Drinking and assaults

I had a small, very small, tiny, wee drink last night and now the birds are singing and it doesn’t feel so small anymore.

Drinking has been unfun for the most part this year. It was good up until July when the loopy painkiller fiasco began.

The other night I was talking to my friend about the goofy loop. We were discussing the You show I’d been writing about last time and how everyone has a story of a guy like that.

In real life I assume nobody cares enough to do such convoluted things. But in reality if some mentalist out there wanted to stalk somebody it would be so easy to gain information through their social media etc.

You best believe there’s tape over my webcam.

I read that magicians are able to pull off such elaborate tricks because people just don’t think a magician would bother to go to all the trouble. They underestimate what other people are willing to do.

Like Dynamo walking on water when he’s really walking on submerged plexiglass. You just don’t think someone would bother. That’s how I feel about the stalker in that show.

Another weird thing is the Data Protection Act. Bear with me.

How many times have I collected a parcel from a store with my name and address on it, and wholeheartedly trusted the person behind the counter to do nothing bad with my details? I forget bad intentions exist outside of Florida and the House of Lords.

Anyway – the goofy loop. I heard about it from a policeman who told Zibby Allen (a host from Small Town Dicks – which is a police podcast with a rustic porno title) that her actions after her failed kidnapping were typical of the goofy loop.

It’s what happens when a person goes through a traumatic situation, shuts down, and becomes stuck in a cycle of a repetitive action. Their brain just goes right out the window.

Like when a police officer asks a criminal to do something and they are clearly refusing, sometimes instead of taking action the officer will become stuck in a loop where they keep shouting ‘Put your hands up‘ or ‘Put your weapon down‘ over and over again.

A group of men waited for Zibby in the car park and tried to take her into a car but after one of the men got cold feet and ran, they let her go.

She sat on the ground, helplessly anticipating their return and doing nothing. She didn’t call the police or anybody she knew, or even try to get into her car and drive home. She just sat there. That gives me the heebie jeebies.

Like in a movie when someone falls off a steep ledge, struggles to get back up, and then lies panting MERE INCHES from the death zone.

Anyway here I am hungover talking about assaults. I am putting myself back to bed. Goodbye. 

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