annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Home Alone
Here's where I'm at with the cardigan, though the colours aren't remotely right. The squares are pretty even though they curl up and don't look it.
When I woke up this morning Bloke had gone and I have to say it felt good. Still does. For reasons I don't understand, when he's not here I'm able to do much more, including cleaning. So I did the back room and all the houseplants which were almost dead for lack of water. Pruned then, watered and fed them. Didn't do much else really, but copied up this bit of Bella from Monday's group. We were invited to take a character and put them in a situation which didn't go the way they wanted to see how they responded. I was quite surprised at how she went, but somehow she's arrived at being herself and I just write it down. I'll put the song in at the bottom.
"
Bella said she’d go and get some coffees. They’d all forgotten that the kettle and the doings for tea and coffee needed to be packed last and none of them knew which of the many boxes labelled ‘kitchen’ they were in. Paul always had an Americano and burst into that song Tu Vuo' Fa l'Americano, which he said was from The Talented Mr Ripley, whatever that was. Bella liked it, she loved that weird train of thought from a cup of coffee to an Italian song, it made her feel she was living a life. Ida wanted a decaffeinated cappuccino with oat milk and no chocolate on top, which might be living the life, but was a bit of a stretch. But Ida was great and could have what she wanted and Bella thought she could remember all that for as long as it took to get to the end of the road and the Costa in the next street. But the Costa was closed – “Sorry closed for Covid, back next week, we hope,” but the notice looked old and there was a cluster of dead flies in the window display. Fuck. Bella didn’t know this part of town. She could feel the panic starting to rise, but did the deep breathing, the counting shit she could see, hear, and all that while trying to hold decaff cap oat in her head.
She set off in the direction of the sun, thinking the sun was south and the beach was south, there’s be somewhere. Decaff cap oat. Decaff cat oat. Decap cat oaf. It was getting jumbled but here was a deli. It looked a bit posh, that scruffy that translates as posh, but it had a giant coffee machine so she pushed open the wooden door and made her way past the display of gluten free cakes under what looked like real glass domes, to the counter. The girl had a shaved head, one long earring and one false eyelash. Bella felt sick and fat and frumpy.
“Yes?2 the girl drawled, not even trying to be polite or interested.
“Oh, er um, an Americano to take away and a cup of tea and a decapitated cat with an oaf.”
NO. She could feel the blush spreading up her face and her eyes filling with tears.
She stared at the girl, refusing to look away, refusing to repeat herself for fear of making it worse, unable to move, just thinking fuck off fuck off fuck off until the girl’s face softened and she said, “An Americano, a tea and was that.. a decaff cappuccino with oat milk?” Bella’s shoulders slid back down away from her ears. She nodded and was miraculously able to add, “And no chocolate on the cappuccino” in a voice that was only moderately broken. The girl smiled and gestured to the bench that ran across the side of the shop. “Take a seat and I’ll get these done. Black Americano?” Bella nodded and managed half a smile. She sat down, turning her head, blinking away the tears.
"This has all gone weird, where I've tried to add things - god knows if it will come out OK. Why are blogs so difficult?
See you tomorrow, I hope.
12:09 a.m. - 25.03.22
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