Shrinks listen to everything and speak softly. On your final appointment they usually make a short speech; “Psychiatry taught me that you have to come up with your own version of neurotic happiness. I'm never going to be a normal person. No one changes, no one gets better – once you make friends with your neuroses you can plan a life.” I might have to book into a therapist myself, a male psychiatrist this time my previous shrinks have been female. The start of winter and lack of light has flattened me out. I feel like I’m walking in custard. Thing is, I’m the best counselor working in Melbourne.
On the up side my orange tree, which I have grown from, a foundling lying in the yard of a wrecked house is really fruiting up. Homegrown oranges are great, not so sweet, with a real tang. I’m reading many books, Russians & eastern Europeans. I have written a new album, but decided I will wait till next year before doing the rounds of the arts bureaucrats to hawk the idea of recording it. Listening to audio book of 'Brave New World' its rather good. The book foretold the future reasonably well. I lay in bed I listened to the new Keith Richard memoir, read by Johnny Depp. It was draining. Each note of a rich drug addicts self-satisfied spiel. Does it get worse than that? When Keith sticks to music its enjoyable. Australian literature is of zero interest to me. I quit Facebook; it was harder than stopping smoking.