annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 86

I didn't wake up till 9 this morning and didn't get up till 10.30. Fucking lovely it was. Then I did a bit of art with my two US pals via facebook - don't ask me how it works that we can have all three of us on a screen, chatting and maybe painting - I don't think any of us did to be honest. There's something very mellow about being able to have silences without having to fill them or say goodbye. J was mainly eating, and chatting about her new girlfriend, exploring her feelings about getting serious with someone who lives abroad before they've even met. B - I'm not even sure what B was doing but she talked about paper, art paper, the weight, the size, the cost. We all talked about race and the US and the UK. (They both live here and go to the recovery centre) I was fairly quiet, and fiddled about with the leftover bits and pieces from the Matisse workshop. I arranged them on a piece of board:

50831A7A-5EF4-4C0D-BC8F-035CCAF0B3AC in a way that I quite liked, but I just couldn't be arsed to take all the bits off carefully then glue them down and in fact now I knocked it over a bit and they've all slid about, so fuck that. Though maybe I will.

The workshop thing reminds me, my pal J (different J) tagged me in a post about a workshop on writing about grief. I applied to go on it and had an email back pointing out that it was being put on by the LGBQT switchboard and could I confirm that I was part of the community? Well. I thought, no, I'm not. But I could lie, they'd never know. But that would be shit. Then I remembered that I did have a lesbian relationship for a few months, a million years ago, so I could answer yes without actually being dishonest to the letter of the question, but still not great because I'm not part of the community. I mean, I do have quite a few gay/bi/trans friends and relations (nieces), but they're scattered about, not a community, and me being bi hasn't been a feature that we've bonded over, not a shared experience. But I really wanted to do the workshop so I brooded about it for a bit and then replied just, "Yes, I can [confirm]" which was kind of rude and I haven't heard back and the workshop is on Monday.

On the same days I had an email from the city recovery centre with details of courses and workshops coming up at the recovery college, including one on script reading. I fancy that as I've long wanted to have a go at amateur dramatics but haven't had the nerve to audition, and this would be a way of finding out if I am any good quite safely.  So I applied for that at the same time as the grief one, and on the same day as the other email, I had one asking why I was applying as I don't live in the area. Which I don't. But they let me keep on at the recovery centre because the county where I live now has such fucking appalling mental health services, and apparently because I am good in groups and say things that are helpful to others and I used to do the writing group. But it is breaking the rules, so I haven't even bothered replying to that because I don't want to jeopardise my position and get chucked out.

So meh. The there was a fire on the industrial estate:


which looked much closer than it was - luckily we live west of it so the smoke blew away and we didn't get the smell of vile chemical/plastic shit burning.

In Friday writing group today there were four new people and me - the other two regulars weren't there today for reasons I forget and what I found interesting is that usually I write most and they write a few carefully crafted, beautiful sentences. Today, these new ones wrote fucking masses - Jesus I don't know how they all managed to turn out so much so quickly and although it wasn't poetic like the other two, it was wild and imaginative. But there you go. I just write. Today we did a bit about the state of the world, then this exercise where she gave us the opening sentence and warned us to expect another one to incorporate half way through then a bit later another to work towards for the final line. This is what I wrote, I'll put her sentences in bold. I changed from 1st person to 3rd halfway through and didn't notice till I was reading it out.

"Your mother lied to you, that's the truth." Like I'm gonna believe anyone who says they're telling the truth - if you're not lying you don't even think of it. Oh, but I hope she was. I hope he's not my father, my birth father. He says he can't be, that they were never that close - he couldn't bring himself to say 'had sex', but she has his photo still, she knew where I would find him - he does have quite squinty eyes like mine, but he's not very nice. I'm not sure if he's an alcoholic, but he gets to the pub good and early...

She'd found him in the terminal bar and grill. He was sober for a change, but had a pint and a chaser, ready to get started. Her mum had said he'd be here and here he was. He didn't offer her a drink but knocked back the shot and took a long pull on the pint. She had to decide - should she stick with him, see if he opened up more when he'd got a few drinks inside him? Her mum said he went through phases - he was gruff when sober, then had a charming few hours when he was just a bit pissed before turning nasty. Their whole relationship had been conducted in and around the terminal bar as he finished his shift and she arrived early for hers. She hadn't ever seen him sober till the time he invited his mother to dinner.

The sentences came from 'the writer's toolkit, and were in bundles of printed sticks, chosen at random. Quite annoying really.

And now it's 1.30, for fuck's sake.

Night night. Keep safe and be kind to yourself. These are shit times we're living through - we're amazing to still be here.  xxx

1:34 a.m. - 06.06.20


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