annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ho bleeding ho Hiya. Hope all is well with all you lovely people. I've not posted for a couple of days because I've been caught in one of those traps that comes back to bite me again and again. There's a programme I listen to on the radio where you can write in to thank someone you wish you'd thanked in the past but didn't for whatever reason. If they choose you, you record a spoken link. I'd like to thank the lorry driver who got me out of a tight spot in January 1976, so I thought I'd write up the story of what happened. I thought I'd do it here, because I write OK here, as opposed to when I'm trying to Write, when it comes out all stilted. I'll just spew it out in the blog first, then copy it and send it off. But of course it's awful, so stilted, with such awkward attempts at humour, and there it sits on my Diaryland new entry page, making me feel like a twat, putting me off writing anything. So tonight I thought fuck it, and remembered I could open another page and leave that till I feel up to it, so here I am. It's a good story which ends with me riding through Paris at dawn in a sports car, like in The Ballad of Lucy Jordan, by Marianne Faithful - with a cold wind in my hair, not a warm wind, but who's quibbling. I bet I've written about it already, but now I just can't so I won't. Meanwhile I am still knackered as a knackered thing from the planet Knacker. However I am off the zopiclone - the sleeping pills I started taking when Sam moved into a care home in 2013 and I couldn't sleep for ruminating over and over about her life and how MS had stolen it. I became addicted but now I am free. I'm sleeping later than usual - it takes me longer to get off then I sleep longer in the mornings, but I don't care. I knew taking them for all this time was the right choice - Sam needed a mother who could fight for her rights and give her as much of a good time as was possible and for that I needed sleep and to sleep in those circumstances I needed drugs. But now I can stop them and I have and if there's some disruption to my life patterns and routines then that's OK. To be honest, coming off them hasn't been that bad - I mean what's one more thing to be pissed off about with the world the way it is? But also, I suddenly realised that all the horror stories about coming off them are for people who've been taking them recreationally and by the time you're trying to stop you're probably doing fistfuls of the buggers. When I used to take various pills for the lols at the weekends - you know, blues, dexies, downers, mandrax, ecstasy, that kind of thing, I soon got up to needing 20 or 30 to get a hit. Luckily for me the supplies were never regular enough for any of us to get in big trouble - there'd be a run of a few months with one thing, then you couldn't get it so you switched to something else. (I'm exaggerating, officer, for comic effect. I never took more than an aspirin, honest). But all this talk about needing months to slowly wean yourself off is not for the likes of me, sticking to one tablet for all these years. Whatevs, it's late and my bed is calling me Three Good Things Night night xxx 11:32 p.m. - 22.03.21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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