annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Day 32
I'm here early to try and write a quick post then watch the production of Jane Eyre from the National Theatre.
Today has been another hard day. I paid for the 5Rhythms yesterday - only a fiver, but still - and then found I didn't want to do it this morning as I felt so tired, so I tormented myself with back and forth over that for an hour and a half. You can do it as slowly as you like - it doesn't have to be exhausting, it's meant to be a dancing meditation, blah blah blah, wearing myself out with putting pressure on to do this lockdown thing 'right'. I did it in the end - telling myself that I could stop at any point, which I could have done, but found I didn't want to. I mainly swayed about, my feet were heavy and there's no room for the long strided pacing I like to do when we meet in a big space. There was a song I recognised as well - this one - not sure if this is the right remix, by the time this came along I was moving faster, shaking it all out.
https://youtu.be/-HPPUJJT92k
At the end, I was suffused with a tiredness that seemed lighter, more complete than before, in a good way, so went to bed and slept for an hour, but woke up full of grief and sorrow for this fucking situation. I mean, I do well, by and large, with the not dwelling on it, not making my own time worse than it has to be by thinking too much about other people who have it much harder, but still this is a fucking nightmare made real - it's a cheap sci-fi movie but there isn't going to be a twat in a stupid costume with a stupid name and super powers to save us all - we've been sold down the river by this bunch of cunts who still aren't doing anything beyond telling us they're doing great as our death rate spirals way up above everywhere else's etc etc. And Tim Brooke-Taylor died. Which isn't really any sadder than anyone else dying, but it felt like the last straw.
I was trying to think if there was anyone I could call - Bloke is not a comfort in any way when I'm upset - when my phone rang and it was my friend P, who is not only a person I have known since the 1970s, but is a therapist and immediately picked up on my mood, encouraged me to tell her what was up (I'm scared I'm going to get it, that I'll die alone, in agony, that my children will die, that my friends will die, people are dying all over, I'm scared and I can't do it), then asked me to tell her how my children are, in detail, so I did and they're all right and it did calm me down and I did feel glad to have burst, because this is a nightmare and it would be mad to just be chilled all the way through, inhuman. But still. I am so lucky to have people like P in my life, especially when they call me at precisely the right time.
After that I made a pot of something based on a spag bol ragu, but thought fuck it, and chucked in loads of veg - there's no ragu police coming round to make sure my sauce is authentic, but I can get hung up on that sort of crap. I added celery, carrots, and a red pepper, then later, just before serving, a bag of spinach, but I left it simmering while I took Shirley out for a walk. I haven't left the house for a few days because it's been hot enough that my hands and feet swell up and I get all meh. But enough endlessly being locked down with Bloke, so I went, slow and steady and fuck me, spring has sprung, in just a few days everything has gone green and lovely:
In times of pandemic, it doesn't hurt to wander past an 11th century church tower and reflect that it stood there through the Black Death and all sorts of other plagues and pestilences:
Lovely blossom too.
Dinner, yin yoga, blog - too late for Jane Eyre, just an early night.
I am grateful for being alive, for being healthy, if scared, for my family being alive and healthy, for text chat with my acupuncturist, D, for whom I felt a sudden whoosh of love today; for being safe, I think, I hope.
10:08 p.m. - 12.04.20
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