annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Just write, bitch I've opened this page day after day and not been able to write anything so now I've rolled a little spliff and I'm going to write non-stop for twenty minutes and if it's bollocks then it's bollcoks, but I don't want to lose the habit of blogging so sometimes a little rubbish has to be wrote. I'm kind of holding steady but there's lots of shit going on in the lives of people I care about which is weird - I mean, it's not happening to me, I'm OK, here I am in this lovely little house, going to yoga, tidying around the place at a slow, slow slow speed, shouldn't even use the word speed in association with my mode of cleaning, entirely wrong. I have washed everything that fits in the machine, dried it and put loads of it away. We've never had all clean towels or bedding so there's nowhere for it to live, but I am creeping towards that as an issue. Ma's been very ill and is now in a state of health from which there may or may not be an improvement. I hadn't been to see her for ages because I've felt like shit and because she's been telling everyone that I infected her with swine flu by thoughtless unsolicited visiting and kissing of her disty cheek, the cow. But I went this week and I've never seen her looking so old and frail, nor heard her so vague and unsteady in her thoughts. There have been incidents with medication, notably laxatives, and unfortunate consequences, and in the end I think we as her offspring have to face the fact that she's going to be 89 in a couple of weeks and maybe she's not actually coping with living alone anymore. That was Wedenesday. I was going to see sis on Saturday, but on Friday Ma fell over in the street outside her house and was taken to hospital. Kept waiting in A&E for five hours then sent home, with a bruised shoulder and a bump on the head. Sis says, 'Ah, she's fine, just full of self-pity.' She's never been sentimental, my sis, hard as fucking nails, gets it from her mother. Ach, it's been awful, but bro says he got her a walking frame on wheels yesterday and he took her to the cafe and she saw her old mate and was dead happy and she may yet pull through, so we're giving it another couple of weeks to see if she's better or worse or just steady. Ghastly. Glad she's not really my mother at times like this, though it does feel as if she is, as I don't remember before her. See, this is what happens when you just keep writing, all this dire old shit comes out. Part of it is age - I'm old, my friends are old, illness is what you get at this stage in our lives. If it's not us, it's people close to us. They think we should be thankful that it's not us, but we can't manage that I'm afraid. Too hard. Anyway, tomorrow I am going to London to stay with Mary and see the bastard children. I'm not sure what I'm going to do - Mary wants me to help her plan her garden, whcih sounds nice, but I don't know if I can be arsed to lug my RHS Gardeners' Encyclopedia of Plants and Flowers with me because it weighs a ton, but I'm so cross with myself for forgetting about it when I moved here that I want to use it. It's organised in categories according to type of plant, size, season of interest and colour, so if you want a tall blue plant to fill in that gap in spring before the leaves open on those other two, you'd be unlucky, actually, so you'd have to have something medium sized... probably some irises or a geranium phaeum, comfrey's just too itchy... it's brilliant. Marion borrowed it about four years ago and I forgot all about it. Now I want to pull half of my garden up and start again, from a basis of what do I want to look at, from where, in which weather. I have to do something about all the pots. They look great when thet're properly maintained, but I have to face the fact that I can't keep up with the watering so half of them look crap and the rest are dead. Not good. I may not stay here, that's the problem. It's too expensive and it's too big just for me, especially at a time of such housing need. What am I doing in a four roomed house? Chilling, at the moment, or trying my best, that's what. A sideways glance tells me I've achieved my half hour goal so now I'm offski to bedski, to watch another of those choir programmes on BBC iplayer. I saw 'Boys Can't Sing' last night and it was awesome, lovely bad lads giving Handel a good seeing to, eventually. Have a happy week xxx |10:29 p.m. - 04/10/2009 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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