Cainer sez:

Here comes the annual Full Moon in your zodiac sign and, as you may already know, it is no ordinary Full Moon. In some parts of the world, it will be visible as an eclipse. That is ever so encouraging. It suggests a genuine new beginning. Admittedly, this may be preceded by an ending of some kind (new beginnings often are) but you are in no danger of losing anything that it would be better for you to keep. It is time to start thinking of yourself differently and to believe in your own power to create positive change.

I needed to read that. Even if it's bollocks, it's bollocks that lifted my spirits. I'm hanging by a thread here. As there are no problems, in fact things are all falling into place beautifully, I would like to just come on here and boast about that as if I felt fine, but it wouldn't be true. It's weepy, shaky-McFlaky times, jumping at the slightest noise, but keeping on, keeping on.

The packers will be here at eight tomorrow morning. Early night.

I meant to write some kind of reflection on my time in this house, but I can't. Maybe another day.

Laters x

Whew. I have removed all extraneous items from my house, barring a couple of boxes which will go to the tip tomorrow. www.freecycle.org is brilliant, if a bit hectic. I've put a 'wanted' ad up for some curtains, cos you never know, do you? Tomorrow there'll be a lot of tidying up, but I can do the whole house in a couple of hours, so that's cool.

Things I have found:
1) several hats of mine that Younger Daughter hated and presumably hid, like my red beret and my favourite fleecy hat which comes right down over my ears. It may look like shit, but if it keeps my ears warm on a windy day, I'm wearing it. I'm wearing it now, actually.
2) Four nail clippers.
3) Over twenty different moisturisers, scattered in boxes throughout the house. I hate the feeling of being trapped inside a coating of slime. Body Shop Vit E face cream vanishes without trace almost instantly, but costs what I consider a fucking fortune, so can't be applied all over. My skin is not so much dry as crispy, but I've never managed to use a moisturiser regularly - don't actually care enough - but have been tempted to buy far more than I'd noticed. They look quite embarrassing all gathered together. Ah well.
4) My schemes of work for teaching 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner', from low ability Yr 7 up to top set Y11, including Gustave Dore's illustrations, copied onto transparencies. Though it would be available on a whiteboard, magic thingy by now, but that's not the point. I couldn't believe I'd thrown it away and that was because I hadn't. Phew. Though I have no idea why it means so much.

I started the morning resolutely chucking things away without looking at them, then thought better of it, which was just as well as I'd thrown away all my degree certificates. Like, fuck. Had to have a rest after that.

xxx

OK. The plan is, in bed by midnight, and take TWO sleeping pills. The problem is the bed has vanished under a mountain of folders and there's nowhere on the floor left to put them. I'll probably sleep on the sofa. Will I? Sigh. Would much rather be in my bed, but have put off clearing it for the last three hours, so seems unlikely now.

I am winning. Today I discovered that none of the charities I could think of that deal in furniture can fetch mine this week, so I put it on freecycle. Fucking hell. My inbox filled up within minutes. Soon realised that people thought I was giving away an Ikea sofa, rather than just the covers, so had to change that, which slowed it down a bit, then hotmail went stupid and I just left it and got on with shifting boxes. People are booked to come for each item tomorrow afternoon/evening.

Five boxes of books, three bags of clothing, one box of games and picture frames to Amnesty International and British Heart Foundation. Cool.

One cheap, crappy wardrobe, in pieces, in the boot of my car, ready for tipping tomorrow.

Two days before the packers come and all I have to do is go through all the folders of papers in my room and take loads of it to the tip, then have a tidy round. Oh, and empty the corner bookcase ready for collection at 5. Very do-able.

In amongst the moving, two good things happened. I had my pre-booked phone call with the writing mentor - who will be WM, because yes, we are going to work together! Probably on my 'Mice and Men' based novel. It's exciting to have made a commitment to it. I liked how our first contact went. It felt open and easy; she wasn't trying to hustle me into a decision about using her services, nor giving me the hard sell.

Bloody hell. Writing that last phrase made me remember there was an email about freecycle rules and etiquette which I hadn't read when I signed up because I was in such a hurry. I went back to check it out and spotted 'Be safe - don't arrange for someone you don't know to come to your house at night when you are alone.' Which is exactly what I've done. Men. People with vans tend to be working during the day, and neither an Ikea Billy corner bookcase, nor a big chest of drawers will fit in your average car. Now I feel anxious about it.

I shall ask K to come and be with me. Bloke has a full day of work, and K and I are developing our friendship very nicely now we've got started. He came up today, after I'd stopped 'work' - that was the other good thing that happened. He was after a bit of herb for some self-medication and we got straight into a big conversation about gender politics, being recoverers (I met him at a kind of group therapy), and writing. He writes too, and has completed a novel. We were both amazed to discover this about each other. It was so exciting - he has an interestingly different perspective, but is concerned with the same things and has been all his life. Lived with radical feminists during the late 70s/ early 80s, experienced the arrival of AIDS at very close quarters, and more. We have plans to do things together. Fab.

Anyway, all good, five minutes till my designated bedtime so off I go.

Grateful for: Everything, for being a person blessed with good fortune at crucial moments.

Sleep well, dear peeps xxx

Today has been up and down, up and down the bleeding stairs. I can't believe I let Younger Daughter get away with coming down so late, leaving me to empty her room. Three years of college - all her notes and preliminary sketches and god knows what else, just mountains of paper - where was it all hidden? It's like some kind of tardis, her room. Yesterday she filled the back of Bloke's car with her stuff; today I've filled the boot of mine and there's still a mountain in there to be dumped. I'm being quite together about separating things into those worth donating and those heading for the tip. Two big bin bags of YD's clothes, books, CDs, a huge stack of canvases and a few other bits and bobs.

I'm running on borrowed energy. Dunno where it's coming from - keep having shaky moments and having to sit down, but just have to plod on through a few more days. Bottom line is there's no one to help me with this - everyone's at work, apart from M and she's miles away. Yesterday I started having a small spliff during the day to help me along, and I think that's what'll see me through. I just get totally focused and fidgety, so I do a bit, have a rest but can't stay still so start again pretty quickly.

Tomorrow I need to try and get everything I'm not taking with me out of the house, even if some of it is only into the car. The tip shuts at 4.30 in winter, so I'm not saying I have to get there for then, just have it clear indoors. Then in the evening I can get a sense of what there is left to do, without all these bags of clothes and boxes of books to clamber over all the time. There's a small bedding mountain as well, which can go in the cupboard on the landing when I've heaved everything out of that.

I hate having so many thoughts dashing around my head. It's like being a teacher, without the laughs, just the permanent dread that you've forgotten something reeeally important, so everything loops round and round.

End of moan. For now.

Shedless

OK, into the final stretch. Impatient, unsettled, excited, anxious.

Tough weekend. Shed dismantled and delivered to the allotment, garden rubbish gathered and taken to tip, everything else outside more or less ordered ready for removal.

Younger Daughter and BF came and did her final clear out, traumatic in various ways - we've had some fucking hard times here in this house, me and YD, and this was the detritus of hers. Plus the fact that my last child has taken all their stuff out of my home, so this is MY place now, not the family home. Though Son, who came to help today, has left a little pile of stuff for when he visits. He packed up the books I'm not keeping as I picked them off the shelves. In the end I couldn't do a proper cull - just bunged out all the popular fiction, which is easily replaceable for pennies from charity shops, and a big box of teenage fiction for J to have in her classroom.

YD has swept through the house like a sluggish tornado, leaving havoc in her wake. I was meant to take her and all her stuff back to London, but was deemed likely to be a danger to myself and/or others, so Bloke did it - hurrah for Bloke. He is her stepfather, so he needs to do things for her sometimes.

It's been hard to keep myself steady through this weekend. I haven't found a way of sustaining the soothing things, like mantra chanting, that I use when I'm alone. And just being with people all day and evening is hard. I know, I know, I was lonely last time. No pleasing some people, etc.

Bed now. xx

Blue

Want to write about something else but don't know what so I've just turned up here at the keyboard hoping to find the thing, the thing that's more important than what's going on with boxes and stuff. (Not even going to say the word, the M word. Forbidden for this entry)

But there's nothing else. Today we (me and Bloke) emptied the shed ready for dismantling and removal tomorrow. We dug up the peonies - don't know if they'll survive as they're delicate and may sulk for a year or two, but worth a go.

Now I'm pissed. Drunk not angry. My brain just clatters round all the time and I hate it. Feel like I can't, but know I will. Lonely. I know Bloke is here a lot and does loads of things for me, but he's not here now and nor is anyone else. Ah well.

Moving house, yadda yadda

Back in moving mode. Thank fuck I decided not to do anything other than make phone calls today, as I ended up on the phone all bleeding day, one way and another.

I've managed to move my landline/broadband/tv package from one greedy corporation that makes a few people rich by providing a crap service and paying its workers a pittance for working excessive hours under intolerable pressure, to another, ditto, but at least neither of them are Murdoch owned. I had to change as there's no cable at the new place and I do gain a better set up for less money. I keep my phone number but none of it will be installed till the Friday after I move.

Yikes - no internet or TV. Probably just as well - I'm hooked right into politics at the moment - things are kicking off all over the place - interesting times (as they say), but I'm too engaged all the time, not enough sitting on the sofa staring vacantly into space.

Two of the three new tenants came round to view the furniture and I have to say I was rubbish as a sales woman. Hadn't researched the going rate for anything so plucked figures out of the air in a panic, pointed out all the faults and was generally a bit of a twat. Ah well. They're going to talk it over with Jim and call round tomorrow with cash for what they've decided to go for. I've not yet let myself text 'make me an offer, I'll take anything, I was gonna give it all away' because that would be foolish - this place between three well-heeled mates sharing is a steal. I can do it tomorrow if they say no.

Laters x

Lists.

1. Tuesday. At ED's.

Spent hours on the phone dealing with various agencies, social services and the like, ensuring that everyone involved knows about ED's memory problems and follows up each phone call with either an email or a letter.

Took ED into Newtown, a fucking abomination of a place, especially on a stormy, dark afternoon. She needed a decent winter coat and some warm underwear to be able to go out and about whatever the weather. Run-down mall, full of fluorescent posters shouting 70% off. Everything slightly sloping, so always either pushing the chair or holding tight to stop it rolling away. ED wanting to change her phone from pay as you go to contract and getting sucked into upgrading to a Blackberry by a real hard sell. Took an hour during which I fretted about whether or not to intervene, but didn't.

Keeled over. Almost. Had to get food and sit down. BK. Fight between two women. Horrid.

Rain. Sudden and torrential. No dry clothes so had to change into pyjamas.

Lack of nicotine biting as whole day spent indoors, apart from mad dashes here and there. Hard to smoke while pushing wheelchair.

Daughter enjoyed rain and walked from car to front door, holding onto wall, rather than push chair round to back of house. Exhilarated (her not me).

Cooked dinner, with help of C, Grandson's 10 yr old mate who loves assisting ED or me.

Planned menu for ED's family till Sunday, when SIL is due to plan the next week.

Keeled over big time. Slept like a log until

2. Wednesday.

Kids off school due to public sector workers strike, biggest since 1926.

Explained new system of diary-use to morning carer, who deserves an entry all to herself. Migrant worker, shocking tale. It gives me great relief to see how these women have come to genuinely care for ED, not out of sympathy for her circumstances - everyone they see is in the shit one way or another - but because she is bright and funny and kind and interested in them. I still think one of them stole her Ugg boots, but choose to believe it was one who passed through, as alternative is too depressing.

ED started going through the material she'd been given on depression and became distressed. Pep talk, at ninety miles an hour as desperate to leave to make my acupuncture session.

Drove home, accident on motorway, crawling along, then all fucked up here as well due to combination of roadworks and marches by striking workers. Half hour late for appointment, but she just ushered me in, calmed me down, stuck pins in me then drifted into a rant about some vile thing someone had said to her daughter.

Came home at last to freezing house and anxious cat.

J came up for cuppa, also on big tearful rant about being bullied by her daughter.

Phoned Bloke, who also had massive rant about his bad day.

Rolled big spliff and watched last episode of 'My Transsexual Summer' - uplifting and heart-warming

Opened post and discovered I'm due a benefits assessment - not good news, at all. Cost-cutting exercise that has resulted in terminally ill people being declared fit for work.

Phone call from new tenants of this place - they want to buy my furniture. Haven't heard from Women's Aid so will sell them what they want. Coming round tomorrow.

Watched a lot of telly, to try and stop the panic about moving in ten days time.

The internet finally came on. Hurrah.

Blogged.

That's all. Had a curry delivered for dinner - kept away from sprout-laden mixed veg, all good.

Grateful for: central heating; kindness; strikers; my own dear bed waiting for me; my darling daughter

Sleep well, dear peeps xxx

Up at Elder Daughter's - busy busy busy, then they all go to bed at ten o'clock.

We had what I hope will prove to have been a very useful case conference about ED. SIL did turn up, despite threatening not to right up to the last hour, and the MS Nurse, very tactfully but firmly, insisted that he is the only person who can help ED manage her memory problems. He's the only one who can check the post, make sure that everything has been noted down on the calendar, and keep the whiteboard updated with daily reminders. He sighed and shrugged and carried on as if we were asking the world, but for fuck's sake, this is a couple of minutes engagement every day, for the woman who is meant to be his fucking life partner, so if that's too much, I don't know what's the point. After they'd all left he said that he didn't think it could work as it hasn't so far, but he hasn't even tried to help so far. Argh.

Tomorrow we go in search of warm underwear, so ED can go out in her chair in the winter without freezing her tits off. Sis recommends merino wool vest and long johns. Sounds expensive and like it needs fancy hand washing, but we'll see.

There's a storm blowing outside, so everything is creaking and banging, in unfamiliar places, this not being my home. I really really want a fag, but I'm already in my pyjamas and it's raining. Boo hoo. I shall go and have one, I know, as soon as I finish this.

I'm trying to decide whether or not to go to Ikea on the way home. It's not on my route, but I drive within eight miles of it. I so can't be arsed, but I so need some of their curtains for my new flat. You cannot beat curtains 3 metres long, starting at eight quid a pair. If I don't get them on the way home I'll end up dashing up there the day after I move - can't see putting up with more than one evening of being exposed at ground level to passers by. They do have an online service, but you need to see the fabric. I'm boring myself with this, so I'll fuck off into the cold wet night to feed my addiction.

Laters xx

Cognitive dissonance. That's what it is. It's when your thoughts and emotions are out of synch. Like if, for example, you were moving house and had been following your to-do list in an exemplary fashion, ticking things off, writing appointments and times on a big calendar, weren't actually going to have to pack anything at all (apart from drugs and BOB*), yet still felt overwhelmed to the point of immobility for over 50% of your waking hours. That's cognitive dissonance (I think - I'm doubting myself over everything)

I can't say I'd recommend it. Understanding comes with the added benefit of a new loop to cycle endlessly round - I know I'm not actually overwhelmed with tasks (in fact I have nothing to do till Thursday), so I feel stupid for feeling so, then have to talk myself out of feeling like a twat (cos I'm not), which I can do, but it comes round so bloody often that it wears me out.

But today has been good. I went to sleep last night with one wish - that I wouldn't be in a vulnerable state when Son was here. I don't mind him knowing that I'm struggling but I don't want him to witness it in action, not when he's got exams coming up, not after all we've been through to get him on this course. Where he is the single student not from public school (which illogically means private, but more expensive than the ones that are just called private). He says when they get a bit too smug for his liking he tells them to think what their parents paid for their education. "And yet, look at us, old 3tonians and state school yob, in exactly the same place," which apparently shuts them up. I didn't like to remind him of the contacts they'd made and how these would ease their path - it was his birthday and he knows.

I texted him 'Happy Birthday' when I woke up and he was already on the train, leaving me just enough time to have a proper, steadying breakfast before straightening the house up at a leisurely pace, putting some washing on and actually getting dressed.

We did chat, lunch, walk, more chat and off he went. All good.

Got a list for tomorrow morning.

That's all.

Sleep well, dear hearts xx



*Battery Operated Boyfriend

Crappy crapola. Sat on the sofa in a funk all day. Didn't turn on the telly or smoke a spliff as that would have been giving up, though from here it seems that I just messed up the chance to chill out and rest up. I made a birthday card for Son. Got myself into a dither about what to eat, having dined on a whole tube of pringles, a tub of hummus and two cakes the other night. Vile. Left me feeling disgusted, which was appropriate but unpleasant. Anyway, eventually I remembered that I could order in a curry - tandoori chicken, mixed veg and tarka dahl. And relax. I chucked it all in a bowl together, with the bag of crunchy salad as well, but it was horrid. Brussels sprouts in the veg curry. WTF? Horrid things, tainted everything with nastiness.

I'd really like a project manager telling me what to do. Then I could moan and grumble away and carry things from here to there and it would be someone else's fault when it all went wrong. It won't go wrong, I know that. I just wish I could manage with a bit more grace.

It's hard to know how to blog right now as I'm subject to violent mood swings, even during the course of writing one entry. It's good old cognitive dissonance, if I remember rightly, (which is possible, if not probable). All the evidence demonstrates that I have this house move well in hand, yet I've had to employ every trick in the book to drag myself back from total despair and confusion about five times a day. Man. Living the recovering nutter life once again, big time.

It might settle down a bit after this next few days are done. Sunday is Son's birthday and he's coming down, but I'm not sure when - either he hasn't told me or he has and I didn't listen. Maybe tomorrow, maybe Sunday. Is he expecting anything? I feel I should know the answer to that, but I don't. I'm going to make him a card, mixed media, saying 'All you need is love/love is all you need'. Tomorrow.

Then on Monday I've been called to a case conference about Elder Daughter, at her home. I haven't been up there for ages, so wanted to get there in time to get a feel for how she really is, but I've blown that by not having my eye on how all these things I've agreed to connect up. Ah well. I shall go late Sunday or early Monday and stay at least one night, probably two. She sounds very wee on the phone.

I've been putting stuff (curtains, a blind, some boots, blankets), on the pavement in front of my house, for re-homing. Bloke was sceptical (verging on scornful) at the very idea that anyone else would want my cast offs, but it all went, within hours. While I wrote that last sentence I decided that I'm not going to try and sell my surplus furniture.

Everything about doing so makes me anxious - it would have to go online for a quick sale, so there'd have to be a picture of each item, and uploading them, writing ads, thinking of a price, then lots of phone calls, then more people I don't know, some of them men, coming into my house. It all makes me feel sick, quite physically, in my throat.

When I think of just donating it all somewhere (we're talking a newish washer/drier, a fridge/freezer, a double divan bed with storage drawers, bookcases, an oak tall boy, and more), I hear a voice in my head saying, "Anna! What is it with you and giving things away? You don't have limitless funds - it's all going to run out pretty soon and what then?" and I start thinking I ought to sell it, that there is a kind of arrogance in giving it away. I spoke to R, my counsellor, about it this week and we took a little time to work out whose voice it is. Well, it's M, isn't it, my old friend from the West Country, and she's always been like that and I don't choose to listen to her on the subject of money.

The most I'd get for it altogether is fuck all in the scheme of things, especially as - well, I think I'd better warn you, this is an unprecedented occasion - Younger Daughter has just got her student finance through and has repaid me a big chunk of cash. This is definitely bunce. I think we've had a debate on here before about bunce - it's a gift from the universe that could never have been predicted therefore it can justifiably be spent, at least partially, on some kind of extravagance.

So during the course of this post I have looked up the number for the local women's refuge and will donate it all to them, for some brave soul and her kids who are starting from scratch, in hiding, with no money and probably no job. I am buying myself freedom from hours of grief on the internet and a stream of strangers through my house, and paying back the help I've received in the past. Whew. That's another big knot of gloom just floated away.

Half my books are going to have to go. I have about fifty metres of them and there aren't as many walls in the new flat. It's a security thing - when I was pregnant with Son, I was sorely skint in a town with a very small library and nothing else to read except random shit on a few shelves in the charity shops and having nothing new to read drove me MENTAL.I mean, like REALLY MENTAL.

Some of the crap I read then would make you weep, honestly. I remember getting a copy of a Margaret Attwood novel - Cat's Eye, I think - and feeling a thrill of relief, of coming home, at the very first sentence. I was in safe hands again.

There's a lot more I could say about the books, but I'm aiming for an early night. I'd like to get them to skint people with a thirst for reading, so probably young 'uns.

And the shed is almost empty - next step is to get it to the allotment. There may be trouble ahead...

I feel so much better for blethering on here. Thank you for reading.

Love and hugs and have a great weekend.

Vile day of sloth and pessimism and a friend getting mugged and all sorts of stuff that dragged me down, down down. Spent most of the day immobile on the sofa, watching the Leveson Inquiry (into the 'Culture, Practice and Ethics of the Press'), live on BBC news, which has an element of startling reality check about the depths to which we as a society have sunk. It's only spelling out what has become the norm; the comparison with the mafia is absolutely apt. Fewer people have died, but there has been a mortality rate (suicide) and it's all about sending out messages about what happens if you don't play ball. Coogan, Grant, Miller and Mosely may not be perfect specimens of humanity, but they are the ones prepared to speak out.

This is the key issue for me, that comes before all the others. If we can find a way of making some kind of ethical media, so many other problems become solvable. Proper public debate, imagine that?

Grumpy, overwhelmed, scared. Can't pretend otherwise.

Tick, tick, tick

Crashed today emotionally, but still managed to:

a) notify water/gas/electric of impending move
b) empty the cupboard under the stairs and get all the camping gear into the back of Bloke's car. Everything else in the whole house now has to be sorted - either keep, tip or donate/sell. Or not - I've already thought about the worst that can happen, which is that it all comes with me.
c) send an email round my extended family to see who wants to come and see Spamalot over Christmas
d) email a 'writing coach' asking if she can help me dig a book out of this blog whilst respecting everyone's privacy. I support myself with my writing. That's what I say. Several times a day.

Holding steady.

Grateful for: optimism; lists; Bloke; drugs; mantras.

Sweet dreams/happy Thanksgiving xxx

Meh.

I'm bored with moving now. Not bored with the idea of the new flat, but with all the titting about required and most especially with having to keep the fucking house looking good for the landlady to bring prospective tenants round. She's being quite decent about it in that they're not taking students or young sharers because of dear Ann next door, who is such a sweet kind woman, living on her nerves at the moment and dreading the return of endless loud music. But this is an expensive house for a family, especially as they've now increased the rent, so there's been a stream of bloody people through, always preceded by Landlady. She comes early for a bit of a chat, then shows them round while I make myself busy. As this is a small house I can hear her, again and again, telling them (repeating it when she comes to the kitchen), that it will be professionally cleaned after I leave. Yeah, yeah, bored with that. It's not that fucking dirty. You should have seen it an hour ago. I don't like it this tidy, anyway, so fuck you all. Not you, dear reader, them, looking at my home and saying nice things but never calling back to rent the fucking place.

I've also discovered that I won't be able to park within a mile of the flat without paying stupid money for at least a year. I can't remember if I've written about this already - I had assumed there'd be a way round it and not thought of it much till today, when I had a sudden flash of reality about what it will be like without my car.

There's a resident's permit system, according to which parking zone your home is in. The council tried to bring one in here a while ago, but we got organised (via facebook), fought it, and won, so it's still free here. While I was busy taking and posting pictures of the dustmen's lorry, easily reversing down between the two rows of nose to tail parked cars, the bloody council were changing all the rules in the rest of the city.

I can't believe I was so casual about it when flat-hunting, but there you go. I thought I knew the deal, but it changed quite a while ago. The new place is right in the centre of the city, where the houses are tall and spacious, perfect for multiple occupancy, but no space between them. Built for people who would keep horses and carriages in the mews and send for them when necessary. So parking's mayhem. There's a waiting list of 'at least' a year for a permit and you need proof of car ownership and God knows what else, all registered at a property within the zone, to even get on the fucking waiting list.

At the top end of my road, it changes to another zone, because the houses are suddenly two storey semi-detached, so much lower occupancy. Still residents permits, because it's easy walking distance to the city centre shops and the railway station, so you need one to have any chance of finding a space at all, but no waiting list. Still need all the proofs of residency and car ownership, but they hand it to you over the counter when you bring them in. I thought I might be able to get a permit for that zone, as I live so near it, but no chance. Dodgy nephew has recently moved into this zone and when I met him round at Sis's the other night, he explained to me (far too quickly for me to catch all the details), that I need to change the address on all my car documents as if I was moving into his address. When I have them back, I can take them down to the office and get a permit. Once I have one, I can move about the city and just exchange it for wherever I live and get it changed at once, over the counter. It may come to that, but not as my first option.

Ach, not at all. I feel guilty enough when I'm not doing anything dodgy.

Now I'm going to watch a Melvin Bragg documentary about Steinbeck, apparently showing how what he described in the 30s is relevant again today. Bound to cheer me up. Or not.

There was art class too, but it was part two of a project started last week, which I missed. I wasn't expecting that - it wrong-footed me and I took a disappointing amount of time to gather my wits.

Meh.

List:

My dearest, darling, scrummy niece is pregnant! Woo hoo, halloo hallay and happy dances all around! A new person in our family - what could be more exciting than that? Due at the end of May, so a gobby Gemini, like Great Aunt Notbob. I would so love it if there was Aquarius rising too - me and Grandson both have that combination and I swear when alone we connect on a deeper level. Whatever, it's the best news forever. I'm so happy that Sis is going to be a granny. Little kids bring out the best in her and it doesn't come any better than being a granny. She's due something great.

While I was dithering about down town, waiting for my prescription to be done, I found a stall in the market selling climbers for £1.50. I bought five - a clematis montana (vigorous, early flowering), a Virginia creeper (vigorous, nice leaves, autumn colour), a honeysuckle (fragrant, lovely), a ceanothus (not actually a climber but bunged in with them, evergreen, long season of blue flowers), and another thing I didn't recognise, with leaves that look evergreen and apparently pannicles of white flowers. Bar. Gain.

ED asserted herself and hopefully got one over on her crappy boss

YD finally, finally got her fucking grant sorted out and she's got an extra bit she wasn't expecting. There's a serious possibility of her repaying me a bit of much-needed dosh.

Son met his barrister mentor and they really hit it off - she said it would be great working with someone who was coming from the same place as her. By which she meant politics, not that she too was brought up by a mother who shoplifted for her Christmas presents.

I'm working through a checklist for the move, slow but steady. What a brilliant institution we have in the BBC - their website has so much that is useful in life, nothing to do with telly.

Ha ha ha - my niece is having a baby!

Is anybody there?

Well I just looked at the stats thing here and discovered all sorts of weird shit that I don't understand. I don't know who is reading this, or even if it is a person and not some program that collects everything that mentions something specific. There might be a person in Russia (which would just be so cool - knowing how my view of America has changed since reading and becoming pals with various American bloggers, I would so love to make connections in other parts of the world). I don't really get how blogger works - I don't know how to make contact with other people on here - I don't even know where to find other blogs. I hoped someone would leave a comment and I could ask them but no one's done that (except Art and he doesn't read now that he's working). So this is me, saying if anyone is reading then I thank you and hello, hope you are well and I'd really appreciate it if you left me a comment and told me where the community of bloggers is hanging out. Cheers.

Nobody's going hungry on my watch

I've had this box open for an hour and keep changing my mind about what I'm going to write about, so now I'm plunging in, waiting to see where it goes. New sentence, don't stop, something will come - could write about my visit to Sis this evening, but it was all very stressy and I don't want to go back there. I keep getting bursts of sheer joy and happiness and having such a big change in my life and then I collide with someone who's not so happy but is saying they're fine, yet being a bit pissy. I'm determined not to let myself be side-tracked out of this feeling great, so bollocks to them all.

I can sit and fantasise for hours about how I'm going to make the main room of my new home look the way I want it with what I've got and what I'm allowed to do. I'm not allowed to bang nails in the walls (though I haven't had that in writing - I just asked the agent when I was there and she glanced at the empty walls and said no, as if that would obviously be a mad idea), but there's a picture rail at about normal ceiling height. At first all I could imagine was my dentist's waiting room with rectangular frames set at intervals around the otherwise bare walls, variously sized inverted triangles of wire, and a subtle taste of impending doom. But then I started thinking and realised I've got loads of things that could be nailed to a strip of wood and hung from a rail, all different shapes and sizes and textures.

And the garden - well, it's a deck, quite a bit bigger than the one here. I only thought to take a picture as we were coming back in:



but I'm glad I got at least one as next time I see it, it will have all my pots and bits of junk, wherever the removal men put them. I do love a blank canvas, though I've never had one quite as blank as this. My aim will be to create a space I can sit in and see nothing but vegetation. Annual climbers, that'll be the key - there's a fuck of a lot of grey needs covering there. I'm putting myself on a tight budget for the garden - well, tight considering gardening is one of my great pleasures in life, but it's cool. There's always a way.

As I was driving along the coast this evening, into a low winter sun, I thought I'll be able to take my fire-pot down to the beach. It wouldn't be much hassle to carry a couple of logs and some kindling in it - it has a handle - and my camping chair came in a bag with a shoulder-strap. I'd need a fleecy blanket, to warm my back, then I'd be well set up on the beach, with my kindle and my camera. On a windless day, which we do have sometimes. It's not far:



Meanwhile, I have booked a removals firm, to move and pack. All I have to do is sort through stuff and be a bit more ruthless. Starting tomorrow.

Feeling groovy

I went to the flat today to do measuring. The longer I was there, the happier I felt, till I was almost bursting with excitement. I cannot wait, I really cannot wait.

Today has been busy, filled with visitors, removals quotes, going into battle with Virgin Media (I have no idea what the woman was saying to me on the phone about transferring my stuff, no idea), food shop, cooking dinner for MH, encouraging ED who has fallen back into the doldrums, and walking that little Millie dog round the park.

So I'm offski.

Grateful for everything.

Sweet dreams xx

Lookin' at ya

Had a fabulous acupuncture session today. She was utterly thrilled about me getting the flat (last time I saw her I was chucking it all in till after Christmas), and especially the manner of it (giving it my best shot, breaking down in a letting agent's office after seeing another crap flat, giving up hope, then getting a personal letter from a guy in that office offering me a viewing of a flat belonging to his father). She wrote on my notes 'excellent manifestation.' Bloody hippies. Me and her, we're both bloody hippies and hurrah for that.

I came home and slept for hours - it was dark when I woke up. Ah well, I must have needed it. Now very stoned on the sofa, watching I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here - the one where they camp in the jungle and have to do scary/revolting tasks to earn food beyond rice and beans. It's my favourite - I usually end up liking people who have a shit media profile - they're all D List celebs, so generally portrayed as has-beens or wannabees, but of course, as well as having that in common they are as various as any group of people you could bung together. I must say I'm quite relieved Freddie Starr went home as I was in danger of warming to him.

Last night while I was writing here, an old Boomtown Rats single came on the radio:



I didn't recognise it at first, or even notice it, but I gradually got into it, found myself singing along with the chorus and realised who it was. I have this ongoing thing with Son about the Boomtown Rats, dating back ten years or more to my statement that the gig of theirs I'd been at in the late 70s/early 80s had been one of my all-time top gigs. Son finds this hilarious, as to him they're patently ridiculous. Since then the only single of theirs that ever gets played is 'I Don't Like Mondays', which I've always found annoying, and gradually my belief in the greatness of the gig faded away. Hearing that song last night brought it back - the passion and commitment, the sense of fury, the connection with an enthusiastic crowd - yeah, it was awesome. If it hadn't been so late I'd have phoned son and defended my original opinion, vigorously. Instead I emailed the show - not something I've done more than 3 or 4 times in my life - and she read it out about five minutes later, almost giving me a heart attack, I was so shocked. Very weird, hearing your words spoken by someone else, coming out of the radio.

Got me thinking. Today, when D (acupuncturist) was going on about 'manifestation', what I think of as affirmations, the thought leapt into my head that I want to support myself through writing. It feels greedy to follow getting the dream flat with another request, so I'm putting it back into my sub-conscious to brew for now, but just thinking about it gives me a warm glow.

Laters x

After all that aggro yesterday I've been more or less chilled out today. Phew. Bloke came over - no work (self-employed mender and installer of IT - work comes and goes), so helped me clean and tidy the place for prospective tenants to view. To be honest, it makes me feel a bit uneasy when it's all tidy in every room at once. Landlady came to show the people round - this is only the second time I've met her as her husband usually deals with stuff, and I really like her. Without doing anything I can pinpoint, she comes here as the owner of the house, but I feel completely comfortable with her. She told everyone that I was selling the fridge and the washing machine, which saved me the job of popping up to mention it and they're going to do their best to get someone in before my rent in advance has run out so I'll get a refund. I've got two different numbers to call for an end of tenancy clean, after I've emptied the place, so things are moving along.

Tomorrow I don't have to do anything if I don't want to. I've drawn out a giant calendar, from now till Christmas Day, and it all feels much better now I can see it. I can bring things in to a deadline, no sweat. The shed and its contents are first on the agenda as that feels like one big hassle. That and the bric-a-brac or 'all this shite' as it's fondly known by members of my family.

I'm feeling a bit like this tonight:




which is good. I thought this was going to be a couple of sentences on moving then lots of stuff I've been thinking, but that's all evaporated.

Tonight I'm sending big squeezy hugs to Bluey and Stepfie. Been thinking of you.

Grateful for: feeling groovy; late night Radio 2; being able to chat with Art in Anchorage, where it's currently -10F; not living in Anchorage; acupuncture tomorrow - she moved me to a ten day interval but I may go back to weekly for a bit.

Sleep well xx

I have managed myself very badly today. Too much anxiety, spinning out of control (only briefly, but it's not nice), then barely under control for the rest of the day. I couldn't get myself steady enough to go to the art class without provoking queries as to whether I was OK, and I knew that would make me cry even more so I didn't go, but then I missed having the 'losing myself' experience, and that's not great either.

What had driven me right over the edge was phoning the agent who said all my references came out good so the flat is as good as mine and I'm going round there on Friday to measure up. This is obviously brilliant news but my brain just short-circuited on receiving it. I did manage to conclude the conversation without mishap (I think - yikes, maybe I didn't!), but then all the thoughts I had arrived simultaneously and I couldn't fight my way through them.

I've drifted through the rest of the day, not putting up much resistance to anything - going out for brunch with Bloke, who wittered on about egrets and glebes (he's a born-again bird-watcher), not understanding that my brain was FULL as I couldn't articulate that, even to myself at the time.

I was meant to be going over to see Marcus after art class, but when I tried to cancel him he wouldn't have it, said it would do me good and that he'd cook dinner, so I did a set of



to calm myself, then drove twenty miles across the grey autumn afternoon, through bare blackened trees in the misty countryside, to darling M, who was in fact just what I needed. I haven't been to his place since he passed his driving test last year, which is just lazy of me. He's trying to move back to the city, to the area I'll be in, which would be fab - we could be old dears together.

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that I shall call that helpline tomorrow. I can't face the prospect of feeling like this for the next three weeks. I know how to calm myself down, but not repeatedly, day after day, whilst achieving something complicated. Not without more help. Help in the thinking and planning. I have made a list, and got someone coming round to give me a quote on removals, so I am on my way. Tomorrow a couple of prospective tenants are coming round.

This is what Cainer (cainer.com) has to say, the bastard:

Gemini, Wednesday, 16 November 2011
'A problem shared is a problem halved.' Or so they say. Much depends on who you happen to be sharing it with. With some people, a problem shared is a problem squared - multiplied by the power of itself in order to produce something of gargantuan proportions. You have recently started to solve a problem. You have made impressive headway. Now you need to seek guidance. Be careful who you ask for this. Things need to happen quickly now, but that doesn't mean you have to put yourself under a lot of pressure

OK. No pressure, then.

Laters x

Fasten your seatbelts

Oh God. Feeling very agitated as house-move creeps towards certainty. Only right now, and a bit this morning. Not all day. A lot this morning, actually, but I phoned J, who doesn't work Mondays, and she listened to me blurting it all out, telling me I was doing fine, that moving is hell, everyone struggles, etc etc and persuaded me to phone the benefits office to tell them what was happening now, rather than worrying about it until it's all definite. And it's all fine. The woman I spoke to was lovely, once she grasped what I was on about. I may have been a touch incoherent as at the end (after she'd told me how to apply for some disability grant for ED), she gave me the number of the local M1ND helpline, to calm me down when I'm in a state. Ho hum.

I did calm myself down, perhaps a bit determinedly, but with some success. These next few weeks are going to be a challenge. I'm thinking of making a giant calender of the time from here till I move so I can see what's what. It makes me feel sick, to be honest.

My landlord called this evening - he said the agents had called him and he gave me a 'glowing' reference. He's been good - a decent bloke. So everything is going well.

Lists, that's what I need. Or maybe a giant brainstorm first. Yes, that's exactly it, a giant brainstorm on a big piece of paper, as the basis for the lists. Cool.

Yikes and double yikes.

Laters x

Lucky, lucky, lucky

Things I'm looking forward to in my new flat:

Finding out how I will live in a new space, in a new part of town. It will be different, it always is - my days will take a new shape. Exciting.

Getting back into gardening, in a new micro-climate. As the agent didn't have the key, I didn't go outside (and now I think of it, there are steps down to the deck), so I don't know what it will feel like to be out there - very near the coast, so windier, but surrounded by tall buildings - shelter? How much shade? No access to soil, so it'll all be pots. I reach for Geoffrey Hamilton's 'Paradise Gardens', which asserts that a little patch of paradise can be created anywhere, and I'm thinking a row of tall, square kitchen bins, black, planted with tall background foliage on at least two sides (north and east), then my big pots with their roses and what have you. I shall have herbs in the long tom pots on the steps to the kitchen. I'm loving it already. It's overlooked on all sides, which I don't mind as in reality no one does actually look, other than momentarily.

Walking down to the beach and gradually becoming very familiar with a small stretch of it.

Having a bedroom just for sleeping (no electronics) and a big front room for everything else - PC, art and craft stuff, sofa, telly, table. It's got a fireplace too - when I asked if it was usable, the agent put his hand up the chimney a bit and said it was blocked, but in the pic:



there's a fire basket, so I bet it's a go-er.

I'm looking forward to rainy winter afternoons, on my sofa, in front of a dancing fire, imagining all the people who have sat round that fireplace since the house was built.

Having a chair in the kitchen, so visitors can sit and chat while I cook.

living near S and M

making long, mixed-media wall-hangings to go on that picture rail.

hardly ever having to walk up a massive hill - which reminds me, I was looking for a pic of the viaduct, which looms in the distance between the buildings down the hill, for my local area painting project and I came across this:

That's where I live, up at the top of that hill on the left - madness.

Today Bloke and I walked along the arm of the marina. I discover that when I feel quite calm and peaceful, I still have a worried frown:



it was lovely:





Sleep well xxx

Guess who wrote a long, cheery post then accidentally closed the page? Gah.

So, in brief, a good day. Lots of long phone calls with old friends with names beginning with M. Cooking, from scratch. Fish cakes, at last. I'm hoping my new kitchen will be a place I like to hang out in.

Son is asleep upstairs. Nice.

I have an overwhelming end of term feeling about not having to look at estate agents websites.

Happy weekend xxx

Well, I'm having to use things I learned in group to keep myself steady right now, as at least two of my triggers have been activated by finding this flat, this flat even more beautiful than I'd described in my list of attributes a perfect flat would have.

I know it doesn't have perfect access for ED, but I really don't think, now I've walked so much of it, staring at front doors, that I'd get a properly wheelchair accessible flat where I want to live. Not that Bob could live in. And I'm the one who will live in it - ED comes down when she does and while I'm not prepared to consider a place that she can't get into, nor am I prepared to sacrifice what I need on a daily basis to avoid a couple of minutes of effort (for both me and her) every few months (at most).

But.

Trigger one boils down to 'I don't deserve good things' (in this case a dream flat), and aspiring to them will only end in tears.

Trigger two is 'I'll get found out' - not sure what exactly, as I'm doing nothing wrong but that doesn't ever get factored in - being referenced and credit checked has set it off, big time.

I'm giving them both the cold shoulder. I don't need to write it all out in a 'formulation', with columns headed event (flat), emotion (guilt/shame), thought (see above), evidence in support, evidence against, more accurate thought, new emotion.

I can do all that in a fraction of a second - I know all there is to know about these particular irrational thoughts and undue emotions. They are lifelong companions, though I haven't seen much of them recently. But moving house is always stressful - more so when it's not your choice, and even more so after a summer like this has been. (The summer of the daughters.) Stress is going to manifest itself somehow, and this is how it goes with me.

My job now is to watch these undue emotions from the sidelines and not to get involved with them, as they are bollocks. The guilt is clearly bollocks - I mean, I know I'm pretending not to be on benefits, but I'm not lying about it, I just swerved the question in a legitimate fashion and the landlord only cares about whether I'll pay the rent, which I will.

Deserving isn't quite so simple when you are a lefty, which I am, a loud and proud believer that we are all of equal worth and should contribute according to our abilities and receive according to our needs. That doesn't happen, not yet, though I do believe we're on our way towards it, slowly but surely, two steps forward, one step back. Meanwhile more than half the world still go to sleep wondering if they'll make it through the next day for the lack of reliable clean drinking water. So, no, I don't deserve to be in a better situation than most people, no one does. But nor do I deserve to not have a pretty mid-level standard of living in my society. So it's not about deserving, and I need to stay away from comparisons because me martyring myself and getting all knotted up with guilt over the plight of the poor benefits precisely no one. I had long arguments with H, my CPN, about this and her line was always the same - the one about parents putting on their own life-jackets first - you're no good to anyone if you don't make it. I will of course need to put my money where my mouth is when I'm settled and steady, and get stuck in to some volunteering, which I will.

Big amounts of distraction are also called for, preferably useful ones. Today I sorted out my finances (in principle), took two massive bags of washing down to the laundrette for a service wash and put it all away when it was done and had a big tidy round. I have loads of little tasks to be getting on with now, like getting rid of half my books.

One of the things that has helped when I'm arguing with my demons has been the support I've received on facebook. I love that people from such varied times and parts of my life have made the effort to wish me luck at precisely the moment I needed a bit of external validation. Thanks guys, a big heartfelt thanks!

Sweet dreams xxx

Phew

Oh my God, bloody hell, I don't know whether to be happy (yes!!) or not. I've put a £200 non-refundable holding deposit down on a flat. Yikes. It is beautiful - aw man, it's fucking lovely, but it's expensive and I've agreed to pay six months in advance (no DSS) and now I'm all in a flap because I'm too agitated to do the maths of it. I think I can make it work though I may have to borrow a bit to tide me over, but I can't think about it properly. Bloke is coming round tomorrow and we're going to go through it together. He thinks it's fabulous too - wholehearted approval and reassurance that all will be well. I really really hope so.

Aw man, it's far more gorgeous than I'd aspired to - gracious proportions, probably three minutes from the beach, which you can see from right outside the front door, loads of space, a fab kitchen, a big outdoor deck with loads of room for my pots, table and bench, leaving space in the middle. It's all terraced so the Bobcat will be safe out the back, same as here. I just looked at my list of desirable features and it's tick, tick, tick. Accessibility is not perfect - there are steps up to the front door, but they're not steep and there are wrought-iron railings, good and strong - I checked them out as I went in. There's also a step down to the bathroom and kitchen, not brilliant. The garden is off the kitchen not the living room. The hob is electric not gas. Those are the only things missing from my fantasy dream flat. They're not deal-breakers, are they? Aw man, I am taking it, I am gonna find a way.

For the record, I opened my email this morning to find updatess from seven different agents, offering fifty-nine properties, not one of which was remotely useful. Like a nine bedroom house for three grand a week, studio flats, third floor (loads of those) and ones I knew were off the market. I cried and cried and cried, just utter exhaustion at these fuckers sending me all this unfiltered, inappropriate aggravation.

Then, a bit later one of the nice lads I met on Friday (not the one I broke down and cried in front of, one of his colleagues), sent me an email asking if this one would suit. It's not available till Dec 10th and it turns out it belongs to his dad - the agents are just doing the paperwork, much as happened with this landlord. When I said I'd take it, we went to the office and someone else took over.

Night night, darlings. Happy sighs of relief. xxx

I made it out the other side of Tuesday just about in one piece. I had a beer with my dinner (shop pie, jacket potato, green beans and broccoli), and two puddings. I've had a cursory look through the to let ads and have indeed missed a perfect place. It was the ground floor of a big Victorian semi, with a fair size garden, not exactly where I want, at a great rent. Never mind - one just like it in the right place will pop along soon.

J came round early (which is why I didn't get online this morning), but that was my choice - I'm not putting it on her. She lives five minutes away and was here while her BF of three years removed the last of his belongings from her house after she'd chucked him out. I'm quite relieved it's over for many reasons: he's a boozer and their life together soon revolved around getting very pissed and getting into huge emotional scenes - I've had years of that from my kids, and before them I was doing it myself so I'm not interested in going there again. I never quite trusted him either, but she was happy with him for more than two years, and he didn't do anything too terrible in the end really. Just continually put booze first and when J stopped drinking and happened across 'Women Who Love Too Much' it all unravelled pretty fast. But while it's a relief, there's sadness too. That book, by the way, WWLTM, is far more useful than its crappy title would suggest. All right, here's the link

By the time I fetched up at art class I was quite agitated. The focus was on perspective, which I need to get right for my project of making a decent picture based on this area. Sadly my brain was fizzing too much for me to concentrate on the opening spiel - I just wanted to be on my own in a pool of silence. I tried to latch on to the principles, about eye lines and vanishing points, which are puzzlingly difficult to get right. Everyone else had remembered to bring a ruler, but I didn't and managed to get some bits of my painting right and others completely wrong. I copied a photo I took yesterday of one of the many pubs on corners in this area - there are five withion two minutes walk of my house. I want to have one in my big pic:



sometimes I feel embarrassed even as I post pictures of my painting, especially when the subject is there too, but hey ho, I can't see you sniggering and I don't care anyway:



As usual impatience was my downfall. I couldn't manage to mix the 'magnolia' shade of the pub's walls, gave up and sloshed on a quite nasty shade of yellow. Then the teacher came round and told me magnolia is made from burnt umber and a touch of scarlet. Scarlet? I'd never have thought of that. Although I'm not particularly pleased with the picture, I loved the doing of it, the getting lost in it, forgetting everything else, my mind settling down into a better place than when I arrived.

Had a cup of miso tea round at K's after class. Also very grounding, seeing him again, my fellow recoverer. Then bought, cooked and ate dinner and have done very little since.

Grateful for: my art class; pies; somewhere to write; friends; a warm cosy home on a chilly evening

Sweet dreams xx

Oy. Back on my sofa. Younger Daughter has been here with the new BF since Saturday lunchtime and they've been on the sofa of an evening. It's been good, easy. Can't believe I only met him last weekend and YD not that much before. He is frail, though so is she and they seem to be looking out for each other. I seem to have slept for most of the weekend.

Long term readers may remember the rapist step-grandson. We discovered yesterday that he'd been released on license last week. I read a good blog entry posted a few days ago by %%diary-horvendile%% about the urge to punish the wicked. In theory, I believe in forgiveness, that people change, but I'm not stupid enough to think they all change for the better. I haven't seen SGS since before he did it so I don't have any sense of where his head's at and a large part of me doesn't want to know, doesn't care. But it fucks my head up.

I've just deleted a few paragraphs of analysing it from every angle. I'd hardly started, I could write about it forever and not be any the wiser but I've thought about it most of the evening.

So I can feel the anxiety rising and my new aim for the immediate future is to look after my self. Tomorrow J is coming round at 11, while her (as of Saturday) ex BF removes the last of his belongings from her house. Then art class at 1.30, about architecture, which means a timely reminder of perspective. I've been invited for coffee afterwards with K, but I may cancel him as I need to do a proper food shop and some washing. (I'm taking things out of the washing basket and wearing them again, clinging to my comfort clothes (long green skirt, Day of the Dead dress). It's not a good sign.) From here that seems a lot for one day, especially as I'm bound to check the letting agents sites, no matter what I say now.

Revised plan. Take all the washing down for a service wash at some point. Another day won't make any difference but having it bagged up will be a good start. Or not even worry about any of it tomorrow - just see J, go to art, have coffee with K if I feel like it at the time, buy a pie on the way home, and start again on Wednesday.

Grateful for: a plan; my little house; my health, which while not great is pretty good considering; my furry slippers; acupuncture

Sweet dreams xxx

Sleepy

Slept. Woke up. Checked emails (one possible, but no pets), went to the loo, slept some more.

Woke up. Had shower, fell asleep on sofa before my hair was even dry.

Woke up. Defrosted, heated and ate chicken and veg soup made earlier this week.

Nearly fell asleep again. Think I might postpone moving/thinking about moving till the new year. I have a bit of capital that I wanted to save for a rainy day, but perhaps this is a rainy day. Can't work it out right now.

I'm still a bit 'GAH!' about it all. I kind of want to detail it every day, as I never do with these extended wind-ups and then later I can't remember, but as always, it's bad enough living through it, without repeating it, with all that fruitless effort and dashed hope.

So I'll just say six emails and one phone call from agents today, about thirty-eight different properties, most of which were studios, though some were on the third floor, or over a grand a month. A couple were worth a phone call, but one of them had gone and the other was with an agent that doesn't open on Saturdays.

It seems OK on paper - theoretically meets all requirements, though lower ground floor so I'll have to see the steps - but has been 'reduced' to less than the maximum benefit rent payment, which means it has some massive drawback that's putting people off. It is in an avenue that runs off a street which is the centre of gay 'scene' night life in the city. It does get a bit hardcore of an evening - my friend M (no not that M, Nursey M) lived there for a while and found it too much, and he'd been a keen participant for many a long year.

One evening this summer, when Younger Daughter and Grandson were here, we wanted fish and chips and drove to a chippie in this street at about 9.30 on a Saturday evening. It's really narrow, just wide enough for a bus to drive one way between the pavements, full of delis and bars, late night chemists, take away food etc so always busy, always lots of out and proud gay people, and on Saturday nights they're out on the pull. The men, that is - in big numbers, fuelled by alcohol and everything else a lad might consume to enhance the party spirit.

While our order was cooked we sat in the window seat of the chippie, the three of us, and Grandson blethered away about a poster or something that caught his eye on the noticeboard, over the pounding music and loud voices coming in off the street. As we waited a stream of (mostly) young men (and a few oldest swingers in town), all groomed to within an inch of their lives, came in and bought a single saveloy each. (It's a kind of very cheap lurid pink sausage, that looks like a semi - I'd noticed a big pile of them, next to the meat pies and a dodgy looking fish cake - these guys knew their customers.) Everyone who came in was visibly buzzing, wild eyes, tapping and nodding to the beat of the music. There was a very early to mid-evening vibe, loads of people about, things were starting to move, the pace was quickening, and the night was still young, anything was possible. There was a palpable torrent of sexual tension that we sat absolutely outside, me, YD, and Grandson over here, and on the other side of the counter the two young, tired East European women, wrapping up the saveloys and handing them over to these handsome, buzzing, horny men.

We were there for about fifteen minutes, by which time we were all nodding to the music too, grooving along, eavesdropping shamelessly, then our food was ready, we were out and back in the car and it was all quiet again. Far more intense an experience than the purchase of fish and chips tends to be. Left me feeling glad I'd not grown up in the city - I was bad enough in a small town - I'd have probably not survived the choices I'd have made in a city.

Anyway, I'm not averse to living in the midst of that - I love being tucked up in bed, falling asleep to the sound of people partying, but M (Nursey M) said that come the early hours there'd always be ambulances and fights and screaming and vomit and in the morning you had to step over people sleeping it off, winter and summer alike. He moved back in with his mum to get away from it. So it depends how far down the avenue towards the street this flat is. Or it might be near the top but damp. I left a message that I want to see it anyway - you never know.

Hove sweet hove

Gah. Me and my mouth. Or my typing fingers, at least. That flat I saw today was the ultimate wind-up. Lovely street, gorgeous front room, with fireplace, bay windows, high ceilings with original coving, loads of room - in fact so much room that the current tenant has her bed in there as well as a sofa and a telly. So is this the 'large double bedroom' or the lounge/diner? There was a great kitchen, lovely garden with original mosaic round the edge of the patio, lawn, borders, tree, old stone wall. Hideously overlooked by tall buildings, but who cares? But where's the other room? It's a fucking corridor, with recesses - you could only get a single bed in there and you'd have to squeeze past it. Fucking lying bastard fucking estate agents - I mean yes, I know, I know - I've seen more estate-agents-are-lying-bastards-based comedy than I can shake a stick at, but still - it's a studio flat and I'm a bloody grandmother. I'm too old to be receiving callers in my bedroom without becoming unbearably miserable about the decisions in my life that have led me to such a state at such an age.

I was in the flat for quite a while, trying to work out a way to do it - I even contemplated giving up my sleigh bed (and I do love my bed and how safe I feel, all snuggled up in it), but there just wasn't enough space. It was a good thing Bloke was there. He went off and I walked the bloody walk again, calling in on my friend MK (since I went discreet I've noticed how many of my friends have names beginning with either M or S), to have a quick cry and hear about her progress towards getting funding from Channel 4 for a documentary - she's passed through several gateway stages - yay for her and back round the agents. I walked two and a half miles (love www.mapometer) and managed to a) cry all over a nice young man, who was SO young and so like a kid I used to teach that I had to bite my tongue to not say, fondly, 'Look at you in your suit, all grown up, doing a proper job!' and b) book a viewing for a flat in one of the squares of the seafront which is not only on the first floor but also way above my budget. I cancelled it just now - it was just despair and exhaustion. I'd decided I'd have to either consider a first floor (second floor USA) or be prepared to pay a bit more, but not both.

There's some guy who owns a big chunk of one of the conservation areas and is letting out flats at a good rate - I keep almost booking to see different places but they're all furnished and not cheap enough for me to pay to store furniture for a couple of years. He seems to have different places with different agents - my eyes kept alighting on the word Montpelier in the address, sliding across to the rent, the description, the pic. Ah the hope - the fickle bloody hope.

I'm stopping now to watch a documentary about Susan Boyle, as recommended on twitter by Julian Clary.

Today I was woken up by a text from an agent, about a massive flat at an affordable price, in that Crescent by the sea I've been tempted by before. I called them back at once - top floor. Fantastic views but no wheelchair access. Fuckers. Still, I seem to have passed some test that has moved me up as a prospective tenant and I've received a mind-boggling amount of texts, calls and emails today. The place I'm due to see tomorrow sounds perfect - big and reasonable, with a garden (called a garden not a patio), about 400yds walk from the beach. Rooms described as kitchen/diner and living room/diner, Victorian bay fronted, white painted. I'm allowing myself some tentative fantasies about loving it, securing it and moving in by Christmas. I can see meeting MG in the new Ikea on the coast to get some curtains, calling in on Stepfie on the way home... Actually that will probably stand wherever I move to - they tend not to come with curtains...

Bloke's coming with me to view it. The agent called me this evening and asked if I'd change to a later time. No, I said, I think this is my flat and I want first look at it, all assertive like, so I'm going earlier. I called Bloke to tell him about the time change and he said not to get too optimistic, it probably won't suit, blah blah, avoid disappointment, hopes dashed etc etc. This reminds me why I don't live with him any more. I can live with disappointment - I feel a pang of regret then move on. If this isn't the one I may have a little bout of despair and frustration, but then I'll just keep on. I'm into a rhythm with it now, almost. I've given up trying to visit all the agents, but I look on the sites that trawl all the agents (then charge you 4p a minute to call), call the agents direct and sign up with all the new ones. I enjoy having these little visualisations of living in this street, or in that terrace. I enjoy believing things are possible. Sometimes they're not, but I've never been averse to a plan b. Better than expecting the worst all the time.

I went and took some pics for my next painting, but the camera ran out of battery before I got to the pub I really want to draw. I've done some sketching of other bits and pieces from it this evening, but didn't have the oomph to get right into it.

I'd had a visit from my friend J and her little dog that I used to walk. J has come to the end with her BF of three years and is quite sad about it, but also optimistic about a new life once he's gone. I kept my gob shut on the subject of what a knob I think he is, which was some feat when I went right off him a couple of years ago. She was a big part of my life when she was single and I do love her. Time will tell how close we become again - we're both teachers, both writers, both have 'challenging' adult kids and do just get along. She tried to keep me in her life when with the BF but was so obsessed with him that I grew weary of hearing about him and drifted away.

Time for bed now.

Grateful for everything - for a new stage of my life opening up in front of me, for those determined souls camping out in defence of our right not to be ripped off by rich arseholes in every area of our lives; for friends; for family; for little Bobcat on a cushion next to me, sleeping the sleep of the just.

sweet dreams xx

Today was definitely A Good Day, in the life and times of me. Things I achieved:

1. I asserted myself with Elder Daughter who wanted to come and visit me this weekend with her friend K (who has just discovered her husband has been unfaithful), and her two young boys. We have been here before and it was hideous for both me and ED. K and her husband have been together since they were fourteen, which either means they're solid and this'll be lived through, or he's had enough. Last time she came down with her kids and ED, she was upset about something that was actually sorted out as soon as she went home. She spent the whole time crying to ED, ignoring her boys who became increasingly attention seeking. Periodically she'd notice their behaviour, snap at them, realise what they were going through, apologise to them, me, and ED, then become consumed with guilt at being a bad mother and start crying again. I'm not passing any judgement on her - she's a darling woman, but it's all too much for me. I end up as chief cook, tidier-up (have to when ED's there as she needs a clear path), dish-washer and child entertainer - the only time I spend with my daughter is hijacked by every conversation leading back to K's bloody husband. Both ED and I emerged shell-shocked and annoyed after two days of it last time, and now we'd have to factor a commode in as well. No. I'm building up to moving house here and am conserving my energy.

2. I spent a lot of the day lying in my bed, chatting on the phone to son and various daughters and letting agents. They've started calling me, though not with anything I'm excited about. I've been encouraged by all and sundry to believe that the right place will turn up and I do feel optimistic again. Excellent resting today.

3. I went for a walk with my camera, in search of the perfect local street scene to paint. It doesn't exist, and I finally grasped that I can make one up with bits of different photos. This constitutes a major development for me. Having tried it today, I want to go out again tomorrow and take slightly different pics - I want a pub on the corner and some details of what's on the pavement - you can't see because there are cars parked on both sides of the roads, nose to tail, but there's stuff everywhere and I want to try and make it a bit more specific. Anyway, Bob enjoyed it:



This is the 'finished' painting:



and I'd like to say in my defence that I was very patient with the background and am quite pleased with that, but am generally over the moon at having made something of my own. I might try the one tomorrow in gouache.

Grateful for: A roof over my head and a few quid in the bank; my children; long chat with Sis this evening; a peaceful day; my pot of chicken and veg soup was truly delicious on its second day today and I had enough to freeze three more servings of it - very pleasing

Sweet dreams xx

Didn't go and look at that flat - woke up early enough but fell to pieces with premature anxiety about whether or not to put down the necessary non-refundable deposit to secure the place if the rooms were big enough. Luckily Bloke phoned, heard from my voice that I was agitated and talked me through it. I cancelled. Too tired, too big a decision, too dangerous for Bobcat.

Had a moment (or several) of despair at the task of finding anywhere that I'd know was all right, but managed to tidy front room a bit while sobbing with anger at it all. Then toddled off to art class.

Hurrah for art class. I teetered on the brink of walking out for the first ten minutes or so - I couldn't get myself focused on the teacher and what she was saying about landscapes in pen and wash - her words went into my ears as sounds, but didn't reach my brain. But I stayed and painted another picture based on the photo Bloke took a few years ago. It's OK, a bit better than the one I did before and I managed to stop before I fucked it up completely:



I like this one, copied (more or less) from a painting, much more:



although It's not finished, I was too impatient with putting the paint on when time was running out and it's on sketchbook paper, which Teacher says doesn't help. So I might go down town and buy a sheet of water colour paper tomorrow and have a go at doing something else in that kind of style. I have a photo of the area I live in that lends itself to having a go.

Younger Daughter's best mate from college is sleeping here tonight as she has some internship in town tomorrow. We managed to yak for several hours, putting the world to rights. She's a bit of an event, if you know what I mean - generally high maintenance, but on good behaviour at her friend's mother's house as she's a good girl really.

Grateful for: a home people come and stay in - seven people have slept in that room since YD went back to college; a big pot of chicken and veg soup that will last a few days; my lovely bed; ending the day better than I started it.

Sweet dreams xx

Aw man, I've got a flat to see tomorrow and I really can't be arsed because it hasn't got a garden. But it's a good price, ground floor and with 'a view over a nice garden at the back' which means Bob will be able to get in and out. I wish we used floor space (in square yards or metres), here like they do in most countries in property transactions, but we don't. Probably because we have less per person than just about anybody. I ask how big it is and the agent says 'large' and won't be drawn further, so I have to go and look. He says there's a big kitchen, though god knows what that means - neither of the ones I've seen so far were half as big as the one I have at the moment and that's too small for a single fucking chair. In the end I think it would be the loss of space that would have the biggest negative impact, but now I'm worrying about Bob and a busy road out front. Some of the houses on this road are terraced but some are semi-detached.

It was good going for a day and a half without internet access, especially when combined with the day of 5 Rhythms and general hippy workshops that I did on Sunday. That took place right over the other side of London - Jesus, you couldn't have a greater contrast. Younger Daughter lives in a run down, cheap, rough, skanky area where people are crammed in right next to and on top of each other; the workshop was in a part of town that had been built centuries ago for the idle rich and they still live expansively in its golden stone mansions. Nothing in the (very elegant) shop windows had a price on - darling, if you have to ask, you clearly can't afford it. Everything oozed calm and comfort and beauty, but I restrained my revolutionary fervour in the name of having a day of nourishment for body and soul.(I realise I haven't written about the Occupy protests - the one here might get nasty, what with the Olympics, but the eyes of the world are on us, I hope, so who knows? Interesting times.)

Dancing and singing all day was blissful. We drifted into an altered state, me and my pal MG, and her pal J, and bloody lovely it was too, if somewhat difficult to convey. I still feel a deep sense of relaxation beyond the surface stress of the house and the daughters and all that unavoidable muddle of life. (My son in law has behaved like an unspeakable cunt over Daughter's increased mobility, crushing her spirit yet again.) Moving my body and using my voice in a safe place with nice music, where everyone was kindly disposed but not really interested, for four sessions over the course of the day nourished parts of me that sorely needed it. We started with an invitation to move around the room to this:



Early night now, to be up and out to view the flat.

Grateful for: seeing Bert back again (*waves*); email from cousin - we're planning a meet; spending time with MG without any children and being able to have long, long chats that got right into it; being able to not tidy up when I can't be arsed and nobody else being affected; only being pleasantly knackered after busy weekend

Living in the city

Wrote this on Saturday night:

One hour thirty five minutes of battery and no internet. I’m at Younger Daughter’s – her new place since she moved out of ‘supported accomodation’ and in with her boyfriend. It’s a basement, on a busy road in east London and I’ve been given a whole room to sleep in at the front. It sounds like the telly out there, honestly. Sirens and shouting then little lulls till it all starts up again. The boyfriend reassured me that there are bars on the windows, which was kind of scary in itself, but it just feels exciting. There’s a big venue about 100 yards away, where a heavy metal tribute band has just started up – could be Wishbone Ash – that kind of thing, sounds a bit familiar – Uriah Heep? – a band I used to hear but never was into that much. Lots of loose, sloppy cheering. Good natured so far.

We spent the day in a hotel restaurant which had been commandeered by the w o m e n and ms group, with Elder Daughter, grandson and Bloke, next door to the British Library, which I've always yearned to go in but couldn't remember exactly what for so didn't. I loved this statue outside though, massive and solid and about thinking, brilliant:



Tomorrow I’m going to a five rhythms day – big dance/meditation stuff, with MG – it’s all very hectic for a person used to a bit of pottering and a lot of telly.

ED had a fabulous day – she just blossomed once amongst her peers, man it was heart-breaking to watch. She’s great though, my girl. She didn’t waste a second on shyness – this was her afternoon with the gang whose motto for coping with MS is ‘Chin Up, Tits Out’, (which isn’t to say they deny the awfulness of MS, but they have a laugh and piss about as well). Grandson wasn’t getting involved with the other kids as they were either frilly girls under the age of ten, or teenage ‘big boys’. So he and YD played games about the place, like ‘spot the cupcake’.







The boyfriend has MS too (don’t even wonder what my take on that is, as I don’t know) , and this was the first time any of us had met him, so there was a lot going on. I like him so far – we’ve spent the evening here and he’s easy company, funny, interesting, a sculptor, which is a good start. It’s all been very quick which can go either way, but right now she’s happy and safe and for that I am content.

My problem is that I have no idea where the workshop is tomorrow and I can’t get on the internet and MG never turns her phone on. I assumed I’d be able to get online and read the email with the details and I don’t know anyone who’d be at home and awake at midnight on a Saturday that I can call to look it up for me. I need to be there by ten and it’s north London somewhere – Little Venice (a car is stopped in the traffic outside blasting heavy reggae loud enough to drown out the tribiute band) and the clocks go back tonight, which confuses things further as we only have the time on computers and mobile phones and none of us can remember for sure if they reset themselves.



I’m going to sleep now and will call Bloke first thing and ask him to look it up. Feel anxious about it, which is annoying as I’d like to just contemplate the day I’ve had and the one I’m looking forward to, rather than fretting about whether or not I’ll get there before lunch

Another frustrating day of home-hunting. The flat I looked at was horrid - I assumed it was the whole ground floor, but some fucker has managed to squeeze two so-called one bedroom flats out of it. The bedroom was OK, but the other room included the kitchen and if I'd put my sofa and table in it you'd have had to stand sideways to squeeze between them. Today's near miss was in the same road as my friends M&S, in a terrace so gorgeous and unusual I've googled it and have learned that it was built in 1870, in the Italianate style. Aw maaaaan. I want to live there. Again it had the big rooms, high ceilings, fabulous windows, manageable rent. But it was on the second floor (third in American). I don't know why I got stuck on it - most agents have some kind of list and I'd spent the whole day dismissing anything above or below ground floor without noticing anything else about them. I decided it was because I'd done enough, long since and now I should stop and go home, but I almost cried about having to say that one was 'no good'.

And what pisses me off is that the two near misses haven't made it to the internet on any of the lettings pages - I've been in the office before they got that far. None of the agents have contacted me with any flats, though I've now been signed up with some for over a week and when I call in they have ones I've not heard of. There's a two mile stretch of road through the city that has dozens of letting agents strung along it. It's taken me six hours over two days to call in on them all. Some are national chains, some are ramshackle independent operations - any of them may or may not have my flat. In one place there was an older guy on the phone and a younger woman who invited me to sit but then said they had nothing to suit. As we were going through my spiel the guy started listening and butted in to mention tenants who were moving out of here in December and here in January. "Hassle me," said the woman. "Keep calling to make sure I remember you." But there's another road with a great long stretch of them too, that I haven't even looked at. Monday I shall do that.

I viewed a one bedroom house as well. Fuck me. That was even smaller than the flat I'd seen. Space.

I've got one to look at tomorrow - it's terrible - I started writing this three hours ago and keep thinking of different things to google in this search and each one throws up more and more, none of them of a decent size on the ground floor for a decent rent.

In the past I would have gambled. I still have a few (a very few, few enough to be declared and discounted by the benefits mob) thousand quid. I could say to myself, fuck this. I deserve to live in a decent place - I'm not going to live like a student again, now am I going to squeeze myself into a shoebox. I'll pay the extra few hundred (gulp) it will take to live somewhere decent and I'll just fucking have to find a way of keeping going. I commit to the belief that I live in a nice home and make it happen. Maybe I go two bedroom and (illegally) let out a room to a nice serious post-grad student, or take in language students for five days at a time.

Oh God, it's 1.50 and I've just found a place and sent an email. Tow bedrooms - fuck it, eh.

There's been some emailing between me and my long lost cousin. I just offered to go and meet her - she lives about four hours away, but my old friend D lives twenty miles from her and says I can stay at hers and go from there.

I have this vision of our two dead mothers. Two sisters, Barbara and Brenda, who both died in their early twenties, who both left baby girls. And now (or soon at least), here we are, two middle-aged, motherless women, sitting on a bench somewhere, making our mothers happy. We made it, look at us, we're in our fifties, proper grown-ups. Can they see us? Have they grown older and wiser ahead of us, or is my mother still twenty-two? It's hard to imagine twenty-whatever-year-olds in the 1950s being as dippy as the modern ones (no disrespect, honest). They'd had rationing for most of their lives, no central heating, outside toilet - they missed so much. I can't help but believe it would please them, it will please them - how could it not? - to see us, their daughters, together at last.

Which isn't expressing a belief about what happens after death so much as a hope. All I believe is that we don't know, any of us, but some of us are optimistic, in a vague and incoherent fashion.

Anyway, apart from that I did some serious estate agent visiting today - two hours of it. For a while I had an appointment to view an amazingly awesome sounding flat in one of the most, if not the most beautiful Georgian terraces in the city, with a blissful, majestic front, steps away from the sea. Aw man, we'd written it down and everything and then I said, unasked, that I had a cat. No deal. The agent phoned the landlord to press my case but they weren't interested. No pets, no exceptions. So close, so fucking close.

I kept going and have actually got a place to view tomorrow, but I'm not as enthusiastic. It's a dive in comparison, but it's still a Georgian terrace so the rooms should be big and it's only one block up from the beach. You can see the sea from the doorstep, if not from indoors, well enough to tell how high the tide is and how rough it is. I like that - it's different every day. Back in the wind. Hmm...

There's still a whole load of agents I haven't been to that I'm going to try and hit tomorrow before I go to the viewing. I've started doing the Om Gum Ganapatyei Namaha mantra again - for help in the removal of obstacles from one's path. I let the other one slip when I went to Daughter's - it doesn't seem to occur to me to keep going with it there, which is tricky when aiming for forty consecutive days, considering how often I go there.

Grateful for: feeling supported, not alone in my endeavours; a great session with R (counsellor) today; a good long nap when I got in, with the cat, the bloody, flat-losing cat, all snuggled up and purring next to me; having had the opportunity to mother my children; hearing the rain lashing down on my poor, dry, neglected garden.

Sweet dreams xx

If I were a rich girl

Today was a big-time duvet day. I did get up to make my grandson some breakfast before Bloke came and took him home to his mummy, but went straight back to bed and stayed there till it got dark again.

Spent a lot of time hunting online for a flat. I've not yet seen what I want, where I want it, at a price I'm able to pay, and I'm finding it impossible to decide which aspects to surrender. Infuriatingly, if I wasn't insisting on ground floor I could easily get everything else, but what about elder daughter? Like I say, infuriating. I think I'm going to stop ruling out places which have a small flight of steps up to the front door, on the basis that with my help she's been able to manage the steps out of her place, no matter how bad her legs have been. Not a whole between-two-floors flight, but some. There are masses of old buildings in this city, but virtually all of them have steps up to allow for a lower ground floor. Steps down are too steep and narrow (servants' steps), but the ones going up will just have to be manageable, unless the gorgeous goddess of affordable housing wishes to shine a kindly light on me and my endeavours to find a home fit for all my family.

Location is the other option for flexibility. I've been fixed on living near the beach, within easy walking distance - I'm only three-quarters of a mile away now, but coming back is all uphill, which has been far more of a deterrent than I anticipated when I moved here. But while I think living right on the front would enhance the quality of life, I don't really think it'll necessarily be diminished by continuing not to. I've decided while writing that I shall give it till the end of the month, holding out for the dream home, then start considering more options. It makes my bloody head reel, I tell you.

Today was my sister's twins' birthday, so it would have been Ma's 91st as well. Terrible. I wanted to phone sis but couldn't somehow.

That's all.

Keep our teeth nice and clean

I've been a good granny today, by and large, though I may not win any prizes for hair care:



While we were waiting for my acupuncture session, Grandson took one picture of me with each of the different settings on my camera and it's galling to admit that the one above is the most flattering. I'm gonna start looking for my hairbrush tomorrow, honest.

Some of us climbed trees in the park:



and some of us didn't.

It's been a good day - good pacing. Bloke brought GS back at about 11, just after I'd woken up. They brought me coffee in bed and we all hung out in my bedroom for quite a while, with the Bobcat right in the middle, purring loudly.

Bloke went off to do some work and me and GS got into our rhythm of amiable bickering and point scoring. He's cool to mooch about with - spots things I'd missed, like squirrels popping in and out of a hollow log and a cat in the kids' playground. He's much happier if I don't try and initiate the conversation - we just bimble along in comfortable silence then he'll come out with, "Granny, have you noticed that you can't tell the difference between boys and girls much more here than where I live?" which leads to a nice long analysis of clothes, hair, posture, city vs village, and god knows what else, with reference to everyone who catches our eye. In the end he said he still preferred it where he lives, where a girl is a girl and looks like one and vice versa, but he's twelve - he's sensitive to all that.

He's going home tomorrow - Grandad's taking him. I just don't have it in me. It's the computer games that kill it, that and the all day kids' TV. I don't have the energy to constantly wrestle him away from them and come up with alternative activities. My theory on childhood is that boredom generates creativity - given the choice I'd ban all the electronics, safe in the knowledge that he'd come up with something to do, but it's too hard when they're here. I'm just too tired and he'll play/watch all day unless I stop him. So he's better off at home with some mates and his bike. Shame though. I hope to do better next time, when I'll be in my new home, wherever that turns out to be and there'll be all sorts to explore.

My task for tomorrow is to read this fab book:



which I borrowed from my art teacher, with a view to doing some outdoor drawing/painting. Right at the beginning she says that most children (and some adult artists), are mainly concerned with form/shape/outline, whereas most (but not all), adult artists see things in terms of light and shade. This was such a relief to me. Most art teaching also assumes that tones are the most important thing, but I have a real struggle with all aspects of it. I shall continue to try and improve my use of light, but I won't obsess and get depressed about my struggle with it. Instead I will try and do lots more really free drawing, without considering that at all if it doesn't come spontaneously. That's the plan, at any rate, though when I read through this blog I am astounded at the plans I've had, most of which vanish into the ether the moment I've written them down.

When I googled that book to see when it was written (1966) and then clicked on images to see what the author had actually painted, a lot of pics from Victoria Wood's Made on TV (especially Acorn Antiques) came up on the first couple of pages. This is bollocks.

Grateful for: a good day with GS; the end of the feeling that in the immediate future more will be required of me than I can give without re-emptying my tiny supplies of energy; a growing feeling of excitement about moving; a productive chat with the nice housing benefit officer; that group I did, that taught me how to feel all right; and feeling a bit optimistic about ED.

Sweet dreams xxx