annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Day 102
I saw someone else refer to the "100 days of lockdown" which chilled me out a bit - not just me that's prone to exaggeration then.
This evening I've had a lot of chat going on with MW, a young man, who's not actually young any more, but whose mother was married to Sam's father for most of the 1980s, so he was her step-brother. Contact was lost when the divorce happened but somehow they appeared in time to come to her funeral and since then MW and I have developed a bit of a friendship - he seems lovely - Sam adored him and today I have been fucking overwhelmed with sadness that they were lost until she died - oh man she would have loved to see them - there were three kids, him and his twin sister and a younger sister. It just suddenly got to me.
Most of today was lost to feeling hopeless and lacking in any kind of motivation. Bloke is getting right on my nerves at the moment - he stands too close to me and follows me around and I don't like it but I don't say anything because I am sick of always, and I do mean al-fucking-ways, being the one who initiates conversations about our relationship and I'm not going to any more. There's probably an element of cutting off my nose to spite my face going on here, but I'm done. I am not going to talk about it unless he starts it. I don't even want to spend my time on it here so I won't.
I finally dragged myself out at about five and went to the beach with the dog to pick up litter as it's 2 Minute Clean Day. It was so windy - look at the little dog:
with her hair all blown flat. It was hopeless trying to litter pick as it was too hard getting bits into the bag - as soon as I opened it even a tiny bit, the wind got in and it just pissed me off, so we went back up the beach, past the fishing boats:
and to the lake on the other side of the road where the wind was much less. We walked right round the lake, picking up crap and emptied the bag three times - loads of boxes from multipacks of beer, which filled the bag up quickly, loads of cans, food wrappers and worst of all, pages from a porn magazine, all over the field by the lake. I could see big bits of paper so went to pick them up and was quite horrified to see what it was, all over the field where kids play. I thought it was all online these days. Anyway, I remembered quickly that litter-picking is fucking great. There's such a good feeling when you look back at where you've been and it's spotless - just grass and plants - nature, not beer cans and sandwich bags. Fresh air, exercise, good deed, all good.
Normally, on this day I would have driven to Glastonbury and be reporting from my tent, knackered but happy. Next weekend I would be watching Diana Ross and Paul McCartney, and other acts I hadn't heard of but would love. We're hoping to be able to have a camp somewhere, me and Daughter and the rest of our tribe. We live all over the place and only see each other once a year, but I need them now.
I am grateful for: Bloke cooking dinner (grudgingly, but I am); having a little dog to love; zoom yin yoga with my fave teacher; being able to take photos with my phone; signed up for a Mark Rothko painting workshop - woo hoo!
Night night, and keep safe, people, please. Masks, hand-washing and distance. It still matters.
12:25 a.m. - 22.06.20
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