RIP Blanket Man 1957-2012 - and a tricky work day

I used to see Blanket Man, a.k.a. Ben Hana, ten times a week, but I won't be seeing him any more. He died yesterday at the age of 54. Last time my parents were up I said I didn't think he'd be around much longer, but last week I saw him moving around - that seemed to be a good sign. He obviously touched a lot of Wellingtonians, judging by this impressive makeshift memorial on Courtenay Place today. That he was able to pursue his harmless (if unconventional) lifestyle in peace says a lot about how tolerant Wellington is as a city. Somebody suggested today that there should be a theatre production based on Blanket Man's life.

In contrast, someone who keeps on surviving is my grandma. She spent last week in hospital as her recurring bowel issues presented themselves once more. Somehow they removed the blockage but she's terribly weak now and I don't know how she keeps bouncing back. I did speak to her at Christmas, for the first time in months, but I don't think she knew who I was. Dad still rings her but he says it's pretty hopeless now.

I've been suffering from varying degrees of depression in the last week or so. I reached a low point at work today, which was just like a typical work day in early 2009. The day began just about tolerably and then rapidly deteriorated. My head seemed to be filled with thick fog, I had no idea what I supposed to be doing and I got quizzed by my boss - "Where did this come from? What does the factor of 1.59 mean?" - but I had absolutely no idea where anything came from or what anything meant. My memory of any specifics was non-existent. My desk phone rang. It was the property broker. Fuck. I ignored it. My mobile rang immediately afterwards. Fuckfuckfuck. I picked it up. "It's Steve Jones." "I know who it is. You've got thirty seconds." Did I really just talk to him like that? At 3:30, just after I'd completed a report that wasn't worth the virtual paper it was written on, I could very easily have caused some property damage but got myself out of the building before I became dangerous. I walked slowly around the block, at one point stopping to bounce backwards and forwards against a wall on a side street. At fourish, after I'd calmed down a bit, I got back to the office. I still didn't get any work done, but at 5:15, as I was about to go home, someone from Marketing asked me a question. And guess what. For the first time this year I knew the answer!

I'm not sleeping well at the moment. I don't think I got to sleep before midnight at all last week. Last night was no different. I remember the red digits reading 0:49 when I got up, read a couple of pages of a book about symbols (why are traffic lights red, amber and green?) and got back into bed. I must have fallen asleep at 1:30 or so. I woke up at 7:51. Fuck.

Last week I told my boss that I missed the exam deadline but I was coerced into sitting an exam in the second half of the year. I know that if I do enrol for an exam, it'll be priority E or F for me, and the grade I'll get in the exam will be something similar.

I've got plenty more to write about but I feel absolutely cream crackered. I apologise for the swearing.