It's been another of those weeks. If I can't find anything cheerful, or at least half-way interesting to say I'd rather not say it, so I have said nothing in this place. I have been busy listing books and can proudly claim to have taken my total on Amazon up by 200. The megalisters with their barcode scanners probably put that number on in an hour but doing it the hard way and checking prices on more than one site I think I did really well in three days. I wasn't interrupted much by customers.
Today I got my few hours off and went down to Findhorn again. Staring glassily across the bay as I drank coffee and fiddled with carrot cake I listened in to the conversations around me. The three people to my left were from the Midlands and every other word was 'bloody.' They were grumbling about life, the universe and everything, in a constant whine of negativity which rather put a damper on my spirits. The moment came for them to leave and the woman rose with a sigh: 'Eh, that were lovely,' she said.
I hope they didn't notice the stunned expression on my face.
Two young Americans have just boosted the High Street score. Bless them. Happily Amazon has picked up again for me (it's that peristalsis thing) and also ebay has come up trumps to my surprise. Better put some more effort in there.
This is boring. I am getting boring. I bore myself. I see my daughter and my ex glaze over when I start talking trade - again. The only person I can exchange gloom notes with is the nice young woman who runs the ethnic gift shop. She also is experiencing a disheartening lack of custom and she also gets paranoid. In her case she thinks she must have said something wrong when they leave without buying. I just assume my stock is rubbish.
I've started having a glass or two of wine in the evening again to cheer myself up. I shall get fatter and make myself even gloomier.
This time last year I was invited to find other booksellling folk to fill an empty shop in Nairn High Street during the Nairn Book & Arts festival. It worked out very well for me but not so good for Bryn and Jane, although they were quite cheery about it. They had had to make two journeys to install themselves and to pick up, but between whiles their stall was minded for them by the two of us living close by. Tony (who has moved down to the Lake District) also did well, and I suppose the other couple from further north did too. (I didn't enjoy working with them much because they were so pushy. The woman almost grabbed people who were just glancing in the door and generally did the F.A.R.T.S. thing in a big way. It's daft. People visibly recoil. Especially as they are both on the scruffy side. They lowered the tone I thought, snobbishly. This pair have asked to join the book sellers association. There were cries of 'OH NO!" from the members who know them, but kind Hilary, in her role as treasurer, firmly reminded us that we are NOT snobs and are open to all who've been trading two years and can pay the joining fee.)
Back to the issue of this years' Festival: We haven't been invited. Probably because there are no empty shops, but maybe also because we were competition for the book shop already in the High Street (although it sells new books, not secondhand.) At the moment I am rather wishing they would invite me. I need a boost in income.
M called in Tuesday. Prompted by his questions I caught him up with the latest on Mr. Toad. "I very nearly called in at Logie on my way down," he remarked, "But I though better of it. I'm in a good mood and on holiday and I always come away from that place feeling depressed, even though I like seeing G, an old friend of mine. Well, now I know why I felt extra repelled by it today. " Mr. Toad may not be there yet, although from RU's remarks it seems likely he is, but he will certainly be back soon needing a billet.
M then went on to tell me that as they drove home after our fireside meeting in February, his wife told him she too thinks Mr T is evil, and that he reminds her of the sort of men who groom young people in order to have their wicked way with them. Mr T grooms women who will then look after him and fund his book buying habits. The paedaphiles justify themselves by saying the children love them and want their attentions. Mr T justifies himself by saying the women do what they want and can always say 'No.'
I have made some headway on my murder mystery in which he has the starring role: the corpse.
The following will be discussed:
Antisocial personality disorder (APD) is a mental disorder defined by the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual: "The essential feature for the diagnosis is a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood."[1] Deceit and manipulation are considered essential features of the disorder.
Diagnostic criteria
Three or more of the following are required:[1]
1 Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest.
2 Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeatedly lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure
3 Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead
4 Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults
5 Reckless disregard for safety of self or others
6 Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations
7 Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another.
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