annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary



Just realised I've been blogging now for eleven years! Fuck me, that's a long time. When I started I was a teacher on the children's ward at the local hospital - hardly seems possible. Who was that woman?

So. Good things. [at this point I had a pipe and mysentences start getting a bit long and off topic, but who cares, right?]

1. I have done fifteen days straight of Headspace mindfulness and I think it's starting to have an effect. This morning I did all kinds of shit before I left at midday for yoga, and I haven't had a big sobbing breakdown for so many days I can't quite remember. Friday, actually, so only a few, but the first few I've had since forever.

2. It's the anniversary of Reenie's death, which isn't a good thing, but the fact that she whooshed into my life, right up close and personal, for however short a time, is a blessing. To have been loved by Reenie, oh man. In the last weeks of her life she sent me a series of postcards, beautiful pictures that spoke to me of life and love and the imagination and friendship. I have them on the wall opposite the end of my bed so I see them all the time and they and she have become part of my environment.

I have struggled with messages her friends have posted that say things like, "I know that now you're painting pictures in heaven," or whatever, and I wish I could just let it lie, but I can't, I'm immediately riled up by that word 'know' - fuck you, you don't know, you've latched onto the idea of heaven and that kind of afterlife because you can't cope with the not knowing what comes after death. And we don't know, any of us. Some believe this or that, or hope, but none of us know. It occurs to me that I could be getting by by telling myself that ED will soon be bossing people around in heaven, but I can't imagine believing it enough for it to be a solace.

We took her to the shopping centre on Saturday, where she used to have a Saturday job in the massive Tesco's. I was a bit over-excited, in retrospect, because YD was pushing the chair and I was leaning in close up to ED, narrating the scene (her eyesight is very weak) reminding her of things that had happened in and around the place, making her laugh, and making fucking sure I didn't meet anyone's eyes, anyone we knew vaguely, who hadn't known about her getting MS - I've done bumping into those and I don't like it, I can't bear how their faces change as they realise. We had a good time, pissing about amongst all the frantic Saturday shoppers. It's different up there sensually to the places we normally go - there's a big glass-roofed bit, which stinks of Macdonalds, where the light and sound and air all behave differently, then the Tescos food-shop vibe, then a vast Marks and Spencers with carpeted floor, where we do a lot of feeling of fabrics and whispering about people we can see, so there's a variety and that seems a good thing to go for, doesn't it?

And I'm pondering taking her to Pride next week. The parade at least. I like being part of the mainly straight crowd on the pavements, cheering loudly as our LGBT compadres occupy centre stage. I used to go to the do in the park, with all the stages and dance tents - one of the few places nearby where an old woman can take ecstasy in the morning, dance her tits off all day to universal acceptance and encouragement, then catch the last train home and be tucked up in bed at a sensible hour, but as it became more popular, space and numbers started to become an issue and it became ticketed and I decided to stop going.

I did four tiny paintings of beach huts and posted pics of them on facebook, hoping for a bit of positive feedback to give me the confidence to try and sell them to one of the arts and crafts places on the beach. I though if I asked for a tenner, they could still make a profit, but instead I sold all of them that day to friends both near and far, which was pretty mind-blowing. Two other people have said they'd like one so I'm going to do some more - they're from photos of the beach just down the road here and I still think I might be able to flog them out in the real world, but several people have told me this is FAR too cheap and I don't know what to do. I mean I am skint as fuck, but keep repeating my mantra 'I have more than enough money' which I prove by bunging bits to rough sleepers I pass as I move around the city, but another source of income is urgently required. So this may be it, me as a commercial artist - you never know, do you? Could be.

Also, Grandson has his girlfriend staying for a couple of weeks (she lives far away) and she came to yoga with me on Thursday which was just fucking lovely actually.

I am grateful for: friends; daughters; Son who whatsapps me pictures of weird shit that catches his eye as he goes about his life, most recently a sheep trying to eat his trousers; still loving the veg box; having a grandson who has a girlfriend to come to yoga with me and chatter away at me like a sweetheart.

Laters xxxx

1:27 a.m. - 02.08.16


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