I'm doing a series of guided meditations on headspace.com about acceptance and there are a few interesting points I'd like to share with you. He (the bloke doing it) says if you want to be more accepting, don't try and do that, but try to notice who and/or what you are resisting. Hmph. Bloke and living here popped into my mind at once. He also suggests asking yourself this question in the second person (you). So don't think, "Who am I resisting?" as this is likely to lead to self-justification and philosophical arguments with yourself and none of us want that. Instead think, "Who are you resisting?" and it will be possible to understand more clearly... or something - I can't remember what will be better about it to be honest. But I cleaned the front room and hoovered and tried to be a bit less angry and obnoxious to Bloke, so that's something.

Then just now I realised I've become resistant to blogging and I don't like it. I know it's because of ED - I always wanted my blog to be serious in intent but kind of light in tone, which I think it was for a long time, but how the fuck do you maintain a light tone when your child is dying? That does not require an answer, obviously, but the problem is that I don't know how to write now, or what to write about - mainly, I suspect, because I don't know how to live any more either. I've become quite rigid in some ways. I do my self-care things (Monday=yoga, Tuesday=art and sewing, Weds=singing and counselling once a month, Thursday=yoga, Friday=painting, Saturday=therapy, Sunday=time with YD) and I visit ED every day (while she is confined to bed) and become very agitated if I have to change. Or if I add something extra and then have to change it. For example, I'd made a note in my diary of this last Sunday being the last time till spring that there would be a mega-low tide during the afternoon. I like to go to the city when this happens as it's beautiful to walk on the hard wet sand by the derelict pier. Before Sunday arrived I had already arranged to take YD out, so I thought I'd go to the city on Saturday - the tide wouldn't be quite as low, but still, it would be nice. As I was about to leave on Saturday it started to rain, good heavy rain from a solid grey sky. but I couldn't make myself stay at home. I just got in the car anyway, drove over, got drenched and cold and kept walking, along the sand onto the live pier and back, shivering and anxious, noticing my inability to change course and quite scared by it.

Also, I realised that I hadn't eaten since breakfast and thought I'd get some chips on the pier. I only had two quid in cash. Chips cost £2.95 - I know, rip-off, but this is a big tourist attraction, so it is what it is. I didn't want to eat more as Bloke was doing dinner, but I was hungry, and do you know, the tills in the chip shops, all of them, are computerised so you can't pay by card for anything less than a fiver and there's no option of giving a smaller portion of chips for two quid. Fuckers. I thought maybe I could find some cash lying about on the ground and I did find a 20p piece and a tiny brown one cent coin, too small for me to see what kind of cent it was - many countries have that as their small amount. So I was hungry and stayed hungry, but I walked a long way, which was good and took some good photos which was also good.

I'm going to try and blog twice a week, minimum, and to find another blog home.

I am grateful for: having found the headspace site which I love; yoga, beautiful; photography, keeping my mind in a safe place for hours - today I took a thousand pictures of trees, none of which were all that but all of which stopped me falling into despair; Bloke cooking dinner again, as he does most nights; a new chicken place on my route from yoga back to my car - very nice lebanese spices, whatever the fuck they are.

Sleep tight xxxx