Having yet another very rough episode of psychological weather. We were at my sister’s again this weekend. And for the first time my depression was so intense it confined me to the bedroom, and stopped me interacting much with family.
Fortunately Teresa was their to ‘carry the weight’. And dad, bless ‘im, also stepped in, bringing over lunch for everyone, and hanging with Sofi and Ali through a marathon game of (Spanish!) Monopoly!
[* But a pretty amazing book, in terms of the actual content. Part of a series by i Fabre, of which I currently have three out of four.]
I’d taken a book on Picasso, an Airfix model (1/76 88mm gun and half-track!), and was mostly watching snooker, or sleeping/trying to sleep.
Snooker is one of my chief therapies right now. It’s also something bordering, I suppose, on addiction or compulsion. I particularly love the longer games (19+ is a minimum, ideally, but 25-30+ frames? Even better!), like the semis and finals of the World Championship.
Over Friday and Saturday I watched the intense 2022 World Championship Final. O’Sullivan was beating Trump mercilessly, initially. Trump fought back. But ultimately, whilst it was a bit one-sided, with O’Sullivan dominant overall. Nevertheless, it was still a great match, and an interesting watch.
The end was pretty weird, esp’ so in our buttoned-up conservative British culture. When O’Sullivan clinched the deciding frame, equalling Stephen Hendry’s record of seven wins, he went over to Trump, locking him in a close embrace.
It was clear they were talking to each other, as well. It struck a lot of people, myself included, as rather awkward… almost sexual!? I think that’s a sign of how appallingly neutered our outward emotional lives are.