annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Maybe Not

Oh crikey, thank you so much for really supportive, brilliant comments, but truth is I probably won't get an application done in time for this post. Ach, it's just too hard. My darling ED is booked for the operation to laser away her kidney stones on Tuesday and I'm trying so hard not to become too agitated about it, but that is asking the impossible. The urologist told us it was dangerous for her, but the only option as the stones will only get bigger and more painful, so it's fucking scary, especially when all I seem to see are posts about the crisis in the NHS. Plus, my friend M is still waiting to hear about these lumps in her neck... so I'm scared whenever I think of her, which is often


So keeping myself the right side of the line is tricky. And the world of job applications is so full of bullshit now, isn't it? I have to 'demonstrate' my passion for writing,  and how I've inspired people and generally big myself up in a way I was always taught was unseemly. It all just makes me want to cry. I thought I'd do some this evening, make a start on answering some of the ten discrete points I have to address, but I didn't, I just watched telly, including  This Is Us, which has hooked me in but leaves me feeling dirty for having fallen for it.


Oh, I don't know, it's too hard. I looked up the person who had the post last year and a) she's an award-winning fucking novelist and b) where was she? I've been to the recovery centre twice a week all year and never seen or heard of her, or any reference to a writer-in-residence.


Here's the fence:


Horrible, but NO MORE DOG SHIT (from next door's dogs)! Woo hoo! I'm going to start with this bed up by the house and bung in a few things in that have been lurking in pots for far too long. Ferns, clematis, that fatsia that's going yellow for lack of nutrients. This is a before picture.


Here's version 4 of the pic for my Sis:


We compromised and put both horses in. The art teacher had me sticking lots of bits down to recreate the mess of straw and stuff out in the yard but I don't like it much. I don't know what to do about the roof of the stable either - in real life there's a great wooden overhang, where owls nest and have babies that dive to their deaths on the concrete floor and you can't see the sky at all. I have two more art classes though - both Friday ones with the CPN (psychiatric nurse) in charge rather than an art teacher, so I'm on my own with decision making now. Next Tuesday is the operation, so I'll be in the hospital with my girl. Unless it's cancelled again. Last time she was due to report to the ward at midday and at 11.10 there was a phone call saying they'd lost the bed. That was Dec 6th and here we are again.


This is her with me on the pier today:


She was unhappy today, crying at times. Man. She only communicates by blinking for yes, so I didn't know what to do or say. I mean, it's no good saying, "Are you upset because your son doesn't come to see you?" or whatever, because maybe it isn't that and I'm making it worse by reminding her of more things she has to be upset about. She has plenty to be upset about - it's a bitter irony that more mental function leads to more distress as there's more realisation of what's happening. Also, we could do with some kind of rear-view mirror for the chair. We're together but can't see each other - I'd like to be able to see her face.


Bed now. I am grateful for: the really generous and kind things people said in notes, emails and comments, really, thank you so much; keeping up the walking; chicken soup; furry slippers; art groups.


Sweet dreams, pumpkins. Be good xxx

1:13 a.m. - 18.01.17


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