annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Yeah, me again, 2nd time today, I know, weird.

I can't even pretend to care about Joe Cocker, which I say not to upset anyone but as an observation of how changed I am*. I tell you, the people I don't give a toss about are legion. Cunts they are, they're all cunts and they can all fuck off.

*especially considering how grateful I've been for how his version of 'With a Little Help from my Friends' conveys the vital importance of said help when a person has run out of ways of saying thank you because her continuing existence is only possible with quite a lot of help from her friends.

I'm going to visit ED tomorrow on my way to YD's for Christmas. I always feel increasingly mental as seeing her approaches, especially going on my own. I can't bear not seeing her though, it feels like a hand has reached inside my rib-cage and squeezed until I feel sick and shaky. So I have to go, I want to go. But I don't want to fall into a grief-stricken silence with her, I'd really like to be able to babble away at her - sudden brain wave - maybe I need to take my pipe and have a little toke to chill me out and make me a bit freer. I thought of printing off a bit of my blog from back in the day to read to her, but diaryland is fucked up tonight and the earliest I can access is the beginning of annanotbob2 from three years ago which isn't very cheerful. Maybe it'll be mended in the morning or maybe I'll think of something else. I'm so tired when I get there after I've driven and I can't imagine what the traffic will be like tomorrow. I have literally no idea where her head's at, which is killing, I tell you. Maybe just sitting holding her hand is the best I've got so it will have to be good enough.

I have an appt with my CPN first, before I go, so it will all feel safer then.

Today was art group, where I talked a bit too much probably, but also painted this which I like as a painting, a bit, well, quite a bit, but it's copied from a 1960s book about flower arranging and it doesn't really reflect anything of any consequence, other than being in a book on a shelf behind me that has pictures in:

I walked home in a bitter wind that kept blowing my fab new hat off (see previous post for a pic, should you be overwhelmed with curiosity) so that I had to take it right off, put it in my handy string bag, always about my person, and wrap one of my scarves around my head to stop the piercing ear-ache that was making me want to SCREAM.

Despite the grumpy face I can report that I felt happy to live in a city where that kind of head-gear raises no interest in the general public. A few people have given me the eye in my new hat though - more women than men - only three women and one man, not a vast horde, and two of the women were pretty scary looking.

I'm still grateful for all the same shit as before, but more so.

Sweet dreams dear ones xxx

1:04 a.m. - 23.12.14


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