annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Thank you for your helpful comments about the sleeping pills and the list and all that. After some consideration I have put in for a repeat prescription and will have a go at coming off the pills when things are back on a more even keel (hollow laugh). I took half a valium last night, pretty early. I'm better off on the other ones which at least aren't benzo-whatsits.
I got whacked today by one of those arrows of outrageous fortune, which I don't want to go into, but it involved wailing and weeping and gnashing of teeth and running down to Jane's for solace and ranting. Luckily I had an appt with H this afternoon, who offered other ways of looking at things which weren't quite as cataclysmic as my interpretation had been. But still I feel, enough with the advanced challenges, give me a break, god damn it.
Swam gently in the sunshine at the gym after that and floated a bit then went in the steam room. Nice.
And when I came home my French friend Marie-Pierre called, to say they were in Brighton and inviting me to a meal tomorrow. We have met every August for thirty years now, and seen some ups and downs. She can be pretty full on, catching me up with the previous twelve months, re-living the emotional intensity in high-speed broken English with gestures and often pacing about. Last year I could only cope with her for a few hours, before just shutting down in exhaustion, but that was then. Who knows what tomorrow may bring, etc.
I still haven't yet disinterred the cardigan of doom (c. bluey) from its mountain of clean washing, but it's bubbling up in my thoughts. It's an operation that requires breaking down into manageable chunks. The knitting resides in here:
and I need the whole basket for all the different colours of wool in my vile stripy cardigan. Leaving aside the question of all those sheets, if that big basket goes into the living room, something else must come out and the only thing that can come out is the footstool. But, on the footstool are some curtains, lovely dark red silk, floor length curtains that have been laying around patiently for weeks - OK, months - waiting for me to hang them in my bedroom and that can't happen unless I move all the crap that's accumulated on the floor under the window, as I need to get a chair in there, to reach the curtain rail.
I could just pile all the clean washing on top of the curtains, on top of the footstool and leave the whole lot for another lifetime, but somehow those curtains are calling to me.
|10:54 p.m. - 05/08/2009
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