annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Jan 24th
Lost the internet last night, so here it is, I hope
It's already tomorrow, I can't seem to blog earlier these days. I always wait till Bloke goes to bed, which is early, then I have a couple of hours relaxing, chilling, watching telly mainly, and then it's almost midnight, or gone midnight and I haven't even started.
I managed to stay in Friday art group today for the first time since god knows when - I think I've only been once since Sam died - well, apart from the time I fled after five minutes. It was really busy today but not so loud as last time. There's a new 'teacher' - honestly, I can't believe I put inverted commas round the word teacher, but I did so I'm leaving it - I didn't take to her much today, but I may change my mind later as I can't pinpoint what it was. Well, I think really I so much want C back, the member of staff who started the group quite few years ago, who knew fuck all about making art but everything about keeping a mixed bunch of mental health outpatients feel safe enough to relax socially as well as artistically. These art teachers are great with advice on mixing colours, but they let conversations go where they will and they will often go to scary places, usually in the guise of 'banter', but with a rising tide of anxiety and horridness. It was too busy for me to be able to think about what I wanted to do or even remember what I used to do that I enjoyed so much. I started by copying a Matisse, but it was horrible, and the new teacher came and sat next to me, doing her own sketch, beautiful, abstract, layered pencil, and looking at mine with what I took to be slight sneery looks. It was packed and cramped and although not actively unpleasant, had a marked lack of pleasantness. Not enough to make me leave, but I chucked my Matisse and started again, this time doing the pot of brushes on the table in front of me:
which I did like a bit. It made me think I want to paint from life more, to just have a bash - put some lines down in pen and paint them in and not fret too much.
Later I had an appointment at a building society to sort out some savings accounts I'd finally remembered Sam had. They needed to see the death certificate and other bits of evidence to close the accounts and move the money to my bank and from there to Grandson's. It was OK when I got there and did it, but it had cast a shadow over the morning, more stuff about Sam that isn't really about her, just practicalities and busy stuff, that could be about anyone, that I just have to take a deep breath and do. That's where the teacher's training comes in handy, for times when I'm not being remotely in the mood for saying these words to these people with this look on my face, but having to do it anyway, so just getting on with it. It takes a toll though, emotionally or something. There's fuck all money in any of the accounts - I mean a bit, but tens not hundreds. When my name and details went into the computer it threw up that I had three dormant accounts there myself, with nearly twenty quid in, so I said I'd close them and take the money - which I spent not half an hour later, booking an art class with the woman who taught me to do those seascapes.
The computer has now gone temperamental - don't ask why the photos are in the wrong order - first there's a pic of the sea from the end of the pier this afternoon, after all that building society stuff, where the sea and the lamppost appear to be at an angle of less than 90 degrees, but the colours and the peacefulness were lovely and soothing, then there's an example of a seascape, but one where I haven't got the waves, because I've forgotten how to do them which is why I booked another class.
Also, using the new 'random entry' button on my diaryland blog, I happened across the account of the day I ruined my perfectly good teeth:
"Door v Nose
At risk of sounding like a soap opera, I have to report walking at speed into an invisible reinforced glass door. Really hard, nose first.Stumbled about in a daze, with blood all over my face, wiped it off in supermarket toilet and blundered off to art class. Where I got the mega-shakes and had to go home.
Tomorrow was going to be the day I went round the estate agents, with a view to impressing upon them my desirability as a tenant. My nose is still swelling - it's arrived at the point where I want to take my glasses off, but then I can't see. One of my front teeth is loose. I look like I've been in a fight. "Excuse the face - I walked into a door." Yeah, right. Never heard that before - Roddy Doyle wrote "The Woman Who Walked into Doors" about that very lie. So I'm not going round the agents tomorrow. 04.10.11"
They never recovered from that - all the top front ones worked themselves loose over the next five or six years till they all pointed in different directions and I had to have them out and get these horrid false ones. Meh.
Night night
8:59 a.m. - 25.01.20
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