annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary



ED's review was OK - I hadn't realised it had been requested by the Dr as she's almost 40 and takes the contraceptive pill to stop menstruation so needed to have weight, blood pressure etc taken and checked. That was all good, no problem. He wouldn't consider authorising CBD oil as there's been no research done to even show that it's safe, never mind effective. It's all anecdotal. It's done me in though, the hope - holding the hope at arm's length because - well, because.

Mainly I'm tired, so tired. I actually fell asleep this afternoon and slept heavily for two hours, having intense realistic dreams about walking in surreal landscapes with surreal not-dogs. Then was woken up by Shirley on the bed, barking and snapping at me as she was hungry and also needed a walk, though Bloke was downstairs and could have met both those needs.

That was yesterday, this is today. Let's have five good things, because although I feel like Shitty McShitface from the planet Shit, good things have been occurring

  1. I went for a walk along the beach and up the harbour arm with my friend M today where there were loads of people fishing, catching mackerel by the dozen and we were mgiven four, staright out of the sea. When I cooked mine, they were so fresh there was no fishy smell at all and they were fucking delicious

  2. ED will be 40 next week and the care home have organised a trip to the pub, at her request - they made various suggestions which all met with a blank stare until the pub came up -  serious blink. Loads of them are coming along on their day off.

  3. My acupuncturist sent me a load of academic research into cannabis and MS, which I haven't been able to read yet - science, yikes - but I will, so fingers crossed

  4. I had a brainwave about all the pain I've been getting in my right leg - I had been confused by it as I haven't injured this leg so what the fuck? Then I remembered that I had damaged my left leg when I fell over that rusty breakwater and it went septic and hurt a lot and that you can walk unevenly to compensate for an injury and thereby damage the other side. Saw an osteopath today and he said he thought that's what it was and could easily be sorted in just a couple of sessions. Hope so.

  5. I just found this about our little old Bob cat, from 2005:"Bob is very beautiful but a pain in the bloody arse. She's absolutely tiny and a total wimp. She makes the most God awful racket, especially and continuously when you cook meat or fish, which even from outside can wind me up into a real fury if I don't make a conscious effort to STAY CALM. She loves the rain and goes in and out of the poxy cat-flap every 10 minutes, repeatedly bursting in, drenched, running through the kitchen up the stairs and straight into the nearest lap, yowling like a maniac. I used to do my marking at the kitchen table and the amount of coursework from my classes that had a trail of tiny catty footprints running across was ridiculous. And she's a cling-on. She always wants to get as close as possible, if not on you, then leaning hard up against you, preferably with her chin on your arm. This is great when you're writing in bed.Bob got her name, when, as she still hadn't got one at about 3 months (there was always at least one person who couldn't BEAR any suggestion, and then we kept forgetting) and ED came down to see us and was disgusted, appalled with the whole sorry bunch of us. She immediately took charge and phoned her husband: 'They still haven't named that kitten! You choose a name and that'll be it.'
    'That's it! We'll call her Bob!'
    'NO! You cannot call that beautiful, elegant, FEMALE kitten Bob!'
    But, too late, we did, and that taught ED to stick her oar in. We all thought of all sorts of worthy Bobs - Dylan, Marley, Bob from Blackadder, who was also female, our mate Bob from Dorset, but she wasn't really pacified.

    Bob was great when GS was little. He's always loved playing board games and he'd set a game up on the floor and call her: 'Bobby!' She'd come and sit next to him and watch intently as he threw the dice for her goes as well as his, moved the pieces round and kept up a running commentary about who was winning. When he was a toddler she'd run round the house really slowly, just out of his reach, so that he could play chase with her for ages, till she'd had enough and would just jump up somewhere high.

    So really I should be nice to her, and I am sometimes, when no one's watching, but mainly she gets on my nerves. If it was an aesthetically pleasing object we were after, a vase would have done for me. Quiet, undemanding, won't shit in the hall. She sleeps on my bed most nights.

What's not so good is that she's clearly dying now and Bloke is totally choked up about it, far more so than he was for my brother. I'm not able to be kind about this, I mainly go out so I don't have to witness it and say things I might regret, things that can't be unsaid. Poor little Bob. She's comfortable, I think. I gave her some of my mackerel and she ate a tiny bit, about a tablespoon. I'll be sad too, of course I will, but he pisses me off.

12:32 a.m. - 18.08.18


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