annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Blethering for Britain

I want to write but haven't done anything so don't know where this will go. This is me turning up at the page.

I'd like to do some 'writing' writing. Maybe. It seems such a long time since I did - though maybe that's just my memory being a bastard again.

I've got crapper and crapper at this whole 'resting' bollocks. I'm too cross. There's a disjuncture between my body and at least some parts of my mind. Or maybe not. Over here I know that it would be a good idea to start sorting ruthlessly through my belongings, especially clothes, books and mountains of paper. But over here, I don't want any part of having to move - ah here it comes, winkled out by the power of writing it down. I'm very resentful of having to, even though most of the decisions leading to my having to have been my own. But man, I've not been well and how have I arrived at a situation where I have to do this alone in a hostile market place? Why does it have to be so hard?

Then again, I have this conversation repeatedly. It always comes out in the same place - I have to move, so shut up moaning about it, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it.

On the plus side, I did half the washing up on Monday (just the crockery and cutlery), intending to do the pots and pans on Tuesday, didn't, and have managed to not wash anything up since, apart from rinsing the pan I use for green veg under the tap. The amount of space taken up in my tiny kitchen for mugs seems worth it when I reach this level of can't-be arsed-ness. I'm trying to avoid a build-up of dirty dishes around the house, so the counters are becoming precarious, although the draining rack is almost empty again, so there's potential for another couple of days. I'd quite like to draw it - there's a good mix of shapes and textures, both man-made and natural - but there's nothing I can sit on that gives me a high enough view.

I was assertive today - I'd forgotten that. I have a dear friend called MG, who would be a much much dearer friend if we lived in the same town and could see each other very often for a few hours at a time. As it is, we speak on the phone for hours, several times a week and have visits every now and then which always end in tears, or at least in mental distress and seething unspoken fury. She has two sons, a husband and now a fucking big dog and they argue and manipulate and are so picky about food and - ach, it does my head in, yet I do love her and miss her and want to see her and am happy when I do. But when she called today to discuss plans for half-term and put forward the idea of all of them, including the fucking big dog, coming here, I said no. Her sons are young, 16 and 12, so always come too, which has its own set of stresses, but I can suck that up. It's the bloody husband, well not even him, just the horror (to me) of their relationship, when it's in the same small house as me, the power struggles, the trying to enlist me on their side - he was my friend first, over twenty five years ago, and didn't get round to introducing me and her till about three years later, so in his eyes I'm HIS friend first, but when it comes to choosing sides, you can both fuck off. My counsellor (who I've been seeing for a distressing number of years and visits to/from MG and her family) made me promise him never to have the whole lot of them to stay again. He didn't quite say listen bitch, if you have them again, don't think you can come to me with the same old story of how you suddenly notice that you've withdrawn right inside to a tiny safe place, while neutral words and calming platitudes pour out of your disconnected mouth and you are complicit in the elder boy's lies and the noise builds up and up until suddenly the word 'goodbye' echoes round the empty house and they are gone. Yeah, quite horrid and this is the first time I've remembered to say no.

Grateful for: a space to write and the habit of doing so regularly; nearly cold enough to shut the windows and keep all extraneous cats OUT; a bunch of sunflowers from my friend MH; breakfast at B's (best breakfast in town); the knowledge that this too shall pass.

Night night xx

12:48 a.m. - 07.10.11


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