In this state, the smallest task, even emptying the dishwasher, requires monumental effort. I would completely lose my appetite and as I couldn’t leave the flat would order takeaways which I would shovel half-heartedly into my mouth.I was consumed by dark thoughts about how I would end my life. I think the thing that saved me was my Battersea Dogs Home fur baby, my greyhound Wally.I was sent to the doctor who gave me sleeping pills and a stiff upper-lip chat and that was that.There have been manic episodes I have thoroughly enjoyed, I should say, times when I thought I was absolutely marvellous and invincible. I conceived grand plans for my flat, rushed out to Homebase and bought all the tools, including a drill and a saw.Instead of feeling that I repelled people, I felt like sexual catnip, though I smoked about 30 a day and drank endless coffee. Normally there is some sort of new project that I am convinced is going to make me a millionaire or win me awards. I had no clue what I was doing, but I was soon drilling holes and putting up shelves, which later fell on my head.I made some sort of wooden contraption, too, but I can’t actually remember what it was.
Actually, I had lost my hamster and could hear him scratching in the wall so I took a kitchen knife and bored into the skirting board to rescue him.We all like to dream, and there are few better places for it than here in Los Angeles.Right now the sky is clear blue, the city is green with new foliage and the thermometer is rising above 80F.Sometimes I was beyond caring and would open the door looking like Worzel Gummidge.I thank God for my dog who never deserted me or thought I was lazy or a freak and loved me anyway.