I’ve traced many of my problems back to a single prime fear: a fear of being made fun of, being wrong, being corrected; a fear of being tricked, being cheated on, being thought to be doing something embarrassing; a fear of getting caught thinking things are one way when they are another. Hard to exactly describe. It’s all of these, but there’s something else I can’t quite get my fingers around at its core. It’s the root of my anxiety, the root of my co-dependence.

What I figure though is, because they are all forms of one another, that could be helpful. Quite lucky in a way. Because hopefully if I work on one of its manifestations it will help with all of them, and make it easier to work on the others.

For instance, this evening I went to a pub. I got a pint of beer, and went to find somewhere to sit down. I wanted to sit in a booth seat, and I felt the distinct feeling:

1. I don’t know if I’m allowed to sit here
2. Maybe it is rude to sit here when it’s only me and this is a table that could sit 4 people

I felt the distinct feeling, “i should just not”. But this time I paused and addressed myself inside my head, and I said:

“Well, I probably am allowed to sit here (because it’s just a seat?). And it’s probably fine because the pub is not that busy. But also if I’m not allowed to sit here, the repercussions are that somebody will come and say something, and that is something I can handle”. I pushed through, and sat down in the booth.

Afterwards I went to the shop across the road and I was browsing the incense. I wanted to buy the one called “Opium” and I felt that distinct feeling, “maybe this is an embarrassing incense to buy because it is called ‘Opium’”.

I think I do this all the time? tiny little regulations by fear. I don’t even notice them. But it was on my mind, having had some success at the booth. My apartment smells really nice now.

A fortnight ago I attended a reggae night with some people I’d met at a rave. Towards the end of the evening I was sitting on a sofa in a dark alcove smoking a cigarette with a guy I’d met about 24 sleepless hours earlier, and he said to me “you doubt yourself too much”. Every day since I’ve thought about that. At first like “no i don’t”, but now I see he really fucking nailed it. I should buy him flowers.

is there such a thing as a Tenant Agency? someone I can tell I’m looking for a ground or lower ground floor place with a gas stove, a bathtub and a private entrance and they go around all the Estate Agents and find places, and negotiate for me?

it’s weird that payment processing is not handled by the government.

the Post Office should replace Visa and Mastercard

viewing a flat in Beckenham. the area is quite nice. it’s what London is like in Hollywood movies starring skinny girls.

• 1 red telephone box, • street lined sparsely with trees, • a few wee local shops with wee local names, • a pub that has chosen muddy chartreuse as its entire colour pallette the

apartment itself, I think, is up too many stairs; the building smells really weird, and the bathroom has rust and age but it’s affordable, in a nice place, the front door of the place opens into the patio of a Spanish restaurant, but it has so many stairs and they are tight and dark and old and dirty and creaky, and the place looked damp, and the place smelt damp maybe for six months it would be okay

I don’t like the taste of IPAs. But I do like that people don’t stare at you when for opening one in the street, the way they do if you open a Stella or a Guinness. the bitter taste of hops is the bitter taste of classism i deserve it Struggle Session IPA