annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day 8 Son keeps texting me asking what I'd like for Christmas - Jeez, I don't know - how can my brain evacuate all thoughts so completely? There must be something - I know I'm not a consumery type, but there must be some things I wish I had - oh god, writing is so brilliant - as those last words fell off my fingers, I remembered Shirley chewed through my tiny black bag that goes over my shoulder, just big enough for car keys, poo bags and phone - job done. I'm quite liking blogging pointlessly again - I've even got into having a little toke on a pipe - literally just one toke as the bloody weed is so strong these days - but it helps release any inhibitions about the quality of the words I put down here - after all, if you don't like it, you'll fuck off - no one carries on reading anything that bores or irritates them - maybe everyone has and the only reader will be me, in the future. I have enjoyed the old blogs of mine that I've reread (I'm getting very slack with punctuation - dashes and brackets seem to be all I do), but I notice I've stopped reading at a point where Sammie is still quite perky and nowhere near needing to go into a care home. I'm a bit shell-shocked at the moment. After a few weeks of being mainly numb, a huge wave of grief and desolation swept me away. Now it's gone and I find I made all these statements on Facebook and maybe here and I don't know what to think of any of it. Today I met N, the ex-manager of the care home, and we talked about T, whose little boy just died, and although obviously, it's not grief top trumps, my heart is broken for her in a whole different way. I'm glad my girl had as much life as she did - that she laughed so much and was loved and had a son and an education and travelled. You know? That little boy didn't make it to his second birthday. The other thing I want to write about is the photos some women post of themselves on Facebook and probably other places. Younger women, younger than me at least, but some of them are forty-ish. What is it with all the pouting and the poses? Ghastly - Jesus some of the staff at the care home are bloody gorgeous as they are, but once they're caked in make-up, pouting and striking a godawful, awkward pose they look hideous. They aren't the only ones - loads of women are at it. It upsets me more than I can understand. The language used in the media about the two political parties is disgracefully biased. They've been going on about Conservative 'spending plans' and Labour 'free stuff' - as if the things Labour plans to provide aren't available in civilised countries all over Europe, as they used to be here, as if the things the Conservatives talk of spending money on aren't the things they fucking stopped spending on while they've been in power. Free stuff - I don't know how they think it's going to be if Labour do get in - the BBC is always a bit brown-nosey to whoever's in power because the license fee is set by the govt - but this is far beyond anything I've witnessed before. The news on Radio 4 came on while I was cooking dinner - all about anti-semitism in the Labour party again, when from what I can gather on Twitter, most people are mainly concerned about the NHS and keeping it out of the hands of profiteers - apparently all our medical data has already been sold to Amazon - but you'd never know that from the news. Today I am grateful for: yoga; a walk in the wind; I'm a celeb being over - I got hooked on it (again) and I always came to the laptop very late after watching it, so glad it's finished; a bar of chocolate upstairs that I'd forgotten about; Bloke getting the first coat of paint on xxx
12:21 a.m. - 09.12.19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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