annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Five
- Tuesday art group started again today - this will be the first week for ages where all my recovery components are available - I can feel myself settling back down into it. I had a go at making a coil pot today - much much harder than I expected. I binned it at the end and will start again next week
2. I went to the gym - it's a very alien environment. Harsh lights, black plastic, mirrors, three different TV shows on big screens with subtitles, loud music, lots of blokes in skimpy clothes. Yikes. But the guy who did the induction was good and I may be able to do it. I'd really like to be able to rebuild my arm muscles - if I can, then I think the yoga will keep them, once I'm able to do the weight-bearing poses. If. Ah well.
When I arrived I had to hang around for a bit and noticed that 'refreshments' consisted entirely of sugary shit:
One of the staff spotted me taking the pic and bustled over to ask if everything was OK. When I said I was amazed to see a health club offering such unhealthy products he got all defensive and said that it isn't just a health club - there's a playgroup and a nursery as well. Jeeeeez. I struggle to believe this can be happening - they must know there's no nutrition in this, that sugar sets up all kinds of reactions, peaks and lows etc etc. I'm not saying it should be banned altogether but for fuck's sake, having it on sale in a health club is giving it a pass. And implying that small children can't be expected to wait till they get home before shoving crap in their mouths. Ach. As for plastic bottles - well, I'm biding my time, but every fucker in there had a plastic bottle except me - I have my stainless steel water bottle that Son gave me for Christmas. (Hashtag smug and self righteous.)
3. ED was in bed again when I got to the care home. She's not been wanting to get out of bed and they let her choose, given that she's an adult woman of almost forty. I coaxed her into agreeing to come out, but then had to wait while two carers dressed her. Man. I stayed in the room for once - I'm not sure why. I trust them there - you can tell from the way they slip into the routine of how it's done that they always do it the same way and that is a respectful way but it's still fucking shit. It was the worst experience I've had for ages, seeing her face as she's rolled over from one side to the other, naked. She looks straight ahead, making no eye contact, closing down into herself, bearing it the best she can as she's no option. But we made it and went out in the icy dark, down through town and out the other side, with the little dog trotting alongside the chair. It was the first time she's walked all the way without either getting so tired or getting on my nerves so much I've had to shove her in the bag. Good puppy.
4. I asked the manager at the recovery centre if I can change key worker. It's taken me about six months to muster the determination to ask - she was fine about it, of course she was. I have an assessment booked for next week as I haven't had one for ages, years, and they'll try and match me up with someone suitable. Good.
5. No. Was going to write five but have run out now.
I am grateful for: the art room at the recovery centre; bed; dinner; home; family.
Sleep tight xxx
12:44 a.m. - 10.01.18
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