Sunday, August 21, 2016

Joy turns to hysteria and pain and inches me closer to that breakdown.

Now going back in the WayBack Machine which I use a lot on this blog, I visit my want list.
A Toilet. A toilet that is tall so I don't have to put an extension seat on it for my dodgy knees.  You must remember the joy when I finally had the money thanks to a jackpot at the pokies. I googled immediately and found the right height and what weight it took and the place was just down the road.
What was the hurry?  Well there were several other things on the want list and leaving money around this house is never a good idea.  The trees need pruning, the gates need work, a house cleaner for a day, a handyman for a month. Don't worry about the spouting, my mother used to ram a screwdriver wherever it was blocked and the water ran on to the garden in the dry spots.  Put a hose in the down pipe, yes done that except I kind of lost control of the hose and control of me standing on top of the ladder which wasn't in shape for my shape.  Thank the Godness, in those days no-one had those damn camera/movie phones or I would have been on Youtube for ever.

Anyway the excitement was too much for me and I bought my dream then started saving up for the plumber. Sister said why didn't I sit on it at the showroom, well honestly how does one try out a toilet without trying out a toilet.  Like trying out a bed in the showroom that 2 hundred people had already jumped about on it.  The big day comes, old is out, new is in and IT'S A COMPLETE AND UTTER BASTARD OF A THING.  Who in their right mind designs a square toilet when last time I looked bums are round.  My weight might have been spot on for the design but not for the seat and lid.  It rocked and rolled all over the place. Plumber comes back next day and puts in larger and longer screws, works for an hour. The soft self closing lid makes it all look so neat and tidy but it's not a flat lid. It has a 4cm rim to come down over the pan and it's hard plastic and it's sharp especially when it hits the really bad spot on the spine.  I could have been designed to hit that exact spot. And it's crashing and banging but the flush is very quiet which is too bad since I've woken up the neighbours with the first sit down crash.  And just to make it all bright, I twisted and put my hip out of joint getting out of the taxi and believe me it doesn't like square seats either.

I was up and down all night  taking pain killers with water and getting rid of the water in the jaws of hell and taking more pain killers.  Rang the plumber this morning and demanded he come back and replace dead old crappy crapper with it's swinging extension seat.  He hummed and aahed but I said I didn't want the money back, I'd pay him more and he could also take the $700 toilet with him.  That's right $700 and believe me if he leaves it here I will take a sledge hammer to it.  The reason for the hesitation was that it was so hard to install that he's not too happy at uninstalling it.  He should work for Windows 10, another bastard mob.

Nephew came in this morning, built like a brick outhouse, 6'4", remember him. So I had him sit, sit I said, get your eyes tested and his opinion is actually unprintable, on my blog.  It crashed and banged and he said the plumber hasn't installed it right, I don't care, I want it gone.  Now I'm still in pain but after the taxi, I dragged the bins out and inside wondered why the cat was screwy. I'd warned plumber about dodgy tap in the bathroom for when he turned the water back on but forgot the one in the laundry and I had a flood so just to add to pain I had to pull out the washing machine and put a bucket behind to catch water. I did turn it off as much as possible.  Cat's litter box is in the corner surrounded by water, no wonder he rushed off and was gone for an hour.  I spent the next 10 minutes digging wet kitty litter out of the bottoms of my feet.  Plumber fixed that next day, held out a lump of rust and asked how long this washer had been in the tap, time of the ark by the look of it.  Nephew got the bucket out and pushed the machine back in. I haven't been game to use it yet, there's an eclipse coming up, think I'll wait til it passes.

Plumber due back sometime next week, or else.  Plumber's mate, really brilliant, tall so I asked him to take out one of the 4 globes that have blown in the light in the study. he asked me to turn the light on so he could see what he was doing.  I should have called a halt then.

So after the disaster with the chair, lights, nephew's warehouse down my hall way, car yard in the carport and tyre depot down the side and now bloody bog, nothing is ever going to be done again. The rat in the oven will live there until he dies, no new stove and no rat traps either.  I would never cook there again if I had to haul out a body to get breakfast.  Air conditioner hasn't been checked since 1996.  And if that isn't enough, hard rubbish collection is due.  I will not pick up one single thing unless it's really really useful. 

And the possums, such a joy.  Loving the oranges so much that when they've finished the inside, they're hanging the skins on the branches of the apple tree.  Looks really pretty through my tears since I'm quite sure the mongrels know I'm allergic to oranges and I managed to eat one which was ambrosia before I broke out in spots.

Now for painkillers and icecream stuffed in the freezer.  I can eat icecream, the battery in my blood checker has fritzed.

16 comments:

mohaverat said...

I wish I could bring myself to say something "encouraging" and "Uplifting" but we both know it would be forced and I won't insult you with the standard "everything will get better" or the world famous " hang in there!" Life is hard and all we can do is endure! I won't share my woes now because I hate it when other people somehow think that by sharing everything will get better for everyone! Just wanted to let you know I read your post, I know what you are saying and I hear you!

R.H. said...

You're an old fashioned girl who grew up using an outside dunny; you're own little retreat, with iron roof and wooden walls. You need to go back to it. The daily walk would be good, and at night you do your naked dance under the moon, there and back.
Get one, I'll pay for it.

Elephant's Child said...

Sigh. It never rains but it pours. And yes, it does sound as if the plumber is as clueless as his mate.

River said...

Do NOT take a sledgehammer to that toilet. You'll do yourself an injury. Drag it into the yard and plant pansies in it. Better yet, have someone else drag it into the yard and plant pansies in it.
I'm short, so I appreciate all the low toilets around these days.
I do hope nothing else goes wrong for a long while, I think you've just about had enough troubles.

Andrew said...

When we lived in Balaclava and we had our bathroom renovated, in the dark of night I put our old removed cistern and bowl in the local tiny park and both were gone the next morning. Nothing wrong with replacing a light bulb with the power on. Just don't put fingers into the socket. Mind, I am not sure how electricians can replace power points with the power still on. Mother has been advised to have a 'high chair' for her toilet, easy to get up from.

Annie ODyne said...

yes, ICE CREAM, for medicinal purposes. definitely. massive love.

John Gray said...

I laughed at River's comment

JahTeh said...

Dear Rat, that's what this blog is for. We share our miseries and you're right it doesn't make things better but sometimes we get a laugh in secret like there's not one in my comment box that hasn't had to dig kitty litter out of their feet.

Robbert, I am scarred for life after living with an outdoor 3 miles down the back in the dark dunny. Said dunny marked the boundary fence for the horse's end of the yard and there's nothing like having a huge damn horse shove his head in the door to say hello especially at midnight.

EC, plumber had my sense of humour and I gave him the expensive pansie planter to hold a chook raffle at the nearest plumber's pub. I never wanted to see the rotten thing again and I'm still on pain killers.

River, Feng Shui would forbid me from having a hate object even with flowers planted in it, a bit like having a bum husband. It was such a joy to sit and not wobble last night. The new one only had two screws to hold it down, old one has four screws and with my ample behind I really need 6 but colour me happy with 4.

Andrew, high they are but not wide enough, I have had one jammed on the rear end and had to use a nearby toothbrush in lieu of a screwdriver.
Plumber really does have my sense of humour. Told me story of hotel reno when he left the brand new cistern and bowl in the foyer only to arrive next morning to find it full and no paper anywhere.

Annie O, Happy Birthday, I'm eating your ice-cream present that I bought for me to share with you, in virtual reality. It's very medicinal especially when covered with frozen sliced strawberries.

John Gray meet Miss O'Dyne who has a goat and adores chickens. She also has a brain so the Prof would like her as well. If you stick around here long enough, laughter will be your second name.

Davoh said...

Hang in there .. not all of your 'friends' are dead yet ... heh.

ANNA said...

Te envio mi blog de poesias por si quieres darle un vistazo
Gracias.
http://anna-historias.blogspot.com.es/2016/09/vacaciones.html?m=1

R.H. said...

big woman in big dress gone to southland sugar donuts in paper bag "Here sirrah, get rid of this" cleaner takes scrunched up bag, big woman in big dress gone Honolulu for honeymoon "Here sirrah, get rid of this" cleaner picks bridegroom up from floor, big woman in big dress crashed front seat of taxi tossed driver a donut "Stick that in yer gob and shut up" big woman in big dress gone missing "Five skinny tarts don't make one of me" hey BIG WOMAN !!!

R.H. said...

That's called, "Morning Serenade."

"Grey Saturday."

Or,

"hey BIG WOMAN !!!"


-Robert.
Life insurance all paid up.

R.H. said...

Well it's raining and I'm thinking what have i done? i've sold my house to the yuppies, bought a cheap place way out west and now have hundreds of thousands left over. The bouncy little bald headed bank manager is delighted for me, thinks I've pulled off a marvellous good trick, something like my psychotic pal who bumped his mother and inherited half a million. Bank mangers, yuppies, nothing is either good or bad with these birds, everything can be explained in hard cash.
Darlings I had to do it, had to get out, every house on a corner around here being flattened for two in its place, and now my local servo in Melbourne road is to become a multi storey block of apa-a-a-artments. But really the last straw for me was when my little corner milk bar became a micro latte shop. Years ago I saw the same thing happen in St Kilda on a huge scale and look at it now. The bums lost all their infrastructure, an entire community given the arse. These yuppies, disgusting little shits, wail about dispossesion while being part of it themselves. Well simply it's just overcrowding, too many fucking people, that's what's happening around here. I can't wait to be off. Trish and so and so who bought my place broke out in sweat trying to beat me down. Stress? You've no idea. I haven't seen faces like that outside an emergency ward. That's their real face, how they look behind that mask of insouciance. In my position now they'd be considering an investment property, I'm considering an E-type Jag. That's what we're like, us lower sort, always living for the present. Mind you, I wasn't always true to my class, when my teenage gang came into some big cash they all went out and blew it straight away, but I was never like that. I was careful with it, always thinking of tomorrow, next week. Or maybe I just liked having it there, feeling good in my pocket. I'll tell you, the real effect of having nothing as a kid comes much later.
I robbed hundreds of places and have no regrets. I couldn't be bothered doing it nowadays, and it's no longer necessary of course, but what drove me, enhanced by bashings from the cops, doesn't apply anymore. But as I've said elsewhere, you can't live in the past, and you can't live away from it. No one grows honest. I'm that which was made of me.

Davoh said...

Hi Robbert, this possum still scrabbles in the ceiling - believe all that as much as i believe Malcolm Turnbull is the next Menzies.

R.H. said...

Greetings, it's late, but RH is honest at all hours.

My deadhead niece has a masters in social work (a degree in gossip). Well darlings this sort of racket isn't well paid but there are plenty of side benefits dollarwise, and it's almost impossible to get sacked. Meanwhile she gets flown interstate to make speeches no one can understand, turning these trips into holidays. The NSW government pays for it all, including an accommodation allowance which she pockets and stays with friends. In Melbourne she stays with some idiot in Brunswick and comes here bothering me. "OH the poor homos, reffos, aborigines...."
Oh yes? Well take them all to your fucking place! I've never seen you spend a fucking thing that wasn't for yourself. Last time here I bought you lunch at that bonehead joint called Leroys full of ponces and shagged-out thirty year old housewives who've found out (oh my!) a double shot solves everything but a root doesn't.
Really, you are a sponge.
And oh golly, all your overseas trips, photos sent back to everyone, like you're the first drongo to ever leave Australia.
And can't shut up about it.
I said, this car is a modern Mini, made by BMW, that's Bavarian Motor Works. "BAVARIA!- YES, I WAS THERE, YEAR BEFORE LAST, AND BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH..."
Just tell me, what use are these people. Paid to shield toffs of this world from the flat broke. Sweet talk. Put up with it, they say, don't make trouble, you can't win.
She doesn't know. Anything at all. A lifetime of comfort, and Mister policeman. If I told her the truth she simply wouldn't believe it. If she did, it could destroy her.
The police - thieves, liars, thugs - are the worst crooks I've ever known.
Truly, I swear it on the Cross.

R.H. said...

Wintry light along Nelson Place, strange, golden. Cafe owners (erstwhile bankers and stock brokers) moan about an absence of passing trade. I pause outside Mussels to adjust the collar on my mentally ill friend, which is crushed inside his jumper. He stands there, in obedience, accustomed by now to my dictatorship. Well I want him to look normal, to have a chance. The same as anyone elses.
We take a seat there, outside Mussels, guessing the old bastard who owns the joint is snoring upstairs. We're sure he is. My friend has a new fixation, a new plan, he is going to sue the World Bank. And our local mayor too, if you don't mind. Why? It don't matter. What matters is he has an audience for all this. It's taken me years to realise that talking about these plans is an end in itself. An outlet for hostility. Schizophrenia is crook on the world, and very funny. Entertaining. He prattles on, and I'm watching dollies go by, and I'm thinking love might have saved him, and saved me as well, but I've never had a woman whose love I wanted. Meanwhile it's cold, the sea is drab, we're the only ones there, people rushing by in a hurry to get home. Then just as I'm having a laugh the old bastard who owns the joint comes outside, sits at the next table and lights up a fag. It's late, doorways are in shadow, the sky is like ice, a train blows its whistle. Somewhere out on the bay, a little disturbance, water sloshes the pylons of Ferguson pier. Darlings, there's nothing more to say.