annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


The world turned upside down

Can you see it? A foxglove in flower, in bloody September:

That's how weird the weather has been. This is one of the many second generation seedlings from the seedhead I pinched off a plant in Virginia Woolf's sister's garden. Pretty tenuous link, but one that pleases me, to be connected to the author of 'A Room of Her Own', even when it's being bloody-minded and flowering in autumn rather than spring.

It seems I've not been paying enough attention in recent days. I discover that I've agreed to meet all of my children in different places and combinations this weekend without noticing, until they started texting me today to firm up the details.

Last night I ran out of both weed and baccy - I mean, what the fuck's that all about? Basic self care, keeping the baccy supplies steady. God knows where a person has to go to get a bag of weed right now - the place is empty, in all directions. I blame the police.

Anyway, the upshot is that I'm not going to be able to see Son before he starts his law course next week, which is a big shame as he is my very darling loudmouthed gobshite and he gives his ma good hugs. Elder Daughter is very very low, so I'm off up there tomorrow. I was going to go to yoga first, but I may just get up and head straight there.

In preparation, I went to the beach and hurled stones as hard as I could at the flat rock on the left, the one just in the water:

whilst thinking of SIL, to try and discharge some of the fury I feel towards him before I go and stay in his house. My intent is to make things a bit better for ED, not worse. Fucker.

My plan had been to have a brisk energising walk along the coastal path, but I only got as far as here:

because it's still so bloody windy it wore me out in no time. Not too windy for me to roll, light and smoke a fag with my newly acquired baccy - I am a woman with skills, you know. I don't understand how it works with wind and waves. It wasn't quite as fierce today as it was when I took the pic at the top of the page, but the difference in the sea is massive.

Younger Daughter, who was coming down here at the weekend (apparently - she wants to upload her latest series of paintings, but the only place she can scan them is the local public library and as they are massive portraits of na ked men she finds this daunting) - anyway, she's coming up to ED's as well and we're all going to the singing workshop. If we were a band we could be The Citalopram Three. Or Citalopram 3. Barely one functional adult between the lot of us.

This came on the radio as I drove home, so I bellowed along, and caught the lyrics: 'I ain't nothing but tired/Man I'm just tired and bored with myself' which seemed particularly pertinent.

Grateful for: long chat with M; forgiving kids; good session with counsellor R (hence the stone-throwing); parking space right outside my door; an underlying sense that this will pass, this is chemical.

Sleep tight xxx

11:41 p.m. - 14.09.11


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