annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tired. Again I had therapy yesterday and it wiped me out again. I fell asleep on the sofa, went to bed at 9, woke up at 8, just long enough to turn the alarm off, and slept on till 9.30 - another twelve hour sleep. I was meant to speak to my GP about the tiredness, to make sure it is just the effect of rigorous, purposeful therapy, but all the calls from the doctors were already booked out by the time I called so I'll try to wake up in time tomorrow, ie not turn the alarm off. Among other things, the therapist said that if I'm knitting as a means of keeping off my phone in the evenings, she'd like me to knit something for what she calls 'Little Anna', which for brevity's sake, I'll call the inner child, though it's not as simplistic as that implies. I find it very difficult to write about it all here, though I want to, particularly now because she wants me to knit something soft and lovely that will make Little Anna feel loved and warm and safe. Well, like what? I have no ideas - I mean, beautiful cashmere bed socks do spring to mind, but I've never knitted socks or anything else in the round and my brain is not high-functioning right now. But I've just googled cashmere yarn and found this : "Sirdar Cashmere Merino Silk is a luxurious blend of pure silk, extra fine merino wool and the softest Himalayan cashmere, perfect for sophisticated womenswear, in a palette of flattering grown-up shades," which doesn't really sound like me, does it, sophisticated womenswear in grown-up shades, although to be fair, they didn't say ladieswear so maybe it'll do. But for once I won't place an order now but wait till morning. See, grown-up. I'm still typing up bits of Bella on a Thursday morning, on zoom with others from the Sheffield gang, fragments that I haven't looked at for over a year, some of which I like quite a lot when I find them. Like this, written in response to a painting of a woman in a cloak under cherry trees and probably not going to be part of whatever this turns into, but I'd forgotten it and anyway, here it is: They were walking through a park. The cherry trees were in bloom – the warm breeze was blowing little storms of pink petals, creating a fairy tale mood in Bella’s stony heart. She kept telling herself she had a stony heart because she could feel it softening at the edges in Paul’s presence. Not that she felt anything romantic about him, just that being with him made her feel differently about herself, as if more things were possible. Like today. He’d brought her a red cloak and a pair of long black gloves for this meeting. “I didn’t think you were doing yourself justice with your jeans and fleece – this will make you shine out.” And she was wearing them. He’d asked her to walk on ahead so he could take a photo of her on his phone and then one on hers so she could see herself, majestic, he said, in her red cloak under the cherry tree. They hadn’t really talked much since they'd met again, just walked together, three different times now, on the beach, up in the hills and now in the park. It felt like laying down foundations. Today I am grateful for spending the afternoon with my niece and her baby son and looking after him on my own while she nipped out. They are both utterly scrummy. Those artists who did the 'Art Enthusiasts in London' online classes, who got me going on copying famous paintings, are all Ukrainian. I can't bear to think of it. I don't understand the complexities of the situation beyond knowing that the UK is immersed in dodgy financial stuff with Russia and lies lay thick on the ground. And the guilty will probably get even richer and innocent people's lives will be ruined and ended. Keep safe, as safe as you can. xx
- 12:44 a.m. - 25.02.22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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