annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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Just look at them and sigh and know they love you
Definitely deflated, drained by demons lurking just out of reach, nipping at me, reminding me not to get too cocky.
I didn't go to a party at Sarah and Michaela's last night as I couldn't face either the 'Are you still teaching?' question or the 'So, what do you do?' one, at all, at all, at all.
They came up here today, S and M, and when I eventually admitted that this was why I hadn't come, Michaela said, 'Just tell people you're a writer.' Well. Indeed. It's one thing to say that to myself, to keep my spirits up when times are tough (and friends just can't be found), quite something else to declare myself as such in public. Especially as I've written fuck all recently.
But anyway here I am, presenting for duty at the keyboard so I can at least delude myself I'm a writer by fulfilling the very basic requirement of actually writing.
No, tonight I'm not going to write, I'm going to upload some pics from the festival. I took about a million but I've selected the ten thousand or so best ones:
A prettfied gazebo under a pretty sky:
The other three old bags of the camp (all younger than me, but all in our fifties):
Youngest member of camp toasting marshmallows:
Ren's GF:
Poor swollen feet:
One of many old geezers whose image was magnified for our delectation:
Flags:
One of Dot's boys (in a wig) helping his GF prepare for Saturday night:
Tea ladies:
Last shot before leaving on Tuesday:
Straight into the sea in our underwear before we even made it right home:
Then today there was shameless bloody Morris dancing in the streets outside my door (almost):
This is my favourite pot in the garden at the moment but I'm not very fond of any of them right now:
Look at the leaves - any rain that does appear runs straight off and onto the concrete path so I have to water everything every night. If I could just do this there would be no problem, but I seem to have been leaving things until it's either do them tonight or they'll die, which is a rubbish way to carry on. Very stressful for the plants. Either do it (first choice) or just let the fucking things survive or not, without getting in a state about it (not so good, as dead greenery is totally depressing even when you haven't caused it yourself).
Going away has knocked me out of all my systems - I think that's partly what's wrong. I need to write, to swim, do yoga, draw, to see R and to water the runner beans so that I can enjoy their deliciousness in about six weeks time.
Grateful for: visitors; a nice linen top from the charity shop; fish and chips for tea; a tidy house; having a laugh with Sara
sweet dreams xxx
|10:46 p.m. - 05/07/2009
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