annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More of the same, to be honest. Well, look at me, turning up to the page three nights in a row. The inconvenient, public meltdown arrived today - in retrospect it was unavoidable and inevitable, but it still took me by surprise. Being asked a question about the upcoming allotment open-day tipped me over, though in fairness most people would sob inconsolably when consulted about cabbages. I guiltily feel as though I haven't been to the allotment for ages, but it's less than a week. When I was there, I couldn't focus on it properly at all. I could make a hot drink and flop down in a chair. After a suitable interval I harvested some stuff, but only remembered with a resentful jolt as I was leaving that I had to water. Man - I can't connect with it at all right now - I can see it, but it doesn't go past my eyes and into my mind. It's like I can only manage one thing at a time. Well, it's not like that - it is that. Fundraising or allotment, not both. If I'm not weeping and wailing on a daily basis, I feel as if I'm 'cured' and expect to be able to carry on as if I'm fully functional - it's hard to 'factor in' limited mental capacity, for me and how I plan my days and weeks, let alone for other people, especially as I 'present' so well in small doses. I need to be able to say, please don't ask me questions at the moment - well, I do say that but people don't take it seriously, they just carry on, so I focus really, really hard - as hard as if I was landing a plane - and acquit myself to whatever extent but then have to go and have a quick, gulping cry and do yoga breathing to steady myself before going home double quick. Which is not compatible with any useful concept of 'cured' and doesn't help people grasp where I'm coming from, as I keep all that hidden, virtually all the time. On the plus side - I had lunch with good friend J today, back at the top of that hill where I used to live. I was still a bit distressed then disconnected, but we are good and solid, me and her, and have weathered many an interference with the smooth running of our friendship, so it was good and nourishing and affirming, if a bit strange. The walk home was almost exactly 6,000 steps, during the course of which I calculated the best meal I could make with the smallest amount of effort, the best nutrition, the least shopping, the most pleasurable and with just a tiny bit of actual cooking. I had some left over roast pork, a sack of allotment potatoes, lemons, a cucumber and fuck all else. So I bought a salad from Pret, made Greek lemon potatoes, re-heated the meat and forgot the cucumber, which has pissed me off, to remember it now as it's from the allotment and is deliciously juicy. So it's all good, down in the hood, really. Laters xx 10:10 p.m. - 07.09.13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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