annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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I could have told you Vincent
I want to lead you all to a clip on youtube that two of my friends have made which I think those of you I know would like. But I really really don't want people in my life (apart from you, darling Stepfie and Smash) having access to this diary - I don't blurt stuff like this out all over the place. Would it work like that - if you went there from here, they'd be able to go from there back to here? Or is that just me being paranoid? I'm feeling a bit paranoid at the moment cos there's someone that comes up as 'blocked referrer' reading every day - or is it that many referrers are blocked? I just don't know about any of it, so bollocks. Any advice welcome.
In today's news from Casa Notbob - fuck knows - writing those words affected a total brain cleanse - da de do, there must have been something - it felt like loads.
Ah yes, I'm starting Tier 2 Recovery at the beginning of August. I'm quite scared because H gave me the third degree to try and ascertain whether or not she thought I was ready to do it. She took some persuasion. I just feel impatient to be doing something, anything, that will move me towards a more manageable way of living - this isn't sustainable.
If I can't work at some kind of professional level I can only stay in this house long term by slashing my standard of living to the bone. Within the next couple of years I've either got to be implausibly transformed into someone else earning a decent salary or living somewhere much cheaper. I don't know for sure at this point which I want, let alone which I can achieve.
Anyway, H kept reiterating that it was likely to be hard emotionally, very hard, and pointing out that I'd been quite 'fragile' (her word) recently, and would I prefer to leave it for a while.
No.
I wouldn't.
I wish I'd come up with the metaphor of childbirth at the time, as that's how I see it. Having depression is like having an inexplicable physical pain - you don't know when it will end, you don't know how bad it will get, sometimes you think it will kill you. I imagine this Tier 2 stuff as being like labour - it's an even worse pain than what you already thought was the worst you could survive, but it's (probably, hopefully) not continuous, you know that it's going to end one way or the other within a limited time span, and with a bit of luck, there will something to enrich your life at the other end of it.
I know, no guarantees or anything. Fuck it, bring it on, I'm not getting any younger. I am so over being depressed, dahlings, you just wouldn't believe it.
Flowering vines, twisting round the legs of this table - that's what I visualised. Who did I think I was kidding? I've had my moments with painting - I got this far with a self portrait when I was allowed to join a Year 9 gifted and talented after school art club, supposedly as training for my job as hospital teacher:
but that was in the May, after working on it for two hours a week since January (2006). Suddenly now I think I can pick up a paintbrush and create a thing of beauty, as if that's the only possible result of my endeavours? I wish I'd taken a picture, but it's too late, I've painted it all white - well, the legs - it was just so awful. Those bastards at Charleston make it look easy, but they can fuck off. I shall just do patterns - I'm not sure what, but I shall keep going until I find something that pleases me - I quite enjoyed painting over it.
Sam's bloody dad was sitting up in bed moaning within a couple of hours of the operation, back home by late afternoon. All that anxiety about a bloke I can't stand when he's not about to undergo a life-threatening procedure. Ah well. He's like Ma - they're a pair of tough old bastards who will see us all off in the end.
Busy few days coming up. Tomorrow arts and crafts, then picking up Sarah C (who broke her foot) and bringing her up here into the light, out of that basement flat.
Friday I'm going with my sister to watch her drive a Ferrari round a racetrack, which was my birthday present to her. If she starts being nice to me, I'll cry - there was something alarming in her tone when she called me. I'm scared, frankly.
In the evening Jane and I are going to see an outdoor production of 'She Stoops to Conquer' - a Restoration comedy that she will be teaching next year. I'm really looking forward to that.
Bloody hell, it's half one, and I haven't even had my cocoa.
Sweet dreams, honey bunnies xxx
12:27 a.m. - 17/07/2008
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