An Escapologist’s Diary: Part 82. Signs of Progress.

Dear diary, not much has changed since my last entry. I’ve been ill for over two months.

Basically, I’ve had eczema all my life. It comes and goes. But they recently put me on a steroid treatment for it and it’s knocked me about quite badly (as well as simply not working). For about 10 weeks now, I’ve been exceptionally sore, itchy, lacerated, uncomfortable. My skin is seeping grossly. It’s hard to move because of where the skin cracks at the knee and elbow joints. I can’t sleep properly, in part from the discomfort but also because steroids have fucked up my cortosil levels and therefore my circaden rhythms. It is, without putting to fine a point on it, absolutely awful.

The only way out, it seems, is through. So comfort and hygeine are the most to which I’ve aspired.

I’ve cancelled or paused practically everything, which is a nice gift to an idler, though it would be nicer to have done it more voluntarily (which was, of course, the plan). I have an overnight trip to London to make on April 29th/30th: when I booked it, I assumed this nightmare would be over, but now I’m not so sure. I do hope I can still go. It seems I’ve joined the ranks of the sickly, homebound writers: Baudelaire, Flaubert, Proust, many others. I write this diary entry from bed.

But enough feeling sorry for oneself. Spring is in the air here, which always makes our cold corner of the world feel blessed and a positive place to be in.

There are signs of progress. My sleeping troubles have lessened. I can also go two or three days without a major scatching incident (though it was ruined today – my bed this morning looked like someone had burst a family pack of Quavers over it). It’s a slow process but all signs are pointing in the right direction.

I’m reading a great deal. Recent highlights include The Furnished Room by Laura del Rivo, Ask the Dust by John Fante, and About Uncle by Rebecca Gisler. All Escapological in their way and exceptionally enjoyable.

I’m also starting to want to get back into things, which wasn’t the case at all just two weeks ago. Little sparks of hope and ambition. The reason I quoted from Dickon Edwards the other day is that I’m slowly editing his diaries for print. You heard it here first.

If I’m well enough (surely by then), work will begin on New Escapologist again in June for publication in November. You heard that here first as well. I’ve already got plenty of lovely content for it, commissioned from others and drafted by self, and it promises to be a good one. Theme of time, I think. There will also be a big Kickstarter like the one we did in 2023 for the next cycle of four. Exciciting. The next big thing.

The mysterious yellow novel is on pause while I die. But I will return to it from beyond the grave, you will see.

Is it Escapological to get so sick and absent oneself from society. No.

But I’m lucky to have been an Escapologist for so long when getting this ill. I have no idea what would have happened to my job by now if I had one.

Yours from a sickbed…