resolution

In training, I had a sergeant who talked a lot about death. I guess to get us used to the idea, to get us joking about it. "When you die, and some of you will die, die with dignity, with honor, with resolution."

As a result, I can't think about New Year's resolutions, about this great beginning of a new, unknown life, without thinking about death. I think if anyone had asked me, at any point in Afghanistan, if I was ready to die, I would've said yes. Not that I wanted to. Just, I felt I'd done enough with my life, I suppose. And when I got back, that same feeling, stronger. Not "done enough with" so much as "done with".

And now I'm anything but done, so, resolutions:

1. Learn to cook one thing so Mrs Hudson can have a night off once in a while
2. Keep anyone I care for from getting kidnapped
3. Live

Phobos and Deimos are asleep on my feet. One great, slobbering, jowly head per foot, wetting down my brand new Christmas slippers.  The boys are all tucked in. Harry's asleep and sober on the sofa. Mrs Hudson's asleep in her own bed downstairs. Lestrade's most likely asleep in mine, which makes me either a very dedicated blogger or a bloody fool. Good night.

Can't sleep. It's nearly four, so there's no point trying. I don't mind the dreams about the war so much, even the bad ones. It's the dreams about London that really unnerve me. The ones where there's no one here but me.

skip this one

You'd think in a city the size of London, running into someone I know would be relatively unlikely.

First Mike, now my sister. Perhaps I was asking for it, going to the pub three times in one week. I suppose she hits them all eventually. Maybe she has a rota drawn up.

I may be a bit drunk at the moment as well.

new life

Haven't been "utilizing" this blog "to its fullest extent" apparently. I rather thought the point of therapy was to speak privately with someone you, at least in theory, trust. Granted, writing this is currently the same as talking to myself (and I do, in theory, trust myself).

Dr E: Yes, John. But you don't actually talk to me. Perhaps you'll feel more comfortable with the anonymity granted by the internet.

Except my full name's bang in the URL of this thing, isn't it? Well. And whose fault is that, as my mum would say.

All right. Everyone seems quite desperate to get me to express my feelings, so here we go.

I feel bored, if you want to know.

No, I wouldn't want to go back. I'm no use to anyone like this.

doctor's orders

I'm supposed to write about my life, about the things that happen to me, day to day things. That's what she said. Dr E, let's call her, for the sake of a thin veil of privacy. Hers or mine.

I don't know why I'm concerned; no one's going to read this anyway. I wouldn't, if I weren't me. Ladies and gentlemen of the internet, welcome to the world's most boring blog.