annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Day 183

Hello, you. How's your weekend been? Today would have been my dearest Sarah Stepfordtart's birthday, which fucked me over a bit today. It's strange how responses to different losses are so different. Why do I get cross with her for still being dead? What the fuck is that about? I do though, every year on her birthday and death day and at odd moments in between. When I look at the friends I've lost it's no wonder I'm fucked up, too many, too many.

So today I tried to focus on resting more, which Daughter tells me I must do. I got up and made myself some breakfast then went back to bed and read and dozed till early afternoon when I suddenly got the urge to start making this thing I've been pondering for ages. Big plastic tub - 18" tall by 12" across - lots of different types of rope and stuff off the beach, glue gun,

It will have an umbrella grass in it, which is a pond plant we have in the pond. I saw one when we visited Virginia Woolf's house, in the conservatory, grown really tall and lovely so I'm having a go. It can sit in some soil and loads of water and be very cool.

Big mistake of the day was going to the horses with my sister. She called me yesterday at a moment when I happened to be crying, thinking of my Sammie. I shouldn't have answered the phone but I did. She said, "Oh, were you having a moment?" then carried on with the reason for her call, which I forget now. Conversation drifted to bladder control, due to my being banned from walking to the toilet at night, and on to situations we've been in where we've ended up squatting down and passing by the side of the road or wherever.  She said I'm all right because if anyone comes past I can always "turn on the waterworks" and get some sympathy. This is her view on crying. About twenty years ago her husband's sister had a big mental breakdown and made a serious suicide attempt, which was prevented by accidental discovery. Her two daughters, both under ten, were sent to stay with their aunt and uncle, Sis and BIL for a few days. She described one of them as "always turning on the waterworks" - for fuck's sake, her mother had tried to kill herself and had now been sectioned. So this is me - not a grieving mother mourning the loss of a beloved daughter, but a manipulative fuck, crying to order to elicit sympathy and special treatment. So why did I go to the horses with her? She has two horses in a field a few miles away and drives almost past my house to bring them into the stable, late afternoon. Because I haven't left the house - I walked to the meadow yesterday and it was too far - so a trip up there was a change and she could drive and I could sit in a chair when we got there, which I did. But she didn't want me to talk in case I started getting emotional, so she talked, all the way there, then she chatted to the guy who owns the yard, then talked all the way home, monologues with no pauses for me to slip a few words in.

I guess it's OK really. She is who she is. I know she loves me and will do anything she can to help me, so long as it's practical, physical things and so long as I spell out to her what I need. She does leave nice comments on Facebook about my photos of Sam.

Yesterday, instead of injecting the anti-coagulant into my belly, I chose my thigh, as suggested in the leaflet. It's the only site that has been painful and it still is painful, more than 24 hours later. I'd been thinking, ah, it'll be all right, I probably sent it into a muscle instead of the fatty bit. This evening though, I sudden;y thought, what the hell am I doing? I thought my leg would be OK after the fall, and it took a week to realise it wouldn't be. I'm not a doctor, I have no medical training, it hurts, get some advice. So I called 111 (NHS free phone helpline) and after being triaged and what have you I got a call back, and it's OK- but will probably last a long time due to something or other I didn't quite grasp. So meh. Two painful legs now. I'm going to be very careful with my arms.

But still. A better day then the last few.

Three good things: a really delicious roast chicken dinner cooked by Bloke, and I had two roast potatoes, because fuck it and fuck the low carb diet, I will if I want to; Shirley being off the lead with the horses but staying close to me, out of their range; texting to and fro with pal J who is coming over tomorrow, yay.

Take care y'all.

12:22 a.m. - 14.09.20


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