I feel adrift, untethered, not in a good way, awash on a sea of intensity - stoned, obviously, but out of step with everything that isn't out of step with me.

Five things:

1. I let a section of ED's calves, between the top of her socks and the hem of her skirt, get badly sunburned on Sunday. It was windy when we were out and I was concerned that she might get cold and that her skirt didn't blow up into her face like it did the time before, revealing an alarming amount of tubes to the passing world. We're now attaching the hem of her skirt to the frame of the wheelchair with strong magnets - this was our first outing with them and I am appalled and amazed that I kept looking at the magnets but didn't even glance at ED's legs. Anyway, they were badly burnt and this morning, four days later, the blisters became so scary that the manager of the home took ED to A&E to have them looked at. Man. They were burst and dressed and she seemed OK about it all - though what could she do? Fucking hell.

2. I had five things when I started, but writing that has stirred me up. What do you do with the feeling when you know you have done something that has hurt someone else? Especially someone you love, who is vulnerable and already physically compromised (that's fucked up in medicalese), someone you gave birth to. I have no words for these feelings, I'm not enjoying them but I made them happen.

3. On a lighter note... can't think of anything just yet - oh yes, I've taken up smoking grass on a daily basis again now I've bought a new pipe. Not all day, just a quick pipe after my coffee after my dinner, like a person might have a drink, a brandy snifter or whatevs. I need to reconnect with my inner stoner. Staying away from the weed for the last six months, since stopping the fags, hasn't made me any less mental and I only stopped because I wanted to really separate from the habit of inhaling smoke and I feel safe about that now, that I know that no matter how bad it gets, smoking a fag is never going to do anything but make it worse - all the other shit will still be there, but I'll be smoking again as well. So fuck that.

4.The garden. Sigh. Fucking big SIGH. Next door still haven't put the fence up between them and us, and I refuse to get started on anything till fencers have been and gone, because they wear big working boots and don't ever give a fuck about plants, they don't even see them. So it's still a long strip of unkempt grass with a few flowers down the other side and some runner beans. It will be fucking awesome, a series of different bits, separated by taller plants, with at least one pond, vegetables, trees, places to sit, all sorts of blissful, heavenly nonsense, but we can't start until they get a fence - we can't even visualise it properly as all we can see are pigeon lofts. I keep meaning to take and upload pics

5. #blacklivesmatter for fuck's sake. Honestly, I don't have anyone I'd call a friend who would think of saying 'all lives matter' in the face of repeated, endless, unpunished murders of black people by white cops, caught on video, ffs, but quite a few of my friends have friends who will say that, and feel aggrieved and attacked by even the suggestion that black lives matter, the fucking motherfuckers. That's the problem, right there. Not listening, not thinking, just getting straight on the defensive, as if THEY are the victims, mouthing off, probably getting themselves armed, just in case, and it makes me LIVID. I think it's about a lack of education, or a lack of decent education. Jesus, I feel as if I spent half my life teaching fucking teenagers how to tell the difference between fact, assertion and opinion (GCSE English, paper 1), not resting until they GOT IT, and why hasn't anyone taken the same trouble with these mouthy twats? EH? answer me that?

I am grateful for: Getting back into long stoned sentences that drivel on and on, adding clauses and sub-clauses but never losing sight of the main verb (well, never is a long time, hardly ever, more like); feeling like I could even dance a bit, having not danced once at Glasto, having not seen any fucking music - though I did see Basil Brush, making a big top full of kids almost wet themselves with laughter; art tomorrow, thank fuck for that; Hilary Thrillary; spending an hour with ED late afternoon, listening to Take That via my phone while I unpicked the lavender pillow I'd made for her years ago and replenished the lavender so it smells again - very peaceful and nice and soothing