annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 178

OK, there will be moaning because I'm fucking pissed off. The boot is really uncomfortable, much more than the fracture itself - I can walk OK without the boot, but not far. I had my consultation and was told I must not, in fact told I MUST NOT put my foot down unless it's in the boot, not at all, no matter what. But I have to get up and piss at least twice a night. Put the boot on. No fucking chance - I'll have pissed myself before I'm even halfway through all those straps, miles of velcro, no chance of walking with them loose.

Well, since writing that paragraph my friend J has been texting to and fro and she suggests a plastic jug with a handle that can be knelt over in a vision of elegance and loveliness - bet you're glad you checked in here tonight - I shall give this a go tonight with the option of just walking to the loo if it all seems too much, and trying hard to locate a commode tomorrow if necessary.

My little dog has been glued to my side all day. Bloke tried to take her for a walk but she just lay down flat on the path and wouldn't move. Here she is, next to the bloody boot :

Apparently I must wear it for three weeks, then I'll have to slowly increase my walking distances - about ten weeks before I'll be able to manage the seven miles of the sponsored walk. I cannot begin to tell you how fucked off with all this I am. So many aspects of it.

I'm now going to moan about Bloke. He went to the chemist this morning to pick up my prescriptions, a sharps' box for the syringes and a spoon to measure out the tonic. He forgot the sharps box and the spoon and won't go back because he's been once and I should be grateful. Which I am up to a point. Then he goes to the art supplies shop to get me some paper and is charged for three pads when he only got two. I'm fucked off already about not being able to walk or drive and being dependent on him for all this shit and being cooped up here with him for three fucking weeks unless people come to take me out, which they might or they might not and I am grateful but not as grateful as I would be if he didn't forget things all the time (lists are for losers, not Men (cunt)) or not notice things.

I did an art webinar (I struggle with that word - is it a real word? Well, yes, I can see that it is, but I don't like it) tonight on Artemisia Gentileschi born many hundreds of years ago and most interesting. We weren't doing one of her paintings, which was a shame, but a portrait of her by a French bloke called Simon something, or something Simon. It was fucking hard, the first one that the teacher didn't get finished in time - they're live - and more hard because her painting looked so small on the screen so I couldn't really see what she was doing with the face. Chiaroscuro, it was, light and shade.

Tomorrow I have counselling and writing group, which has moved around several days but is now Wednesdays for a while. I hope to emerge less grumpy. But fucking hell, I just wanted to walk and raise money for St Barnabas, and swim in the sea a bit more. The weather is warming up again, with no wind. I can't even paddle with this fucking boot, I can't even get to the beach.

Three good things today (through gritted teeth): the painting group - I was pleased to get it done as I'd paid for it, the video will be gone tomorrow night and there's no time to do it tomorrow; having a little dog who wants to stick right by me when I'm poorly - she's under the desk, between my feet right now; nice long chat with D in Glasto, mi amiga.

Good night xx

12:27 a.m. - 09.09.20


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