annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Day 263

I'm still doing writing groups. Today we were given song titles about endings. I chose 'An end has a start' and gave it to Bella:

"They say every ending is the beginning of something else, but it often doesn’t feel like it. The end is often massive, in your face, a huge pit of emptiness. Whereas the beginning can be invisible. A tiny event, like a letter or a phone message can be the spark that lights a whole new fire.
Bella was fed up. She’d come in crossly, throwing her coat on the floor, jerking the house phone lead out of its socket, turning off the flashing light that told of a message. She’d thought she could manage this life, living in her lovely basement flat, having that bloody cat coming and going, taking her meds, walking her ten thousand steps, sometimes seeing Naomi, filling in the gaps with endless TV. And it had been great, for a while, peaceful, safe. But there was a growing niggling feeling. She wanted more. She didn’t know what, but she wanted more. She looked at the cat and said it out loud. “I want more.” "

Then this evening it was the memoir group where we were asked to describe ourselves waking up one morning, in such a way as to convey both setting (time and place) and character. I wrote this:

" 'Here you are, Mummy!' Little Sammie, bearing coffee, just like we'd planned.
'Oh, thank you, sweetie! Come on, get in under the covers, quick, before you get cold - Aiee! Your feet are freezing! You two, shove over, make room for your sister!'
Ah, this was OK. They'd come to me in a deputation, the three of them, asking if Sam could bring me a cup of coffee in bed in the morning so maybe I wouldn't shout quite so much before breakfast. This was Day One. It was fucking freezing. The kids were all right, under the bright yellow covers, squirming about, but as I sat up to roll a fag my breath billowed out in clouds, as if I were already smoking. I was wearing a T shirt and a sweat shirt but I leaned over and unearthed a cardie from the straggle of clothes spread across the bed. It wasn't just cold, it was damp as well. The only heating was a calor gas number that poured out as much water into the atmosphere as a hole in the roof. But it was warm in bed with my little gang of kids.
I lit my rollie and leaned back, taking a swig of coffee. This was a good plan. They were good kids really.
It was going to be another windy day. I could hear the masts of the yachts in the sailing club clacking against each other, above the roar of the buses and lorries dawdling along the coast road, gears groaning, engines revving, everyone in a hurry. Not me. I looked at the clock - the honey monster clock we'd bought with tokens saved up from the Sugar Puffs boxes. 7.30. Plenty of time for another fag. Hang on though - what was that smell, overpowering the damp, the fags, the coffee?
'Who's pooed?'
'Not me!' three voices call in unison.
'Well someone has and it had better be someone in a nappy! Come on, let's be having you!'
The little 'uns emerge from under the duvet, rosy cheeked with the warmth, fat-arsed from the huge wads of terry cloth nappies under their pyjamas. It's him, I can tell from his face - too consciously innocent looking by half. Oh man, I don't want to get up yet, especially not to deal with a shitty bum. Let me just finish this fag. I sit there a bit longer, pulling my fingers through my hair, teasing out the tangles. "

That's me, today. I'm doing OK. Well, I'm not really but I'm still going. Taking a photo a day, colours this month, walking when I can, writing, painting. Doing the stuff that makes me feel good even though it doesn't at the moment. Pretending, or hoping or some bloody thing.
I'm scared of the vaccinations though - how can we trust our government? I'm not scared of vaccinations in themselves, just of us being the first country to authorise them when Johnson and co have demonstrated time and time again that profits for their pals come before the health of the population at large. The list of those who have most need is also a list of those with the least economic value - the old and sick - they'd be glad to have us thinned right out. Although health and social care workers are high on the list so maybe I shouldn't be so cynical.

Three good things today
1. Getting great feedback for my writing
2. Making a pair of fingerless gloves and sending them to a beachcleaning pal who'd asked for them - actually doing it, getting them into that post box already.
3. Sleeping till 10.30 this morning. Good.

11:08 p.m. - 02.12.20

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