Quality time

They've just got rid of the right-hand give-way rule on our roads. Or was it the left-hand rule? I don't think I'll miss it.

Dad left this morning. I'm lucky I'm able to talk to him so easily (unlike Dad with his father). He's interested in just about every subject under the sun, so at times we had some pretty in-depth conversations. Immigration. Interstellar travel. Italy. Insurance scams. Islam. And that's only the I's.

He loved giving me advice on what to do with the inside of my flat. Like a lot of things of late, I've been struggling to care. When I came home from work one evening he was studying a colour chart full of greens and yellows, each shade given some ridiculous Kiwified name. I'd had a lot of sinus pain that day. My head was full of Aotea Quay Yellow gunge. Fortunately the pain has since died down even if the gunge is still there.

Saturday wasn't a great day. I'd agreed to see the extremely popular Wellington Ukulele Orchestra with Rose that evening, but first Dad and I browsed some furniture and bed shops in Thorndon. Something about all that very nice but hopelessly unaffordable furniture brought out some quite negative feelings in me. Eventually we found a bed shop whose prices weren't ridiculous and I'll be having a bed delivered tomorrow lunchtime.

I felt very anxious that entire evening. The last time I met Rose I was surprised by just how much we had in common; on Saturday I was sure all those similarities were a mirage. She's a culture vulture who goes out fairly often; I live in a cultural black hole. We had a curry before the show, then on to the San Francisco Bath House. I had no idea what the venue would be like but it turned out to be a bar; there were simply far too many people for my liking. Rose and I turned up just after eight; a supporting guitarist came on at around 8:45; by the time the ukulele people came on stage it was almost 9:30. They were extremely good but all that standing and shoving and being shoved and sweating profusely meant I'd lost interest long before they finished, which was close to midnight. Rose wanted to get to the front so she could see. I didn't envy her one bit standing in high heels for four hours, but she happily danced to the strains of the ukuleles. The band was a motley bunch; just about every hairstyle was represented. The ukuleles themselves were almost incidental - it was really all about the humour, the banter, or as they'd say in Ireland the craic. Mum and Dad had seen them in Geraldine, which was one of the stops on their nationwide tour (that must have been quite a coup for a town of that size). The group tailor their performances to their audience; according to Dad their humour in Geraldine was less, er, anatomical than in Wellington.

In short, Saturday evening wasn't an enjoyable one for me, but these days I can't enjoy any more than I can fly. For that reason (mostly) I really want to come off my Efexor. I've heard horror stories about this so I plan to come off it slowly, 37.5 mg every ten days, then even more slowly when I get to 75 mg. To do this I'll need to get hold of the low-denomination pills. I'm fed up of bouncing around between various mental health services like I'm in some giant pinball machine, and never getting anywhere. It's about time I regained some control.

I saw the psychiatrist last Tuesday. She wasn't bad but I don't think she was the right person for me. She's an ADHD specialist and could tell very quickly that I didn't have ADHD. In fact I wish I could have an injection of the H bit.

Anxiety is still an issue in my latest role but it's no longer crippling. I certainly still have days when my output is reduced, but not to zero like in my old job. I have no idea what the future holds for me - any long-term solutions probably lie outside the corporate world.

Compatibility issues

I went swimming tonight at the Freyberg pool as I now do every Tuesday. As mentioned at last night's autism group, the Germanness of the pool's name is apt: ve vill not haf fun in ze pool. All the lanes were busy, right from the aqua-jogging (a.k.a. swogging) lane to the slow, medium and fast swimming lanes to the swim squad lanes. I stuck firmly to the slow lane of course.

Last night's group was great actually. There were two very nice new people and a lot of very enjoyable (and at times quite amusing) conversation. It's a real joy to see someone's face light up when they are excited about a particular topic, as happened on a few occasions last night. I'd really like to get to know some of them better, preferably by meeting up outside the fortnightly sessions.

The meeting came at a good time for me. Yesterday was a bit stressful with the realisation that I might have to be out of this flat soon. My lease expires on 15th November; the flat has just been sold, the new owners still want tenants but, as I found out yesterday, on a one-year contract. That's a hell of a long time. Far too long for me. If I can negotiate something in the coming days, great, otherwise I'll have to be out of here pretty sharpish. A pain in the butt really because I was happy to stay here for the time being, just without the inflexibility of being locked in for so long.

Also increasing my stress levels was a phone call I got on Friday with a potential offer of an actuarial job, subject to an interview. In February following my can-we-just-get-this-over-with actuarial interview (not the one for my current job) I promised to myself I'd never have another such interview. Declining the offer (which I did today) was the only sensible option, for a whole raft of reasons. Today, by the way, is the sixth monthiversary of my job. When I started I had serious doubts as to whether I'd survive that long. I should however mention that I achieved absolutely nothing at work either yesterday or today, so I'm surviving but that's about it.

On Thursday I met somebody I hadn't seen since I was nine. Rose came from Temuka - her parents were friends with mine when we lived there - but now lives in Wellington. She's single and works as an art teacher. My mum and her aunt (I think) swapped our phone numbers. It was funny meeting up with someone I hadn't seen for 22 years and wouldn't know from a bar of soap. We were in the café on Cuba Street for a couple of hours - longer than I'd planned. We had a coffee and a small meal; we got on OK but I ran out of things to say. We agreed to meet up again some time, probably to see one of the many live bands in Wellington. Then on Saturday Rose rang me to say that it was good that we met but that "nothing romantic would come of this - we're not that compatible". This was a bit of a surprise comment because I'd never suggested anything like that, but I think she was concerned our families were trying to hook us up.

As I was writing this, I got a call from my parents; they're coming up for a quick visit the weekend after next, having snagged flights from Timaru through Air New Zealand's reverse auction for a very cheap $78 return for the two of them.