annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day 100 I feel embarrassed to write Day 100 as the title here when I know it's wrong, but not embarrassed enough to go back and find the proper start date. The Guardian has published an article about the fact that on one day during April, 1,445 people died of covid-19 in the UK, though the govt figures at the time said 881, which they describe as "downplaying" rather than fucking lying. On each of 22 consecutive days, over 1,000 people died. And that tosser is banging on about getting the official plane repainted at a cost of almost a million quid. No tracing and testing stuff sorted out, no anything except bullshit and not giving a fuck. Despair. Honestly, fucking despair. But apart from that... Today I had the writing group, on the theme of lies, which was interesting. I genuinely thought my pieces weren't all that, but they got audible responses of appreciation from others in the group, which surprised me. They're upstairs and I'm downstairs so I'll add them tomorrow. There was the usual Friday link up with my pals from the Friday art group, though I can't call it that today as I didn't do any art, just listlessly moved things around, rearranging the piles of crap. I so so so wish I could think of an approach to organising this little room so that I could just do a bit at a time without then making it worse somehow. It's not helped by me being so fat and whatever the opposite of nimble is. I need to be squatting on the floor, reaching up to get things, turning round in a small space - all that kind of malarkey. Ah well. It is what it is. I met Daughter down on the windy beach which was cool. I just fucking love it down there, even when it is a bit ferocious. There was no one else there, apart from masses of kite-surfers in the water. Just acres of pebbles, big granite rocks piled up, the seagulls, the wind and the waves. I love that it's on the edge of a city, but once you're down there you can't hear any of it. The beach slopes down to the sea, leaving a big bank of pebbles behind you, blocking out the view of the houses, so you really are alone in the natural world, just five minutes from home. The water feels quite warm - I rolled my trousers right up and walked along the edge for ages, up to my knees, but couldn't quite face getting undressed into my swimmie, let alone coming out of the water, all wet, into the wild wind. The yoga teacher forgot it was Friday and turned up half an hour late for the zoom class. I was still there, like a fool, sat on my yoga mat, reading on my phone an article Son had written about that basketball documentary, so when the sign-in thingy suddenly turned up I clicked it and it was just me and her again. I felt a bit like a stalker, but there you go. She did a yoga nidra, a really deep relaxation, which made me cry quite a lot, thinking of Sammie. I was so relaxed my whole body felt heavy and immobile and I couldn't help thinking of her, trapped inside a body like that for years, being heaved and shoved around by other people, unable even to speak. I can't believe she's just gone, she's not only not here, but she's not anywhere else either. I mean, the bag of her ashes is still over there in the cabinet, surrounded by some of her cuddly toys (that she loved right into her adult life), but that's not her, not in any way I can relate to. I used to not be able to understand how people could have someone's ashes kicking around for ages - it felt so wrong, a mixture of disrespectful and creepy, but now I'm doing it too. My brother is on the bookcase in his study. They won't stay there for ever, I don't expect. 12:05 a.m. - 20.06.20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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