annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 119

Thursday writing group was OKish this morning but I find I can't be arsed to copy it out here. The first three exercises were linked, seven minutes each on what I take flight from, what I fight and what makes me numb. As I was writing the last one I realised they're the three responses to a rush of adrenaline - fight, flight or freeze. For the first one I wrote about walking away from dismissive men, can't be arsed to even try any more, not giving a moment more of my life to that shit. The others without exception wrote about travel, flying. I don't have much fight in me any more, after fighting for Sam these last fuck knows how many years and I freeze all the fucking time.

The next part of the class was about the fairy tale Rumpelstiltskin, for reasons I can't imagine. We were invited to write a prequel, then a sequel. I had the (unnamed) girl in it getting her revenge for being fucked around by all these blokes, stamping her way into the other world where Rumpelstiltskin had vanished to, with her baby strapped on her back, bread and cheese in a pouch on her belt (I hadn't had breakfast) and armed with bow and arrows, which was where we ran out of time. Just as well as I had nowhere to take it really.

Tomorrow I might go to the group I used to run in the recovery centre. One of the blokes who used to come took it over when I continued not to come back and apparently it's been on zoom for ages. I'm not sure if I will or if I'll do an art session with J and B.

I feel a lot better physically today, in that my leg doesn't hurt so much - I can flex my foot without pain, which makes driving bearable again. The dressing the nurse put on yesterday is hydrocolloidal, which means... dunno - hydro is water, not sure about the colloidal bit, but it has turned the scab to mush that looks gross, under this semi-transparent dressing and it's meant to stay on till Next Wednesday, seven days! I can't imagine how gross it will be by then - I looked it up online and it said they are used for up to seven days, but I hate it. And I feel a bit nauseous, possibly the penicillin, and don't have much of an appetite, just when I decided to abandon my attempt to not eat sugar and have a pack of biscuits and some ice cream. Haven't touched either and didn't finish my dinner - almost unheard of. What I feel is flat, depressed, can't be bothered. And angry, in a half-arsed sort of way.

I'm angry that the only person round here who speaks to me, Mrs Next Door, is a mask refuser, in that stupid way so many seem to have adopted. "No one's making me wear a mask, I'm not listening to any arguments or reasons, I'm not wearing one and that's that." I can't begin to understand the reasoning behind this, not for the life of me - an unfortunate turn of phrase in the context - but really, what the actual fuck is the matter with these people? I try to put myself in their heads, to work out the logic of it, but I can't. I mean, there are 2,701 confirmed cases in our county. Is that a lot or a few? There was a recent study that found 80% of those who tested positive were asymptomatic, and I can only assume that most asymptomatic people won't have been tested so we don't know who might be spreading it about the place. 126 people died of it yesterday in the UK - that's still shitloads.

Today I am grateful for: a walk with M this afternoon, not too far; getting a poetry book in the post; managing to do a yin yoga session and feeling much more chilled; long chat with Son; getting a reply from the art people saying they're happy for me to do the kids' workshops at the cheap price - £3 for a two hour workshop is such a deal!



12:49 a.m. - 10.07.20


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