annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Day 4
My pal D, whose idea it was to blog every day of December has a prompt for every day. Today's was to set a timer for 5 minutes and just write without stopping then post without editing. As I'm well hard, I'm setting mine for fifteen minutes.
I do this in my writing groups - or I did when I was taking them. I found out yesterday that they've been carrying on with someone else in charge - the woman who's meant to be my key worker asked if I'd be OK with that and I said not only OK but I'd like to attend if they get going but I never heard from her. Fucking useless they are. Sorry D - but the service I've received from them has been crap. She's not spoken to me since Sam died, three months now, just left a message or two on my phone - she doesn't work Tuesdays which is the day I go to art group but she could have invited me to go in on one of the days she does work - is that the way it is now for me - a key worker only there when I'm not? It's bollocks. Still, I have my art group and I love the tutor there and most of the people who attend. we're a proper mixed bunch, all ages, mostly women, though my mate B, a bloke, has just started. All different walks of life but we just sit and chat and paint or whatever and it all feels OK. I'm even managing better with the shouty one, who is fine, but fucking loud.
Anyway, today I made myself rest. I stayed in and watching The Crown till about 2 when suddenly I had to get up and go for a walk as the sky was blue and there would be another glorious sunset, and there was. I can't be inside all day - ideally I'd be outside for most of it, in the fresh air and all that, nature, you know. I wore the coat that I stole off Sammie - we bought it for her last autumn, then her arms got so stiff we couldn't get it on so I took it, then she had Botox to release the muscles and her arms softened so I had to give it back, but I have it now. It's miles too fucking hot. I like wearing it - it has a hint of her smell about it still and I wear her hat too, the one in that photo yesterday. I like wearing her things. I like being surrounded by photos of her - I didn't do that while she was alive - it felt disrespectful to only want to look at how she'd been once but wasn't any more, as if I was rejecting how she was at the time, but now she's gone I can have them all around and I do.
The bit I forgot to put in that post yesterday was about her vulnerability - that was what made me respond to her as I had when she was a baby - she had no way of caring for herself, of keeping herself safe and I was there, back with full intensity again as if she was a suckling babe. I didn't choose it, it just happened. I hated not seeing her, it made a hurt in the middle of my chest - I tried to resist it for ages - the care home staff wanted her to have a life there with them - she was a grown woman - didn't need her mother fussing over her, but it was hard not to - though in the end it was right to be there with her. I hated it when I was away - I hardly went away for these last few years - Glasto was shockingly hard. I think I might enjoy it again this year, without that tight knot of anxiety about how she was, whether she understood that I'd just gone for a week, and hadn't deserted her - like all the other fuckers did. That's not fair, they couldn't handle it any more and I was arriving at that point myself when she died - I don't know what would have happened - I hate myself for it - that feeling that I just Could Not any more, my baby, my darling girl - I can't think that I would have stopped going there - I hate to think that she might have picked up on my feelings of exhaustion and despair - terrible to feel all around you ground down with the pain of how you are.
I hate fucking MS it's a wicked disease - some people manage to live with it for years and years - a counsellor I had rode a great big Harley motorbike and she'd had MS for decades - I can't believe the timer hasn't gone off - I've been ranting on for most of my life it seems - I'm sure I had other stuff to say _ I was going to write about Trump and all the great mobile phone footage that's appeared during his visit - I love the bit with the queen trying to make Anne come and speak to him and she won't, just shrugs with a 'you can't make me' kind of shrug.
So that was my fifteen minutes worth, spell checked, but otherwise as it came. Here are some photos of my walk this afternoon:
Naughty dog, with the bits of rope and shit I picked up. Two nice planks with stamps on - they're only small but quite thick so I'm going to put them on the wall in my new craft room and screw hooks into them - loads of stuff needs to hang on hooks, innit.
Bush with no leaves, beach, sea, sky, moon
Today I am grateful for: making myself rest; another sunset; another glorious walk on the beach; fish pie for dinner; Spotify playlists - I'm listening to one the yoga studio uploaded - very mellow and perfect to write to.
Night night, dear peeps. Thanks for reading. Keep well. xxx
11:21 p.m. - 04.12.19
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