Tuesday, November 20, 2018

It's crawling towards Christmas.

First of the Christmas "I want" list.  Glass baubles, big deal you say but these are special. Remember Mt. Saint Helen having a tantrum that did more damage than Trump in a China shop?  It was really last century, lord I feel old.  So, baubles, blobs of glass spun into glittery things and not just for Christmas.  I am looking at one above the computer, I love it because it looks like that photo of Earth taken from Space.  I have another hanging from the chandelier in the bedroom, plain glass with seagulls flying etched around it. Another in the Entrance Lobby (watching too much "escape to the country") which is burgundy and I managed to find burgundy drops in another shop, matches the rosewood furniture. Yes, my Lobby has furniture.  Going round the corner to the toilet with the lop-sided sign, thank you, useless ex, I have hanging from the ceiling my Universe. I put them up one Christmas and found out it was good Feng Shui if they swayed in the breeze and sent the bad Chi on its way.  No lead crystal here just the most fragile of coloured glass, matt gold balls and mirrored baubles.  The stars on the ceiling used to glow in the dark but they super nova'd over the years and I can't climb the ladder to lever them off.

Now these glass balls are heavy and like good glass have ash in the melt, Mt St Helen's ash. How good is that? Shut up, it's terrific to me and I want both of them, I'm greedy.

As usual the Black Dog has been dogging my brain (cute, I'm getting my sense of humour back) and watching mother almost die every week is emotionally draining and physically draining every time I fall over so by the time I sort out the walking mess that is me, days have disappeared.  Falling asleep in the chair is still going on, the cat threw up on my foot and I didn't wake.  I am just not in this world at the moment.  My sister rang again and that always makes me so glad..not.  I think I'll have it written in my Will that if I was too fragile to punch her, I want someone hired to slap her if she goes near my grave. 

That is something else to be done, check the plot, I haven't be there since the bushfire dropped a walloping great fir tree near it.  I need to measure up the plaque for mother and measure where the flowers went up in smoke so I can put the new ones in, she made me promise. I could get a taxi there and walk back but the paths are wonky and I refuse to ring 000 and ask for an ambulance to find the fat lady down in the middle of a cemetary.  I hated to ask nephew since he works 6 days a week and Sunday is all for his little boy but he has promised to make time. I have a feeling that time is short.  

Tuesday, November 06, 2018

Ring ring from Yeppoon

Such a lot of wisdom in that.  Communication is important except when it's a cold caller for some rubbish or a sister who's communication comes across like a soggy biscuit dropped in a cup of tea. The most infuriating thing that can happen, dropping the Teddy biscuit in a cup of tea.

This is usually me on the phone listening or trying to talk to my sister.  It's definitely me at least two hours after I put down the phone trying to calm myself.

She rings to tell  me it's shining brightly on the coast and it's raining in Melbourne. Biatch, I'm in Melbourne and don't know it's raining. (crazy stage)
She's off to the pub, booked a table and half price lunch to watch The Cup. I wondered to mother the other day if wrinkle face was still cementing with make up before she left the house.  Apparently only if she's going to the pub as there is a little problem with the muggy heat and she has to sit in front of a fan for half an hour to set her face or everything runs down her neck. (insane stage)
She won't be betting too much after all she on a pension now.  This from someone who would back horses in Toowomba at midnight cross-eyed from too many Fosters (psycho stage).

Haven't rung Mum, is she still with us? (psycho stage with desire to face slap hard).

Funny how I keep getting these calls though, I'm sure I don't have a sister.

Sunday, November 04, 2018

Still standing for this month

Well sometimes it is when I feel 100 years old and still crawling down to the Home when I really want to stay at my home and finish Christmas presents and wrap what I already have instead of doing it all by next July.
I didn't get approval, I was given a compliment. An elderly (probably 2 years older than me) said how lovely I looked in my green dress, she just loved green.  The dress is 18 years old and still fits so how come my backside is also 18 years fatter and hasn't busted a seam?  I almost feel guilty about the tub of salted caramel ice-cream that is siren calling me from the back of the freezer.
I have enough guilts from the last few weeks.  I committed double homicide for one, terrified my mother for another by describing the size of the huntsman roaming the ceiling while I was talking to her on the phone.  If he had stayed in the curtains he'd have been safe but it had to roam and then disappear.  He had two choices of landing, the Christmas box or the wool basket and I was not putting my hand in either.  I eventually found him on the floor giving me the evil eye so I left him there.  I came out two days later and he is swinging from the ceiling, dropping lower and lower.  It means I'll have to search for him again but it didn't take long, quite dead and curled up on the carpet. Total surprise because I usually wait until I can catch them in a platic bag and throw them outside to live or die by Magpie.  My fault, huge blowfly came in the back door and he got sprayed, can't stand the memories of backyard dunnies and swarms of blowies.  I assume he floated within range of the huntsman who chomped the free meal and was swinging from the ceiling not in fun but dying agony.  Just to top the guilt when I threw the body out, a magpie ate it and since there is no dead bird in the backyard, I have not committed triple homicide.

I have not fallen over for weeks. 
I haven't been to the pokies.
I have been too busy making out my Christmas list.  It's a long list full of expensive goodies.
I have found the perfect conservatory for my style of house.
I need to win Tattslotto to build it.
My granddaughter and great granddaughter are another year older.
And tomorrow is the anniversary of my Decree Nisi, oh frabjous day.

Now start saving for my Christmas presents, list will be posted soon.

Monday, October 22, 2018

I think I'll have a right bitch today!

Before the bitching, a laugh. I sent this to Antikva and apparently she not only beat the shit out of her but used a 4x4 to do it.  This year the fairy of joy didn't visit me, I got the fairy of crap, the one that carries a forever emptying bucket.

Mother was nearly killed last week but the fairy of longevity saved her...again.
It was serious this time.  She's a large lady...tv programme said it's not our fault, it's in the genes....so she must be put in the wheel chair using a lifting machine which is hard to move at any time let alone when she swinging on the end of it.
The idea is to drop her gently into the wheel chair which is hard to move, I don't even try. I nearly fainted when she ordered it but the 6 grand it cost has been worth it.
The two newbies managed to tip over the lifting machine as Ma hit the chair which also tipped so she was halfway to the floor with two heavy machines ready to land on her.  She screamed for the RN in charge, no joy there, and had to tell them how to get everything back upright. They are supposed to have been trained to use these machines. She managed to sit upright in the wheelchair but she was very shaken, 10 minutes later Doc Marvin came in and got a week's worth of mistakes and pain. He was furious for the same reason I was, her heartbeat is fine but a shock like this can make it go haywire and those two idiots walked out and left her without getting the RN. 
Anyone thinking of a Home for their elders, don't bother with Mercy Health, they're mongrels and worse, pious mongrels.  When mother does go, I intend to paint a moutache on every nun in the ten foot mural opposite her room.

It appears that my granddaughter, mother of that gorgeous tot in the last post has become an anti-vaccine campaigner. Nothing more I can say about that.

My sister was always forgetting to keep the nephew up to date with shots. I saw what rubella can do let alone measles. He had to stay in a dark room, be carried to the toilet with a blindfold over his eyes because he couldn't take any light at all.  He contracted chicken pox a few years back, head to toe pustules and it was only recognized at the hospital by an elderly nurse, one who'd been through the epidemics.  
And if 'E', his partner is still rummaging through my blog and tells him I've been writing about him, go ahead, flattening you is next on my list to flattening my sister.  This idiot tart , woman has caused the only two screaming matches between the boy I brought up as my own.  I don't hate her, she's just on my invisible persons list.

My sister is another invisible person especially now she's gone to live in the Bogan State.  I rang her about mum, she hasn't bother to ring her and see if she is okay.  Too busy sending me photos of her new living space, couldn't call it a unit (go on 'E' send an email and cause trouble). It has nothing which suits her personality since she apparently left her brain in Melbourne.  Her happy news  when I rang was that she only lost $1.25 off her pension when she moved to Jungle World. I really really want to smack the smugness out of her.
Especially when she tells me to forgive and forget my ex-daughter in law.

I don't see the point in forgiving something that is invisible to me.  An excruciatingly vile, lying dunghill of inhumanity who is now a loving born again Christian.  Rubbish, it's like coating a viper with chocolate, the outside is okay but the poison is still waiting for a bite.  Boy, I'm on a roll today, anybody else want to go on the invisible list.
Pauline Hanson, who wanted to make it illegal to say nasty things about being white.
The Shooters Lobby who want the gun laws watered down. Now there's your worst nightmare, Pauline gets a gun but as long as someone doesn't tell her which end fires, we'll all be safe.
Morrisson, our PM who has just said he was sorry for the abused children who lived in horror.  The same PM who is abusing children living in horror on Nauru, got to love a man with two faces and no brain. I really shouldn't say 'no brain', put him up against Barnaby Joyce and he looks like Einstein.

Ranty post but as Shirley McLaine says in Steel Magnolias, I'm not crazy, I've just been in a bad mood for forty years. 

Friday, October 12, 2018

My gravity is failing

Before I get to the bad bits, feast your eyes on my great granddaughter who's having a quick taste of her birthday cake. 

I seem to have developed the habit of falling over at least once a month. I believe my gravity is failing or should that be getting stronger.  The stupid thing is that I don't just fall, I fall insanely stupidly.  And to make it worse the paramedic who looks the size of my left leg says she was here last year to pick me up off the floor.

The last fall really hurt since I managed to do a twist mid-air and land on my right leg/knee replacement.
This didn't hurt as much since I was already close to the ground but the way I ended up was strictly Marx Bros. in style.  I have an extension that sits on top of the toilet seat for the crunched up knee replacements. I also have a handle on the wall and as I reached for the handle, the seat twizzled and I missed the handle completely.  I hit the floor, bum first, right leg bent and jammed beside the toilet and wall, bum jammed in the corner of the door frame and left leg ended up in the next door bathroom.  Now that's two separate rooms here and thank goodness the toilet door opens outwards. 
Twenty minutes to disentangle myself from toilet and get to the stage where both legs were facing the same direction.  Crawl to the phone but don't ring 000 just yet, there's the crawl to the front door to open it and grab something warm on the way.  Do the ringing bit, explain the fat lady has sung her way to the floor and can't get up. Everything else is fine, nothing broken, I'm warm, I can wait. 
I really hate the fact that I might be using an ambulance that someone really needs but now they have a team just for falls.  Up goes the cushion and I'm standing and walking to my chair.  I get a lecture on my legs about the fluid which could go to my lungs and heart, well jes tart, it's not like I started out to make elephant legs and I can walk.  She then goes into shock at the 240/110
blood pressure.  Of course I know it's stroke material but I was more worried about the other end which was building up explosively so she decided to wait a few minutes and do it on the other arm. They do a heart test which shows a perfect beat so the blood pressure again, it's down 20 but she wants me to go to hospital for tests for stroke. I told her if my mother can't give me a stroke then nothing will. She rings clinician (?) who wants hospital but goes for doctor's appointment in two hours.  
I'm sure Doc is writing a book about how idiots fall. Says my blood pressure has gone right down and was pleased that blood sugar was only 12 when they stabbed my finger which they couldn't stop bleeding. It's always the way, I either can't get blood or bleed to death.  I was pleased to get home and dry toast and tea was all I could get down. Staggered off to bed with precious cat and rang mother to see if I could frighten her to death, almost but she's bloody tough.
So it's now 4 days and my toe is not broken just bruised from where I jammed it in the toilet brush.  
So the fat lady not only sang but managed the splits, pretty good for my age.