[From – Thursday 18 January 2007]

Need to write a bit more – anything – to get my head clear.

Dentist today – the old dentist – hygienist appointment – decided I’d go – I’ll feel safer going to the new dentist if my teeth are clean.

I don’t think I need to say anything else because all that is going through my head, apart from that, are imagined criticisms from other people.

I’m pushing aside that imagined criticism, because I’m bored with myself taking on board other people’s criticisms of me – where they want me to live my life the way they think is best for me.

So, I’m going for this clean today – I’m not looking forward to it because I may get that woman who was rude last time, and who – she used some procedure that was painful.

I did try to ring later on yesterday, to ask how much it was going to cost me.  Prices have gone up.  But their phone was on answer because their receptionists were busy.

What were they doing?

Maybe they had a glut of patients going through – a line of patients going out of the door –

Anyway, I’m back-biting.

Who knows what they were doing – it was quite late when I rang, and I rang more than once, and – oh, shut up, Joan.

I need to get ready quite soon – my appointment is for ten-thirty.


Okay.  She’s cursed.

I wasn’t sure, when I went in, if it was the same one I saw last time – but, as I think about it – it is.

The same authoritarian disregard for the patient – and the type that couldn’t be told – she is so sure of herself.  Some people are like that, and all you can do is avoid them like the plague.

I have the new dentist on Tuesday – I’ll see what she is like.

I got upset in there, today – you can’t help getting upset – you dissect it afterwards, but it’s too late – you’re upset – you have been upset.

I don’t want to be upset when I go to the dentist.

I want to be treated as though I matter as a person.

I could write to them, explaining why I’ve decided to leave, but I know, before I begin, the sort of letter that I would get back, if I got a letter at all – one stating their position – and not moving an inch – which would upset or anger me once again.

And so – I won’t do that.

I hope this new dentist is an improvement.

I won’t know what the hygienist is like until later, but if the dentist is okay…

Unless the new hygienist is like this one that I’ve just seen, where, no matter what you say, it makes no difference –

She wanted absolute obedience, full-stop – I’m sure she never asks herself why her patients don’t, or can’t, comply – she sees in black and white – at that point when she mentioned her duty I could have hit her –

No.  Not that.

I can’t remember how I felt, but the word dripped like an icy water-drop on to my tombstone – that sort of feeling.

I was upset, but she went ahead with her hygienist plan for me regardless – I couldn’t take in what she said – I was disregarding it as she was saying it, because I couldn’t trust her in the first place.

A hectoring tone, a surety that she was right, a certainty that the state of my teeth was my own fault –

Whereas I have never had proper advice before on the best way to clean my teeth – all these years I’ve been going regularly to the dentist, and I’ve never had proper advice.

I’ve had the odd bit of advice from dentists – everything I’ve been told is contrary to what this awful woman has told me today.

She gets her rocks off on my discomfort, on my fault, on my shame.

Therefore, I hope something really nasty happens to her that will cause her to rethink her general attitude and her sense of superiority at the expense of other people.

She really is not a nice person.

I’d leave her alone in her error, but she has unleashed that against me.

I don’t really believe that curses of mine will make any difference to people, not on a rational level, but in my deep levels where – it’s not just superstition – where a word can affect the course of events – where I believe it can – I curse her from that place.

Call it my id, if you like.

There are no extenuating circumstances for her from this, my place.

There is no understanding or forgiveness – not on what I’ve encountered in her today.

And so, from there, I wish her harm.

And I wish her harm because she has harmed me, and therefore doesn’t deserve my mercy.

It is good for my soul to think this way.

It heals the deep rift inside me.

It allows me to carry on, and bring out the deep upset.

She has had no mercy for me – so be it also for her from me.


I have to get myself calmed down from that traumatic situation now.

I opened the door…

I opened the door to someone today.

I do not always open the door.  I have my front-room curtains pulled in such a way that I can go into the front room, and glance out and see who is at the door.

If I don’t like the look of them, I don’t answer the door.

Today – I was upstairs – there was a knock at the door.

I went down.

Today – I told myself not to be afraid to open my door, and I went to it, and opened it.

No.  It was not okay.

I did not, from this, learn a moral lesson to open my door as I might open my heart.


The person at the door was selling something, as people often are.

It is the same ruses, and I do not fall for them, these days.

Some days, I open my door if I want to.

Or – I check through the window, first – I don’t always feel strong enough to deal with charlatans at the door.

Eve and Lilith

[From – Diary – Saturday, 6 January, 2007]

He’s just gone to bed – it’s about a quarter to twelve, and if I’m to stay in my new routine, I’ll also need to go to bed soon.

I’m unwinding.

Too much to explain, perhaps, tonight.

Went to see Mam with Jean, as usual.

Poor Mam can hardly get a word in edgeways.

Jean and I moan and grumble.

Jean’s reading the Bible.

I told her I read it when I was young, straight through, from beginning to end.  I’d thought I’d better find out what it was about.  I said the odd thing to Jean about Christianity being for men – especially the Old Testament – and mentioned Michelene Wandor’s poems about Eve and Lilith.

She was interested in Lilith.

I’ve just read the poems.

I remember when I first read them, and thought, ‘I don’t understand them!  I don’t get them!’

You feel as though you should know, somehow.

Well, I still don’t get most of them, but I reminded myself not to be frightened of them.

It’s a bit worrying, passing the book over to Jean to read.

I don’t want to put her off before she even starts.

I know what I’d do with these poems now – pick out a few that interest me and look at those first.

I’ve thought I’ll suggest to Jean that she does that.

I feel as though I do want to get something from these poems, but I know now that it’s up to me what I do get.

I also know that I don’t have to relate it to the Bible if I don’t want to – I didn’t know that then, when I first came across it at the university – but I could make whatever associations I wanted.

It’s no good, you see – I can’t unwind, just like that.

It’s probably tomorrow – I’m not looking because I don’t want to unduly worry myself.  If I write tomorrow, I’ll count it tomorrow after I’ve slept.

In fact, what I’ve read from the poems – it’s affected me already.  God is measure, order.  And Lilith – abstract.

And here I am, ordering my life where I can – but that’s my business, isn’t it?

Consideration of death – found in my diary

[From – Diary – Tuesday, 2 January, 2007]

It’s not much later, but I’m still sort of wandering.

I was determined it was time for bed, but I have a cigarette, and I’ve come in here –

That’s a strange thing that has been happening recently – apart from the heat in my stomach, which I’m puzzling about – more and more, I’m letting go of my anxiety about death.

I think, ‘You don’t know when it’s going to happen – at the moment of it, you won’t know, and there will be nothing you can do about it, so you may as well stop worrying – whether you’ve finished your writing or not, what will happen to it after your death – whether your particular death could have been avoided, if only you’d been sensible about health matters –’

None of this I can change.

And when I think like this, I get a wonderfully relaxed feeling.

I needn’t worry about walking out.

When Gran set off on her bike that day, she had no idea that an accident about to happen would lead to her death.  She had no idea then.

She did realise, later, that she was about to die, and said – she wished she hadn’t worked so hard –

But even so, at that moment of her death – she’d have slipped away.

If she’d known she was slipping away, she couldn’t have stopped it.

Mam thinks everything is planned for you, as though it’s all written in a big book.

I can understand what she means – it may as well be, because you can’t do anything to alter that moment.

I even wonder, now, about the wisdom of, ‘You saved my life’.

Maybe life can’t be saved.

If life is saved it was going to be saved anyway, perhaps – because it’s all written down in this big book…

Inside there now…

[I was going to give this yesterday – jotted it down yesterday – but didn’t have time to post it – funny thing, much of what I gave over Easter – written the day before – posted the day after – just the way things worked out – but that probably has some significance – which I’ll realise eventually.]

Hmm.  Keeping myself company here, as I often do with my writing.

Lack of orientational points – even I have difficulty from inside this thing [‘My Site’ in the editing mode] – I can only scroll through the blog posts slowly – I’m finding my beginning – but – so often misunderstood – I’m getting a lot of writing leeway from this attempt at the – hate the word – but the manipulation of the blog.

So – I don’t worry about the mechanics of the blog.  Don’t care about that, anyway – what I care about is my writing – and I’m exploring this way of delivering it (through the blog) – and I get a ‘Aw!  Not responsive!’ sign.

Okay.  I actually do have the patience for all that, and I’ll take as much time as I need – because that is a way I have found works for me – take that time.

Don’t worry – I know I’ll need to live until I’m about a hundred – I said something about that in my paper diary – there is nothing else for it – gotta live many more years if I’m going to sort this out.

[Just keeping things ticking over.]