annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Day 20
I have to say I feel really proud of writing every day. At this point I'm not thinking about it too much, just spitting it out and letting it stay, as much for future me as anyone else. I'm building up to reading the next section of my old blog, but I'm quite resistant as it's coming up to the bit where Sam really gets affected by the MS and the person we know quite quickly slides away. I don't think I've read any since she died. I edited the bits I'd already selected - slash and burn, top speed, God knows what it's like - I was doing it almost blindfold, determined to hand it in, to not waste this opportunity like I've wasted them in the past, using it as a shield between me and the reality of what had happened.
At the moment I don't know where I am. Bloke went off early this morning to do a long day's work somewhere and it took me till gone eleven to make some breakfast, then midday till I got dressed. I managed to set a timer at midday, giving myself an hour and a quarter to just move the fucking stuff from the back room downstairs to the little room upstairs and I did spend most of the time doing that, up and down the fucking stairs, with armfuls of stuff that is almost certainly going to have to be binned. The problem has four components. 1) I struggle to chuck stuff out esp now that 2) we know there is no planet b, there is no 'out' to chuck stuff, it's just moved somewhere else where it will either pollute the land or pollute the water and anyway 3) anything can be reused, or repurposed or used in an art work, nothing is intrinsically and permanently useless. But 4) this is a small house. Also, how many collages do I think I'm going to do? If I spent the rest of my life collaging I bet I wouldn't run out of stuff, but at the moment I'm not into it at all - I can just see the potential in little scraps of loveliness. Actually, I can donate a lot of it to the Tuesday art place - that makes me feel a lot more relaxed about it.
On my way to the beach I donated one of my winter coats to a place for homeless people, or I meant to but gave it to a different charity by mistake as both have premises on this industrial estate that I got lost on. I wanted to tell them Sammie died. I want to tell everyone, I want to talk about her, though I don't know what to say except she's dead, she's fucking dead, how can this be?
I took this photo while I was out, just walked up to the filthy mirror and took it quick, to catch sight of myself as I look. So this is me, now:
So I went for a walk, back along the beach and up the pier - I thought I'd never go there again, but it's the only place with lights that's not just buildings and traffic, so it's the only choice when it's getting dark, but today I was much earlier and still drifted back there. Maybe it is some kind of pilgrimage to Sam (can they pilgrimages be very short and frequent, or do you need a horse and an overnight bag?). Anyway, it was bitingly cold, with a strong wind, but I had my big waterproof coat and Sammie's hat and I stomped all the way to the end of the pier and back and it does feel better to be doing that, better than being indoors, anyway. I mean, it's lovely, look:
with the light and the water, the sound of the waves and the gulls. Even better when it's cold, somehow. Today was the last day of school and I was very pleased to watch from the pier three teenage girls from one of the local schools (with a recognisable horrible uniform), come hurtling down the the beach, yelling and laughing, kicking off their shoes and socks, holding their ankle length skirts up and plunging right into that icy water, shrieking with pleasure. That was the highlight of today. Maybe I should do that, pick a highlight each day.
I started reading a Wally Lamb book on my kindle, We Are Water, which I thought was a short story, or a novella, but it was a free sample, a bloody long one so it's a long book and it turns out I bought it ages ago, but I can't work out now if I have read it or not and I don't know if I want to spend Christmas with Wally Lamb... He's not what you call comforting.
Today I am grateful for: being out in bright sunlight; the sofa bed arriving, though not getting unpacked yet; chat with M; a lovely photo of my brother (who died last year), looking into the camera and smiling - he's smiling at his wife who took the photo, not at me really, but I like it and keep it near my laptop, where I can look at him a lot; the cats getting braver and braver, still based mainly in Bloke's room - like 95% of the time - but I don't care because I wish I'd never got them, needy as fuck and who wants that?
12:46 a.m. - 21.12.19
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