annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On and on, on and on, on and on
Lots of blokes round today. The first one unjammed the front sash windows, which now open freely (hooray!) and put a new catch on the one in the bedroom. He was tall and bald, handsome and easy-going, so that I forgot I was in my pyjamas and dressing gown and we chatted about the difficulties of storing camping gear in flats - mine's at Blokes, his is in one of those roof-rack bins in a mate's garden.
Next I met the landlord by chance, very smooth and charming, with one of those Alan Rickman voices. He's a good guy - got on the phone there and then to demand a return visit of boiler-repairman within the hour. So he was next, here for ages because he witnessed the boiler not turning on for me but when he tried it did so it's either this thing or that thing and yawn... After all the bollocks with BT (most of which I have spared you, if only because I couldn't bear to relive it, day after fucking day), and all the bullshit techno-speak I've had to listen to down the phone, all I grasped from boiler-repairman was the key point that he'll have to order a part and will be back. I do still feel reluctant to turn the heating off in case I can't get it back on. Shrug. I have neither the sense not the inclination to fret about the cost or any other aspect of this.
I'd been up for HOURS by the time he left and it wasn't even midday.
I phoned the mobility centre, asking for advice about ED's visit next week (about having an electric wheelchair on loan) and the guy I was speaking to said he'd better come round in his lunch-break to have a look at the steps. So he rocked up on one of those mobility scooters, and jeez, we ended up standing in the icy wind at the top of those fucking steps for FAR too long - he wouldn't come in in case someone nicked his scooter. He was very earnest and would so have been in the bottom set at school, honestly, he struggled so much to be sure I'd understood what he was saying - we wouldn't get a chair up the steps, unless I could get two big blokes, or maybe three, ha ha, two might not be enough and I'd never do it on my own, round and round then again for using a chair during the day and even more for where the centre was located. He was nice and took his work incredibly seriously, but I was cold and losing the will to live and then I let the fucking outer door slam shut behind me and quick as a flash he was offering me his jacket, but I DIDN'T WANT HIS JACKET and I didn't want to walk round to S&M's for the spare key on the wet paths in my slippers, so I had the briefest of mini but comprehensive meltdowns before I remembered there are other flats in this house, with other occupants and I had left my own door open but I couldn't buzz anyone until I'd got myself together or I'd have sounded like someone had chased me home waving a gun it was so urgent. So that was embarrassing, having to do deep, slow breathing on the doorstep while mobility man kept nodding at me and gesturing to the panel of buzzers.
Once it was open I assumed we were done, but no, he stuck his foot firmly in the doorway and promised not to let it shut while he went through it all again. Man. I still don't know where the fucking shop is because the directions were a bit complicated and I couldn't hold it in mind beyond going into WH Smiths and taking the left hand lift, it was too much and I couldn't listen anymore.
Terrible. All these men were here to help me live my life and they were all perfectly pleasant but I was now a frazzled wreck. Ah well. I didn't even try to complete the (overdue) car tax form and all the change of address shite that comes with it, just gathered it all up, handed it to the guy behind the counter in the post office and told him I had mental health problems and couldn't even look at it, but it was overdue. He was so mellow, just did it all, without any fuss.
And breathe.
Apart from that my plan for the day was to go and write on the beach, or in the cafe on the beach at the end of my road.
The cafe was closed and I got this far before I started to freeze my metaphorical bollocks off:
Sitting on the beach, right down on the shingle near the water. It's late afternoon and I'm hoping for a sunset. The sea is calm and beautiful with a few tiny waves breaking softly on the stones.
Then I thought fuck this, I'm freezing, gotta get on the move and had a try at a little video, with the waves and the seagulls and all. Bloody hell, the sea sounds so loud in this - I'm amazed. Why don't I hear it like that when I'm there? Anyway, in case anyone's still here:
and my photo of the day:
oh, and the moon:
and my Uggs, hanging in there for a fourth winter of being worn all day every day:
Grateful for: the energy and wherewithal to write all this bollocks; feeling determined, though not sure about what; the smell of woodsmoke which I love and has pervaded the place; living near the sea; still no snow.
Sleep well, xxx
10:52 p.m. - 06.02.12
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------