annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yatter yatter Back in one of those 'don't want to write and don't want to not write' moods where I open this little white box and close it again on and off for hours. I hate not being able to text ED any more, or play scrabble with her on FB, or post stuff that might interest her online. I mean, there's plenty more that I hate about her not being able to see or think much, but it's what's bugging me now, that on top of everything else, we can't move along together unless we are together. Now that I've written it down, I almost want to delete it as it's vanished, been exorcised by the act of articulation, but fuck it, it's there now. And it's only what used to be normal - amazing that I can be so angry at the lack of something that was unthinkable a few short years ago. Bah. It's been a day of disparate, unrelated bits and pieces. I had a sudden rush of grammatical intolerance, brought on by one too many misplaced apostrophes, so the link that popped up on my FB asking "How's you're Thursday?" got a gobful from me. Only after I'd posted it did I realise it was the page for the online wellbeing/CBT thing my CPN directed me to. Ah well. I got a great sense of 'I shouldn't have done that' which I know is bollocks. The wind was blowing up a storm today (oh man, I hope that plastic in the polytunnel has survived) and I discover that all my woolly hats are too big. Has my head shrunk? I missed art club as I had an appt with R just before. I'd thought I'd be able to get there in time, but found I needed an interlude between counselling and plunging into a room full strangers, to make art. Instead I went to the beach in my big coat, bought a coffee from the cafe and sat and watched the seagulls enjoying the wind. My aim tomorrow is to find the black folder containing all the handouts and worksheets from the big recovery programme I did. I used to keep it out so that I could open it and read a page, any page, to help keep me grounded and my emotional responses appropriate to the current situation - or at least to recognise when they were historical. I haven't seen it since I moved but I know I wouldn't have chucked it out, so it is here somewhere. Tiny M is coming to help and therein lies my second aim: to tell her straight that sometimes I find it very agitating when she talks at length about weird shit. She's into David Lynch and that kind of dark stuff - even writing it down makes me knot up inside - and whilst I can see her point I don't want any more disturbing images in my head, thank you very much. I have plenty already. 10:59 p.m. - 22.11.12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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