Since earlier

I had a so-so sort of time at the historic building. The highlight was a comment in the visitors' book, where the writers were bowled over by my comprehensive knowledge of social history from a musicological standpoint. It always makes my day when people actually get and enjoy what I'm talking about. Mediocre tips, but enough to get another pack of meat for the freezer. After I've been to the supermarket I shall go straight home until tomorrow. I had been hell-bent on going to the allotment today, but I still don't feel quite up to it. My mood is still a bit odd from last night's dream and the subsequent chains of thought. And I'm still tired. I'm to expect a call from the funny farm at some point. My support worker will attend the interview. I've got to get this medicine thing sorted out. I'm sure I shouldn't be this tired after more than four months of taking it. I don't want to take tablets. I have told the responsible persons time and time again that tablets have never worked for me. They don't improve my mood. All they do is to make me feel drugged. The tablets are a cunt.