annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


March 3rd

Currently fretting about what to wear on Thursday for the TV interview - good plan as it stops me fretting about what to say, what to not say, whether or not they will edit me to say something else.

Also fretting about the virus - about how much I should be concerned - I veer between totally dismissing everything about it and being scared about what I've touched and whether I put my hands in my mouth before I washed them and whether it can get in through these still fucking open sores from having the skin lesions shaved off.

Right. I went to bed really early last night then woke up, wide awake but still knackered at 7. I just read an old blog post where I was tired and slept till 11.30 am - how cool would that be?

Today I kicked off at the art group. I'd parked in the car park where you have to pay - either cash in the machine for a ticket or via an online parking app. I didn't have enough cash and the app still had my old bank card, from before I lost my purse and the fucking thing wouldn't let me update it, wouldn't let me log in at all. I tried three times then gave up and drove around looking for a free place on the street, which I found, quite close to the day centre, but when I went in, I wasn't allowed to go into the art room - there's a 'protected space' session first for new clients, but there's only a tiny sliver of time between them finishing and all the spaces being taken for our group, and it was all too much so I walked away, crying, like the mature adult I am, and a new trainee caught up with me and asked me if she could help and out came this torrent of wah wah wah because my lovely Tuesday art space was now a major source of anxiety and tension, and boo hoo hoo and all that, but then I fucked back off to the art room in case I missed a seat.

Which I didn't. In fact J, the teacher, had bought some beautiful lining material for my impending coat and had also seen a painting at a friend's house that reminded her of my work and she'd taken a photo to show me, so I felt all cared for and visible and calmed right down. The painting she'd seen was like my sea scapes but big so I had a go at a big one, in fact several. I liked this one:


although I realise I've lost the shape of it, it's portrait so there should be more above and below. I also glazed my teapot lid and the two pairs of earrings that all survived being fired in the kiln - J hasn't been able to fire anything for ages because of the weather - the kiln is out in the yard and the wind has been so strong it would have blown the bloody doors off.

It was a good session. Eight of us sat round the four tables pushed together, all working on different things. I was sat next to a guy doing a copy of Van Gogh's Sunflowers in oils. He's almost silent, laughs a short nervous laugh every now and then, but hardly speaks. C is very nervous - she's doing a silk painting - a piece of fine silk stretched over a frame - and cannot bear to be addressed directly - has to hide in a recess some of the time and breathe her way back to being brave enough to rejoin us.

This group is crucial to me. I need to sit with people I know, who know me, and to not have to make small talk, or to account for myself if I don't want to or can't. Today was pretty quiet, apart from S, who doesn't do quiet, but bellows unconnected statements at intervals, usually starting with, "Yeah, and another thing is..." which can be almost unbearable but wasn't today. She's made a big ceramic plate for her mum which has taken forever. Today she was sanding rough edges off the unglazed part of the bottom. Several times she said, "Yeah, and another thing is, this was gonna be for Mum's birthday, then for her Christmas present, and now I don't even know if it'll be ready for Mother's Day!" It will be, it is, she finished it today.

I bought a sandwich on my way to the gym, but realised I was miles too tired so came home and went to bed instead. Then dragged myself up and out for the sunset as it was another day with a clear sky:


Talked to some pissed people on the end of the pier - about eight of them gathered round one fishing line, with plenty of cans of strong lager and the scent of weed drifting over from their rollies. One of them feeds the crows and we've chatted before, not when he's been as pissed as this, but he's OK. We're on the same side, doing our best, which is often not much good, but hey, we're trying.

Today I am grateful for: texts from Son who is on a brilliant work project I am not allowed to mention; art group; meeting another S on a bench - I've known her for almost forty years, not close but bumping into each other in random places once every year or so, catching up; a good sandwich; having the sense to not make myself go to gym class

Good night xxx



11:43 p.m. - 03.03.20


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