top drugs really help. So, I had my life destroyed, thats what I thought for a long time, and did nothing but fight to hold on to the normal I wanted. That was performing as much as I could. I didn't write as I saw writing as finally admitting my dreams were dead. I don't feel that way any more. I'm happy tip tapping when I can and letting people I like get on with the stage work. Would I ever do it again? I was going to write hell yeah! But I honestly don't know. And that's OK.

Merry go round.

The news has always been a fairground of the awful. Newscasters sit and wear serious face, as they intone the massacre of the day. This goes on for a while whilst they give the facts they don't quite have, and offer ill informed truisms as to how we can cope. Politicians come on and provide whatever they've been told their opinion is. Their talking point is repeated, oblivious to fact, a small irritating child who doesn't want salad, they want "Hamburger!" Serious face nods sagely. Just as the burial of the terrible under bullshit seems intolerable we move to sports, and weather for good measure. Breath out. Look out of the window, its alright isn't it? Move on with your day.The 24hr news cycle resets itself for the next round. Like a scab you can't stop picking you come back. The merry go round restarts.

Perception.

This early morning, the World Service is riven with stories about perception. It started with a scientist who has put up his impression of what the big bang sounded like. For me, this is a take by a big fan of Rush and King Crimson, who dreams of the moog coming back and taking the music world by storm. His take was influenced by an eleven year old wanting to know how it sounded. Is this any more ridiculous than everyone feeling their way through life using a series of books no one can agree on?
Next up, Prozac. Like any drug, has a definite downside, but can be useful. A lady in her 60's felt it was a drug that should really be used when you are over 55, and that prescribing it to kids was a no no. I was offered Prozac when I was diagnosed with MS. "That's depressing Si, you fancy chilling that out?" was the considered medical response. At the time I said no and I refused all drugs pertaining to MS for 2 decades. Stupid, but I did let research get on a lick while I limped my way through. I now take a drug with a risk factor of death and I'm happy to do it, it really helps and I now feel the risk is worth taking. If I'm injured Percocet is similar, I know its a 3 day turn around or I'm looking at doom but its really good, nicely trippy and does the job. For me all drugs are the same, I assess the risk against the use and go from there. I know I'm lucky, in that I can pick and choose when to start and end.
Age. the actress who tried to sue to the IMDB for putting her real age on the website. She feels it has stopped her being considered for work. She's right. LA is that shallow, you have to look at risk and fairness versus the potential benefit. Stage work is a lot fairer in that your ability to do the job is more relevant, though not always... Comedy is even more merit based, either you can do it, or you can't. Though again t,here are exceptions.
The more money that you get paid, the more deserving you are presumed to be, even if the one paying doesn't really understand why.
Brian Eno soundtracked the Big Bang????

Dance.

Life is a dance through to the end. We get to pick which music and moves we like. Some like marching lock step, quickly and smartly. Some like to follow structure. They follow the previous as close as they can. Some move as they like and accept that most will not see why. Life is a pulse we all follow. The differences are what makes it so interesting.

Fingertips.

Having dumped everything I could in the past year, I realize that I've been hanging on by my fingertips for a while. This year is better than last year, which ran as close to the edge as I've been. It was the end of a constant MS attack, which had lasted 4 years. The reason I say fingertips is not to be dramatic, more a realization of how much trouble I was in and how much work I have to do to get back to something, if never normal, better.
My friend Jen pointed out to me a few days ago that I've started telling the truth a lot more in these posts. She's right, like everyone else with MS I've constantly covered up or just lied about what was happening. I figured since I have no need to fake, which I never really had any need to, fuck it, write it how it is. Having said that, you're unlikely to ever get the whole truth out of me. There are certain nightmares best not shared. Dramatic, right?

How to save the world?

Sometimes going through the newspapers or listening to the radio early in the morning, I'll come across a story that makes me wonder if I'm still asleep. This morning i found myself reading a long, very earnest article in The Guardian on the eco-activist group, Fuck for Forest. This group looks to help ecology across the world partly through its online porn site, 10 pound a month if you are wondering, and causing a lot of ruckus as they go. The porn is all unpaid voluntary amateur work, again, if anyone fancies a pop. The group actually looks like a bunch of harmless hippies, trying to fuck the world to rights.
Could be worse, though there are plenty of right wing christian fuck wits who will hate it. Harmless hippies fucking for wood / over protected priests fucking kids and getting away with it? I vote for fucking for forests, we could do with the oxygen.

Rain fell.

Awake having dusted most of the day, to a phone call from a good mate of mine. Then, downstairs to a lovely dinner. Sweet potato, beans and kale  Kind of woke me up, ish. Rain is difficult to explain. I know most are not keen on rain unless its the sort that seems quite romantic and mindful. I recommend walking around Soho in London listening to Rainy Night in Soho. MS takes a look at the rain, will have nothing to do with it an knocks you out. At least mine does. I emerge into the previously distant night, trying to work out what i want to do. The rain has gone nowhere and patters on, so I have the nagging feeling is that I may not last too long. The realist in me knows that isn't the case and I'd best settle in for the long haul to dawn.

Weathered

i know I said all changes in weather bring on MS comas. Warm rain is a doozy. I was up, I know I was, put up some James Brown on, then, woke up 20 minutes ago. As I say, shit trial witness, roaming through the days, stop starting having fun, rest now! Fun! I said rest! My old PE Teacher, who modeled in something or other would call it fart legging. "Cross country is a rhythm. Find your rhythm. You cannot fart leg your way around the course!" You can you know, and it is possible for one of us to develop asthma every week. In the hall of fame for playing Eye of The Tiger to inspire us to exam success. Him, a record player, a set jaw, and a room full of kid's trying not to piss themselves laughing. Bless.

New Leaf?

When I first started seeing Beth I told her I was a pipe and slippers type who didn't go out or drink very much. This impression was quashed when a guy came out of an indian restaurant and said,"Don't get too drunk this time! And don't forget your coat." Ah well, I figured, I'm moving to America, new leaf. Not really. Tonight our waitress said,"Don't let him forget his phone this time. Percocet haze. Oh. Well as I sit sobering myself up, I'm happy to be in one piece. I do have a habit of running close to the edge. Lots of fun, but i always pay. So no new leaf, just an old one who knows what the results are a little better.

Filadusted.

Politicians are beginning to see filabusting a bill to protect children from be torn apart by a maniac's machine gun may be a bad idea. I'm not from these parts and don't really get your love affair with easily available death. Having said that, sure you should have guns for hunting and protection, why not? My old man is a hunter and having fired a couple of twelve bore shotguns I get the appeal. However, acting for your rich gun selling friends, going over the death of the innocent? Cunty in the extreme. Get ready to pay the price which is finally forming up. You didn't want to be in the Senate anyway, right?

6 hours.

I'd be shit on trial. "Mr Dowd, do you remember where you were and what you were doing between the hours of 3pm and 9pm April 9th 2013?" No, i really don't. I must of passed out in my house because that's where I woke up, with no clue of how I got there. "Oh...." Clang. I know I was in my house, the radio story was about a drive by on an elephant in Mississippi. Weird, eh?
Today was going really well. top brunch with Jen and Sue, nice weather. Of course, weather change. This always turns MS into a graceful rapid coma spiral. If the weather picks up from shite and its a beautiful day, best to catch me early, or late.

Treat.

Its not that I'm not sleeping. Ask Beth, i spend my days hovering above unconscious as best I can, but often flake out and come around hours later not sure of exactly what happened. Its not exactly sleep, more like a non negotiable adjustment. I wake early in the morning often and put the coffee on, which means more sleep is non negotiable, for now. I listen to The World Service on NPR then move over to Radio 6 and start thinking about what I'd like to do with whatever day it is I've arrived at. Its been this way for years, I was always a late night/early morning sort. I find the quiet very relaxing. Its not that I don't like the day, but not having to lock myself into the constant state of re-adjustment I have to use to exist in the wakey wakey, lets go! of the world outside is a treat I enjoy.

Magzilla!

Awake again having coma-ed most of today out. Remember hearing on the radio this morning Thatcher was dead. This cued up expressions of "Good" and lots of other horrible ripostes that confuse anyone who was not bought up in England at that time. She's not getting a state funeral. Good idea as that would have been surrounded by a lot of people booing. I have a horrible feeling that people would have sung the old marching song, "Maggie, Maggie,Maggie! Out! Out!Out!" Horrible as whatever else,she is dead and the chance she would rise from the coffin intoning, "This lady is for returning! I am back to priviatse the dead!"Don't do a burial at sea. Godzlla tells me this is a terrible idea. I have a giant Magzilla rising from the depths to lay waste to London. She gets to live on as a scary tale for children and adults alike.

What?

Hmm. what shall I write about? I'm up, its really early. I have enough coffee in to make passing out again ill advised and unlikely. My pooch, who has figured out its not breakfast yet is slumped down by the open kitchen door. Its remarkably quiet, not the desparate "We're having fun right?!!" pitch of early Saturday morning which echoed down the street dying as it went. The World Service putts away in the background, vainly trying to find a positive story before giving way and intoning all the horror of the world. Abbey was in, now she's out again, and now back in. I now get to stop her from waking Beth, with the promise of a breakfast to come.
After yesterday I find myself beginning to plot out a new show with Rhonda. Where to put it? How long to write it? Dunno, but its definitely going to happen.
Aqua therapy. Better book that, should give me a clearer idea on how to structure the coming weeks. Yoga today, cool I've missed that. Next infusion 30th April. Tick. Plan weekend for Stand up intensive. Double tick. Work out what I'm doing? On going.

Doubled

This afternoon got to spend a couple of hours running ideas and tearing ad scripts apart with Rhonda. We first met playing Mr and Mrs Hardcastle in She Stoops To Conquer. We had heard that the other was a professional stand up and spent the first five minutes or so when we met sizing each other up. We both realized very quickly the other was what we had hoped. Since then we've worked with each other when we can, and  we are looking to do it again. Can't wait, The two of us seem to read the others mind on stage and know exactly where whatever rubbish we are pitching is going. Can't explain it. Just is.

Lucky.

My Dad told me years ago, "The harder I work the luckier I get." I always had a feeling he was right. The more I've done, the more doors have opened that I was unaware of. My problem has been the same for decades. I can't maintain the required energy level for what I've wanted to do. I started out as a musician. MS took my hands from me. I was soundchecking in a tent that took a lot of people, playing bass for my brother Kev's band. 30 minutes before we were due to go on it sounded like I had never played a guitar in my life. All feel, timing, gone. Got through that with the help of the bloke playing keyboards who doubled the lines while I played what I could.
 Next up Impro. Loved doing that, always had the feeling I should try stand up. Stand up. Learned a lot at the sharp end. London is brutal but fair. Then, compering, to this day my favourite thing to do. Learned how to tone rooms, to adjust as I went and chat to the police when the Friday night apocalypse's arrived.  Doesn't suit MS and I had to quit.
Married Beth, moved to America. Still the smartest thing I've ever done. Read an audition for Shakespeare in the park, thought, I'm English, how hard could that be? Quite hard as it turns out. Actors were generous enough to let me in and I spent my time learning watching great people pitch and applying what I saw and learned. MS did not like that at all. 8 years on kicked the shit out of me, now infusing once a month putting myself back together.
Now? Writing, producing stuff and maybe directing. Infusion working really well, though all neurologists and others with MS look at me every now and again with a "How the fuck are you doing that?" frown.
So, onwards and uppish. Lets not go mad. Throughout everything doors always swung open, even when it felt like everything was shutting down.
Lucky.

Dog tired.

In the past two weeks I've had another 11th hour speech, one that I believed this time, jacked a dangerous but very effective drug into my bloodstream, where it will sit for the next 28 days waging war against my body's permanent attack on itself. Last up, an MRI that I know will read at best, really badly. Now its Saturday and I'm MS tired.
 MS tired is difficult to explain. When other people tell me how tired they are I always think quietly, MS is a little different. MS tired is when you can't sleep, until you pass out, arising hours later with no clue as to how you got there. Its trippy, but not as much fun as you'd hope. I haven't had it recently but I've had periods of time when I was hallucinating pretty much constantly, seeing things I knew were not there. Its not uncommon in MS I found out. Having heard some of the options, I'll take the ghosting thanks.
But, it is what it is. Having gone food shopping at 7:30am we are now set for the next 4 days or so. Lunch was great, basketball's on later and I have lots i can do it the house. And the weathers getting better. Alright, innit?

The Punt.

Today is the Grand National back home. A race where 40 horses take a pelt at a difficult steeplechase, hopefully not too many get injured or killed,  as we all yell and crumple up our betting slips as we realize the reason the horse we bet on was at 40-1 was at best hopeful.
One year a bet I made on such a horse came in. Red Marauder. It was the wettest, most dangerous race I'd seen. Carnage everywhere, only 4 horses finished. Out of the apocalypse came this horse that had little chance in a straight race, surviving the falls and danger around him, surging forth to claim immortality, in my house anyway. I remember yelling him in, shouting and whooping.It was great.
I thought briefly that I was a betting genius and went to the betting shop to claim my winnings. I then started looking around for something else to bet on. I saw a room full of the dissolute hardcore track betters, now onto greyhound racing, holding their betting slips like the holy grail. I overheard an older whiskey faced punter murmur,"This one's for the mortgage", as the greyhounds pelted after the robot bunny. His wasn't the only sadly hopeful face in the room. I put my winnings in my pocket and left. I still like a bet, I'm just not betting the mortgage on it. I like whisky too, but not at the cost of a normal face.

Bleat

There's nothing more irritating than hearing a self entitled rich politician bleat about how helping the poor is going to bankrupt the country. Small pause. Eat some lobster, sip a fine chardonnay, carry on.  Cue railing against benefit cheats, the skivers, taking all the money from the workers. Bollocks. War we never needed and standing back while the banks destroy the economy' who you then bailout, so they can keep their bonuses, for people who failed, up. The worst skiver robbing beer and tab money is nowhere near the  apocalypse your rich cunt donors have caused. Quit bleating, no one believes you anymore, you're just giving us a bullshit overflow headache.

Atypical musing.

Awake. Dog fed, coffee, typing. Sat with a vague memory of what happened last night. I keep writing about my MS at the moment as for once I don't feel like covering it up. All people with MS lie about what's actually happening to them and soften the blow as best they can for the incredulous, worried listener. Fuck it, here's what it is.
According to the textbooks I should have moved from relapsing remitting to progressive years ago. Relapsing remitting, keeps rewiring and fixing it self. Progressive? Takes you out until you are done/dead. All people who have MS know this. All fight a private, mainly invisible internal war. Its amazing to live in. No clue how things will go, best effort and guess, and thats it.
I have always been a case that neurologists shake their head and scratch their chins about. "Doesn't make any sense, he should be totally crippled by now." Sorry about that, I realize I mean you have to put an extra chapter in the textbook. Call it WTF!

Salad Coffin

Now I get to have a really good salad from the Brown Bag, then shuttle over for the MRI experience. If you've never done it, well done, if you have, then you know where I'm going. Lie on a table, it moves inside a giant magnet which booms around you spelling out just how much trouble you are in. The freaky bit is knowing you cannot get out on your own, they have to bring you out. I had one in LA once and spent the whole time thinking, "What if there's an Earthquake?" No Earthquakes here, top salad, arrived. Yummy.

Restructure

When my blood soldiers started kicking in, doing a fine job, in my head I was going to get an infusion every 28 days then travel, until I had to come back for the next one. Having had a large dose of reality chucked at me by my neurologist, thats probably not exactly how its going to go. Travel is still in the mix, just not all of it. Aqua therapy, cool, tonights MRI, oof and swimming, writing and not getting too pissed. Alright. Still looks like a good year to me. I am going back to Jamaica next winter though...

Parrot Trot.

If you repeat something over and over, even if its a lie, it begins to take on a truth of its own. There are many things that are pitched constantly that anyone thinking knows are bullshit. Initially we are annoyed that anybody could be stupid enough to fall for something so flimsy. Usually those out there delivering their sack of ill thought out cack speak slightly too forcefully and a half a second too quickly. Then the lie settles in as it becomes a part of the common vernacular and builds in a way you can see coming, you despise, but eventually have to have a grudging respect for. Then time passes and the lie founders under the weight of truth. Respect gone, just an old idea that no longer has traction. It built  itself on the back of the 24 hour news cycle, its life is now shortened by the speed of the information flow on the internet. This is probably a flawed idea, it'll be dead by lunchtime.

Hellraiser.

I'm not asleep. I'm not awake. I'm in the zone of blood change tripping. It makes the move from recumbent to upright seem very necessary. Once up the question of "Why did you do that?" starts to echo quietly in the back of my mind. I try to come up with the reason I am now here. I must of wanted to do something and found it important enough to provoke movement.
Got it. I've got an MRI tomorrow night so the can measure whether the level of lesions and scarring across my brain and spine. I know its quite high, has been for years. I have a brain and spine so covered in scars and lesions my previous MRI reads like the puzzle out of Hellraiser. They don't really understand how I'm doing it. If I read the code properly I have over a hundred scars and active lesions which should read as extremely bad indeed. There are some who only have a few lesions, who are in a lot worse state than I am. I don't think they get it. I'll stick with confusion.
My new MRI, fun in the coffin, takes place tomorrow evening. Into the spooky out into the dark. Didn't really think that through.

Food Order

Our fridge has been dead for a week.Its resurrection is due tomorrow morning. We can stop going around different food places so we don't repeat too often and have salad and soup not from tins, though tinned soup is alright. They say the world is 3 days without power from destruction, a week without a fridge is a taster. No heat in the winter, which I believe we are calling Spring, even worse.

Haze day

The day after being infused is always an odd cove. I know I went for a great breakfast with Stewart this morning, I know Beth did a lovely chicken soup for lunch. Everything else is a wash as the drug in my blood settles in. The drug, Tysabri will sit as a defensive wall in my blood, blocking the attacks on my nervous system. Thats the weird bit, the attacks haven't ended they just can't get through. I spend my life sitting in the eye of the hurricane. Weird, but I'll take that.

THe Power of The 11th Hour.

Up. Coffee. Banana. My blood is now re-infused with the soldiers I need to help to keep detente in my nervous system. Its not a perfect system, its takes a couple of days to settle, is bizzare if you think too hard about it and offers respite rather than a silver bullet fix. Having had my umpteenth 11th hour speech I finally realize I have work I have to do, rather than being satisfied with the comfort that my infusion plan undeniably offers. It has opened the window of opportunity its up to me what I do with it.
I've known this as since I was twenty. I have been told what the dreadful options are. I spent  two decades working against the inevitable, performing when I could, paying the price as I went, recovering and then going back and doing it again. The difference now is that I don't feel the need to throw myself against the wall quite so much to do what I want. I know now I'm not giving up, which I believed with all my heart before, I want to play the 11th hour with an eye to extending it as long as I can. I love writing, which I stupidly saw as a failure for years. So, 11th hour, round? Whatever,. Lets play a little differently, see how that goes.

Foody

Infusion always comes with a crash. A sleep that will brook no argument. Unconscious, now! Awake, peckish, fridge isn't going to be fixed until Thursday. Lets go to a southern looking building where the packing costs more than the food. Where everything is completed instantaneously despite the fact there are only two people working there. Taco Bell it is. Not bad to be honest, foody but not horrible.

Blood swap

Just traded in my ailing turbo blood for a new set. Exhausted but happy, knowing this is going to help a great deal. Conclusion; sit two people next to each other jacking the same helpful poison into their blood. Get them talking. Stand back as the conversation goes all over the place as they try to remember words, facts, films, whatever. Lift an eyebrow as the conversation drifts into murder and deaths, Infusion over. Breath deeply having laughed solid for 2 hours.

Green And Harrowed Land

I was just talking to a really good mate of mine in England about how much trouble home is really in. The rich kid twats are dismantling a system we all grew up with, whilst the idiots who told us things can only get better and caused the massive problems we are facing haven't got a clue of how to fix it, and want back in. Its the end of a party where your friends bought people you didn't know. They got trashed, smashed your house up and invited their equally cunty mates over.. Now they want a pizza. And you're paying.

Slip Slide.

My life does not run like most. I find myself at 2am, having made coffee, listening to Radio 6 quietly pondering the day to come. I know what is coming, Beth is going to drop me to the neurology clinic, I'll pay my  cover charge and then wander into the infusion suite.
The suite is quiet and very chilled out. If you are in that room you come in thoroughly fucked up. Everyone there knows that you are in to take a shot at dealing with the near impossible, negotiating a better deal with your MS. Everyone is running a risk doing it and has decided to do it anyway, having decided to not go gently into this good night.
Everyone with MS has faced the ultimate question, can I deal with this or should I just go? Sounds very dramatic and few people with MS will tell you that has seriously occurred to them. It has. When your body is dying around you and you can't fix it, things do cross your mind. This is why MS patients have no tolerance for bullshit that doesn't matter. If you wake up every day not knowing if you are going to be able to walk or not, your problems with Darren or Louise or whoever mean fuck all.
MS is fairly invisible. We know you can't tell and we look great. Its the statement we hate the most. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to find my way, accepting the help I ignored for 2 decades. So accept when we say we can't do something its because we really can't, and we'll all be fine. Bless.

Fade

As the blood drug's monthly effectiveness slips away, my dog becomes ever more peppy. I think she is remembering me bouncing around during the first three weeks on the infusion. The fourth is always difficult. I know what I want to do, I have no interest in doing anything right now. Its a full stop I can't negotiate. Ultra realistic, a bit scary but not unusual. It'll be better tomorrow.

Reset

I'm been wondering all day why I'm not on the case, why every crappy backward guilt laden moralising bullshit story is pissing me off so. This is because I have the reached the end of my present blood war with MS and I am going in tomorrow to charge the army back up. Every 28 days i whack in the potential lethal but very effective drug into my bloodstream. I think my blood type is now "Really?" Having had yet another 11th hour pitch I know I have to work harder with the drug to keep me in one piece. Aqua Physical therapy, which I am made up about, I love swimming and something about backing off eating and drinking and doing whatever I want. Swimming tis! And the other stuff...

Attack The Poor!

Governments the world over have a tendency to fuck up financially, usually run by witless rich kids, then come up with the solution. Lets lay the yoke of our mistakes across the necks of the poor. They can't do anything! Anyway, the rich friends who got me here really don't want their boat fund being eroded for the sake of some poor trier. Fuck it lets take their benefits, that we said we wouldn't touch, ball them up and crush the lesser lives a little bit more. We have parties to get to. While we're at it lets put an education secretary in who hasn't got a clue and see if we can breed some stupid. Cunts.