annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary



First session of choir tonight. Yikes. Gospel. I did enjoy it, sang my heart out, starting in the middle section, altos, but gradually shuffling to the right and joining the tenors, mostly blokes but a few other women. I'll stick with it, I think, although it was hard after a busy day, my leg really hurt and I didn't have any painkillers with me. It's strange though, gospel. I mean it's exhilarating to sing and to be in the middle of a big group of people all singing enthusiastically, but I don't believe in this God we're singing about, at all, and I almost wish I did as it looks great. But I don't. Daughter has found a way of thinking of a higher power, not god exactly, but along those lines, which helps her with her recovery - she's a twelve stepper, as is Son, but I'm not able to see it myself. But I loved the singing and will keep it up. We're doing a couple of shows near Christmas apparently. Ooh er. 

I had one tricky moment, during the tea break. Behind the hatch, serving hot drinks, were two women, one I recognised at once as the mother of a child Sam's age who had been in the same dancing group when they were about five, six, seven - it went on for years. She recognised me as well and we chatted a bit, she said her girl was part of this singing group and asked me if Sam still danced and sang and I blurted out that she'd died. Oh man, her face, terrible, and the other women too, and the one next to me in the queue. But I can't deny her, I can't pretend and when I think about it I don't know why I care about them having a momentary upset. Fuck 'em. Not really, but you know what I mean.

This morning I was lucky - I had to report back to the GP on my blood pressure and the whole thing was so complicated and my brain couldn't find a way to write it down so I went to the surgery to speak to the receptionist, hand over my BP results from the last few days (still fucking high), tell her I couldn't get through to anywhere to get a blood test and that my new BP meds were going to run out. The woman in front of me in the queue at the desk was there to cancel a blood test - hadn't been able to get through on the phone so came in, her appt was in ten minutes time, I fetch up saying I can't get a test, am given this appt, job done. Pharmacy have texted to say they've made up my scrip for the meds, all sorted, thank fuck for that. In the art group later it turns out that loads of them are waiting for blood tests, some have appointments three and four weeks ahead, so I really did luck out there. 

Art group was hard. My room is just a ridiculous mess, beyond a joke. I couldn't find anything and instead of maybe spending some time putting things away, I decided to do two paintings again, one a third attempts at the echinacea for MH's birthday next week, the other a mountain scene from a photo, the group painting, and I spent the whole time feeling more and more stressed. Mental. From here I can see that it was all just too much, too rushed from the moment I woke up and couldn't find the words to make a coherent note to put into the box at the surgery, then didn't stop till I emerged from the art session. Sat down and cried for a bit, did the washing up then drove over to do my daily walk with MH, finally calmed down. I need to make sure I leave spaces in my day. If it all goes right I'm fine and tend to think I'm a bit of a spoiled brat, swanning about from one lovely activity to the next, but it's all so close to the fucking edge. I could feel my heart pounding, my jaw clenched, panic rising and rising as the art group went on, completely over the top reaction - and reaction to what? I don't know. After the walk I lay on my bed for an hour or two. Good choice. 

Anyway, bed time. I seem to have drifted away from writing down things I am grateful for - today I am grateful for getting a blood test so easily in the end and for finding a choir tat will have me. Sleep tight. Thanks for reading xx

12:30 a.m. - 21.09.22


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