annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 118

I didn't write yesterday - I just couldn't. I got caught in a spiral of gloom. I feel proper poorly, achy and weary and can't be arsed. Trying to rest, as advised by everyone but I'm not good at it. Watching TV - got caught into a box set - Offspring on Netflix, Australian, family, a bit chaotic, good. I like getting hooked into the story, but now I feel awful in my body for having done nothing but watch TV all day, especially my eyes. I don't know how people do it.

I did go to acupuncture this morning and gave Daughter a lift on my way back, then sat in the car outside her place for ages, chatting. She's fed up as well - I think we're all weary now. Are you weary now? We've had enough of it all being so hard, haven't we? I can't bear any more of the lies and the bullshit and the taking from those who have least. My brain hurts with the confusion of pubs being open but the health centre and the pharmacy still carrying on as if there's still a serious risk of serious infection. I am sick to fucking death of this house and this company. Really. Jeez.

This afternoon I had an appointment with the nurse at the health centre to check the wound on my leg. She said she could see it was improving, that the infected area was much smaller, but she didn't like the scab. Apparently the scab has formed over the deepest part of the wound while there is still infection underneath. This is not good, so she put on some kind of dressing which will soften the scab so that it comes off and the wound can heal from the bottom up. I am sick of it, fucking sick of it. I want to do yoga and walk on the hills and feel OK. When I got home I realised I'd taken my teeth out while watching TV and hadn't put them back in - I went to the nurse without them and didn't even notice. That makes me feel defeated - if I can manage to not notice that I don't have any teeth in, then I've turned some kind of dreadful fucking corner.

But I also came home to a package of books from my friendly Guardian journalist. One of them is a book she tweeted about so enthusiastically that I ordered it at once and told her so. To which she replied - cancel your order - I'll send you my copy when I've done with it, in a week or two, and she did. Shit, I can't even remember what it's called or who it's by and it's upstairs now... The other one is Languages of Loss: A Psychotherapist's Journey Through Grief by Sasha Bates, which gets an excellent puff and five stars on Amazon, so I will give it a go, but probably not just yet. It was so kind of her, though, wasn't it?

I'm going to have one or two more days of resting and moaning, though I have writing group tomorrow which I will do, maybe from my bed... Then I want to try and get back on it. I feel so aware of being in the second half of my 60s, with only a small number of years left - I want to live, damn it, not just pass the fucking time between now and the end.

Today I am grateful for:  having made a connection with the lovely journalist; being able to watch that video of my Sammie; chat with Daughter; acupuncture; Spanish omelette for tea, delish



12:26 a.m. - 09.07.20


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