annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day 11 I've never felt so sick and scared before an election. Honestly, I can't believe how awful they are, and how successful they appear to have been - using the Trump formula of a simple slogan - Make America Great Again or Get Brexit Done - backed up by endless, meaningless woffle and bullshit, twhich all intelligent people see straight through, but actually, thanks to the deliberate destruction of the education system(s), there are fewer people who can see through it and more who think it's all too complicated but these rich white men seem full of confidence so it'll be all right to stick with them. I'm a bit stoned - I feel I should mention that as it might explain the length of the previous sentence and those that follow if they turn out to get a bit meandering. I love long sentences. I've said this before, but maybe not for a while. One of Virginia Woolf's novels opens with a sentence that drifts over three pages, full of detours and abrupt about turns and even changing narrative voice more than once, a proper antidote to the twat on the critique circle website who once informed me that no sentence should be longer than 33 words, which obviously made me add clauses and sub clauses forever more... Apart from that, I don't know. It's been another struggly sort of a day. I went to blissful yin yoga but felt terrible and at one point had a weird, very disconcerting out of body experience. I wasn't up above looking down, as often described, more a bit to the side looking across, thinking, fuck, are those really my hands? Can I move my body into place to do the pigeon pose on the other side? How do legs actually work? The teacher saw that I was in trouble and came over to help. Luckily I'd been the first to arrive, at the same time as her, and when she asked me how I was, although at first I said I was fine, I quickly and suddenly retracted it, because I'm not fine, am I? And I have to stop presenting myself dishonestly because it makes it worse. So I said, "I'm not actually, I'm really struggling at the moment. It's very hard." She was lovely - she is lovely and has really liked me from the beginning - she often comes and tucks a blanket round me when we do shavasana - the relaxation pose at the end - which is so much what I fucking need - a few simple gestures of caring for me. How did she recognise that I needed this before we'd even spoken? Before Sam died even, when I was just exhausted and anxious ("just"). The first class I went to after Sam died, quite a few weeks after, she came up to me and hugged me and I thought she must know what had happened, but she didn't until I told her. So this afternoon she came over when she saw me sat there all dazed and confused and reassured me that this can happen, that the yin poses can be very intense and that I could either lie down on my back, with a blanket or do a twist, which she said are good for calming the mind. So I did a twist (lying down with feet on the floor and knees up, letting the legs fall to the side so that the hips are at right angles to the shoulders, which both remain on the mat. Then the other side) and did feel better but very spaced out. I finished the class and she did come and tuck me in for the shavasana which made me cry, but I was kind of OK after that. I bought myself a falafel wrap and took it to the seaglass beach to eat, where I sat in my car as the rain lashed down and I knew it could all be a lot worse. Somehow it's gone one in the morning so bed time. I am grateful for: the kindness of the yoga teacher; a walk in the dark round the block with Shirley, in the light of the full moon; Bloke painting a second coat in what will be my craft room; a bloke from the local facebook page giving me a big bag of rope to make bowls with; still hopeful about tomorrow, because what else?
Good night xxx 1:26 a.m. - 12.12.19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||