Archive for the ‘Cranky’ Category


I’ll just say it up front. Bloody, Crop Fodder! It’s been quite effective. The yield has given a lot for me to shove down my throat and stuff up my arse.

You see, ALL of the family here is flying out to another Province for one of my cousin’s wedding (lest one Anutie, who is too ill to travel at the moment.) Otherwise, all the others are.

Except a cousin. The only other person who grew up with her. Me. Possible

I see. No, actually I don’t see. Might I have an explanation, please?

The explanation I recieved from my Father (with whom I am staying and always do) is extremely vague at best. Let’s start with planting the seeds for the crop.

I asked out of simple curiosity why I wasn’t invited. He said it was small. Not a lot of people were invited. I sat for a moment.

Then I asked who was attending. A reply, in an odd tone: “Just friends and family.” He almost sounded curt.

I waited a bit longer. The crop was certainly in season, and a lot more upkeep was spreading underneath it to keep it growing.

I didn’t pursue my lack of a pretty (ugly) white card in the mail. Their grotesque fonts, raised in shiny gold print always make me want to throw up.

People. I respect the fact that getting married is important to you. But know this: You Are Not Royalty.

Also, you have no sense of originality. How does that feel? For, perhaps the most special day of your entire life, you are just like everyone else.

Digression. Back to more shit for the crop.

I tentatively moved ahead to asking why so small. Was it a money thi…

“Just drop it!”

*crickets living in the growing crop with more help to make it grow*

The final straw or whatever was growing, was almost ready to be harvested.

I randomly said, “I wish I was going, throw me on a plane, take me anywhere!”

Reply: “Would you just drop it! Would you just stop and leave it alone!”

By then, the crop had fully matured.

Although, I didn’t take a single taste, and my little bottom stayed completely clean.

I didn’t give fucking TRUCKLOADS of Crop Fodder about the Wedding at all.

Advertisements

I’m home right now. Had to bring some things back. Everything I’m taking will not fit in a single car, trip back and forth. Unless you rented a truck? I’m Next of Kin. MINE!

My Transpo got waylaid too. Just have to sit and wait for my driver to come tomorrow.

There’s been a lot going on since Mom died. Well, that’s quite an understatement if you’ve ever had to deal with someone’s entire life since they’ve shuffled off “This Mortal Coil.” That one’s okay. The Band. However, every single person has said some variation of “Pass.” Passed, Passed On, Passing, Passing On.

Being a writer, I not only love every single letter that creates a word, but also words themselves. Then, that creates more love and lust for everything. Including, but not limited to: odd, emotionally laden, archaic phrases and expressions. Many times they can be all three. Perhaps this “Pass” business fits in there somewhere. Despite that possibility, I’m too exhausted to learn at this moment. It just strikes me as rather unusual.

Why won’t anyone say anything related to death? We’re also talking about multiple generations! Those of her generation, me and my sister, then my sister’s children! She died.

None of these people are Buddhist. If anything, I should be saying, “Passed On” because of my Buddhist beliefs.

Moreover, you can practise Buddhist beliefs and philosophy without the entire issue of coming back in another life form. If you disagree, come talk to me. Buddhism isn’t always that peaceful either. Monks from differnt sects have gone ballistic; yelling and screaming, throwing things to actually injure each other. Quite amusing.

Things haven’t been that bad for me though. At least physically.

I have a lot of feelings about my Mom dying. About my Mom living! Many of them conflicting, confusing, painful and sorrowful. Anger too. I also know happy, funny and not necessarily so negative. Although, there is one thing I did not question at all, not for a second. As soon as I knew she was going to die (ultimately of bone cancer) not after she died, I would never be the same person again.

That can happen, right?

Right?

Am I wrong here?

Things have been so out of control, trying to deal with everything in a practical manner, I haven’t had any time to process a single thing. Maybe a tiny shred of some emotion has managed to reach the surface, but it’s been very brief. Only then, a few tears have escaped, and rolled down my cheeks. But no matter what, I refused to let any more out.

Unless I was on my own. Then I could cry. Sometimes, many tears would come out, yet I couldn’t identify why or what on earth I was feeling. What was the trigger? What was making me cry?

There was another reason why I would only cry alone. It was much stronger, and my mind was crystal clear regarding this situation!

I’m staying at my “Dad’s” place. I’m only calling him that  because everyone else is. I still don’t feel he’s actually my Dad. I kicked him out of my life over 15 years ago after he stole $5,000 from me. Well, I caught him. Then it took forever for him to pay me back. That was just the final straw.

I’m now being reunited with many extended family members on his side. After cutting them off for more than 20 years? They’re all hugging me, telling me how much they love me, how so, so sorry they are about my Mom. Gee, that’s not more to deal with, is it?

So I’m DEFINITELY not crying in front of them! I’ve already had enough “touchy-feely” from you, thank you very much. I wouldn’t be of any help dealing with all of this from a Hospital Psych Ward. Some days, I feel like I should be in one. Some days, I feel like I’m already in one!

When this is over, I have no idea what is going to happen. It’s going to happen anyway though, so there’s no point in worrying about it. You can’t rush grief. You just go through it.

ASIDE: my friend who is taking care of my mail and apartment while I’m away just popped by. He told me his friend died today. I couldn’t believe any of my senses. We’re both friends with a guy in my building who knew the deceased. Looks like we’re going to have a grief party.

*sighs*

 

 

 


Well, I can try. Second night at Dad’s now. My sister and uncle just blasted into the room as she flew in from across the country. Things are now getting more and more stressful as I’m coming face to face with extended family members I kicked them out of my life (including my father in the next room.) I did so because they would give you Ebola through a simple phone call.

When I saw my sister, I started crying because I haven’t seen her a bajillion years. She was pretty cold, ambivalent maybe? Both? She did complement my shoes.

Still running on fumes. Actually had a full meal today. For dinner a Bison Burger! Welcome to Canada! You wouldn’t see that on every restaurant menu though.

Tomorrow I have to go the Funeral Home with my sister and pay for the Cremation. A financial glitch, but I would have done it anyway! She was my mother!

I’ll get reimbursed.  It will be covered by a Government Pension Mom was receiving. Of course, I know to get a Death Certificate. When dealing with Estate Laws you ALWAYS get multiple copies of Death Certificates for everything that you have to handle.

I meant to write more about my feelings and emotions. There is just so much going on. A concoction of business, chaos, miscommunication and exhaustion. It doesn’t leave much time for even the slightest pause or glimpse into one’s inner thoughts, and time to reflect upon them. Right now, I’m either the walking dead (bad pun) or functioning on a UFO’s Autopilot System.

 


That expression formally ends​with six. Someone I worked with used to say it all the time. With six. 

He’d do it out of frustration, when he’d made a mistake, when somebody was going through a hard time to help or cheer them up, and always while joking.

I never understood what the expression meant. I’d never heard it before up until that point in my life. I’d always gone along with everyone else at work. I laughed and smiled. Inside? I felt like a total goofball.

At one point, he and I were alone. I felt totally awkward and ashamed (why?) We both loved each other. A lot.

NOTE: some Asperger’s behaviour with all of this? Can you see that? Plus, a lot of my colleagues were mean. Must hide.

So, I finally asked him.

“S., what on earth does that expression mean? You’re always saying it, everybody else seems to know. What the ‘fuck’…hahaha…is it some kind Orgy Rule?” We were both in stitches when I said that.

After we both gathered composure, he told me to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT???You, little… I have thought about it! That’s why I’m asking! Doofus.

We were both in our 20’s. He was a few years younger. Since we were so close (damn near in love with each other) he enjoyed with great pleasure to tease and embarrass me while working. In front of the public! Anything to make blush. Which can happen before a hat enters a room to drop anyway.

I told him to fuck off and just answer the damn question. Otherwise, I would beat it out of him. Which would be impossible without many weapons. I’m tiny. Even though he was thin, he stood about 6’1″ To hug me, he’d almost have to pick me up. Especially if I wasn’t wearing shoes.

Anyway, for those who do not know, the expression means that you tell everyone in your life to yes, fuck off, screw themselves, go to hell etc. Except for only six people. 

Why? You need six Pallbearers to carry your Casket when you die.

I was almost on my knees, laughing so hard. I could barely breathe. It was a good thing he was right beside me so he could pick me up. I really was that close to falling. He just smirked, satisfied he’d almost made me look, once more, like a fool in front of the public.

My number two? Well, I’m wearing almost “Death Bling.” Two of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen.

A very close friend I met so long ago “gave” me his Cross. He was also a very close lapsed Catholic. I dare you to find me a bigger one. However, his Mother was extremely Devout.

She gave him his Cross when he went fully through all the Stations. Confirmed as a young boy. If she ever saw him without it, the Bible and more would hit the fan!

One night we were drinking and fooling around, being our idiot selves and I took it. I put it on, making jokes about how Catholic he was, I was the better one by not being Catholic at all!

I went home, and realized I still had it! HIS MOM!!! I called and left a voicemail. Nothing. This went on for YEARS.

Constant contact back and forth.

“Yeah, later.” ‘Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Let me send you an email in a couple of days.” “Don’t worry, I know it’s in a safe place.”

He died and I found out after the fact. What about his Cross?! It was “missing.” His Mother. Did G. tell them anything? I never got a phone call. Granted, my number is unlisted. But he knew where I lived.

Some people later told me after all those years, the constant excuses, never coming to get it, questions before dying? It meant something. What? I was totally clueless. 

They said it was because he wanted me to have it. I still didn’t understand and couldn’t grasp that concept. In fact, it still seems a bit odd to this day.

After a few years though, I think I might have figured out why. 

I knew he had ADHD roughly 10 years before I knew I had ADD! He confided in me, something he’d never told anyone else. His Mother had Mental Health Issues. And all around, I was the only person who really understood him. No words were ever said about it. I don’t think he could have put any letters together to start a sentence for it!

The cross is gold. 14K. Maybe an inch high so proportionate. It has the entire Lord’s Prayer in Relief on it!

ASIDE: Relief is a Coin Collecting Term. It means any part of a coin that is raised. The higher you can feel it, and the cleaner it is on the coin (and the cleaner the coin itself) the better Relief. Then, it is extended to all metallurgical engraving.

The second piece of jewelry is from my Nana. My Mom’s Mother. I loved it so much, even as a child. I actually became so bold when a teenager, I asked if I could have it when she died! She just laughed and said of course I could.

It is beautiful and obviously sentimental. A locket shaped as a shield. 18K. I can’t even begin to describe its complicated and intensely gorgeous engraving. 

Inside, there are two little pictures. One of her husband, my Grampa, a dashing, young man. The other, a baby picture of my Mom.

Neither of these are coming off until? Definitely not until we take care of Mom’s Estate! And probably longer. Definitely longer.


I think that says it all.  

Although, we could add “Reader’s Cement Truck Pouring Block.”  That seems quite reasonable.

But what’s even worse; even more pathetic and frustrating, is that I could “cheat” (or actually beat) my loss of creativity. How? This is where it really hurts.

I could write Posts about some things I’ve done in the past.  These things that allow for very simple continuation.  Or, they would just simple on their own.

I’ve even written things down! Kind of.  So, does that mean I’m only some per centage of getting sucked into the Cement…sand? Uhhh… I just lost my truck of thought…

Goodgurbleuhyy…


Am I going to show up on Twitter using WP now? Now? Now? Now? Immediately after I finish typing? Now? Now? N…

After being Referee at the longest, most painful Technological Boxing Match, ever? 

Now? Now? Now? 

Painful, due to them both pummeling the hell out of the Referee. That was me, remember?

Here we go, you shitbag apps.


I think I’ve used that before.  When things have gone sideways, pear shaped, become frozen, completely imploded, people have been stalking me, I’ve been stalking me and many other things.

Here’s a new one.  I’m now visually impaired to some degree, so forget using my Mac.  Even tiny mobile screens can become brutal. 

“Visually Impaired?” you ask.

Modus diagnosis operandi is Continual Migraines.  Shrapnel in my brain, from being admitted to hospital for a Stroke.  That was a year ago.  Except it wasn’t a Stroke.  It just sure as hell looked like one!

So it was probably a TIA then.  They can present almost exactly the same way.  The primary distinction is no damage or insults to the brain, whereas a Stroke generally shows something when you look at any/all parts of it.

Plus YOU can show a lot after a Stroke.

Well, my brain’s been insulted a lot.  By seizures, falls, people telling me I’m stupid, and yes, prior migraines.  However, this is a different braingame.  Too much.

Migraines can mimic Strokes and TIA’s so I probably didn’t have one of those either.  It was “The Migraine Heard Around the World.”

I’m not kidding.  I’ve been through a lot of funky medical experiences but this? It was beyond belief.  Surreal.  My head really did explode.  Okay, it didn’t but at the time…you get it.  And my eyes.  Psychedelic and black vision.

Try to imagine that.

Now, blurry, photophobia, pain cognitive impairment.  So, sunglasses, don’t push using my eyes, dimenhydrinate, new med (Beta-blocker Propranolol) and cane. 

Now back to my Blog after that fun stuff.

This whole Blog has turned to shit.  I honestly think this is the lowest of the low.  It’s never been as bad as this.

I don’t have the imagination to imagine conjuring a beginning to begin fixing it.  Much less time.  The first thing would be my Blogroll. 

How many old and dead Blogs are lined up there like ratty, teenage socks, hanging out to dry but they’ll always reek? No doubt more than I already know.

Then, replacements.  I’ve met so many great people with amazing Blogs out there.  However, due to “Technical Errors” (i.e. I’m a fucking idiot) I never filed them along with my others.

“Look and Feel?” Oh, bloody hell.  Just the thought of it makes me feel nauseous.  And since I’m sick I’m already nauseous!

The plopping of my current template into (better said ONTO) another template can make you want to heave, simply by looking at it.  Run away horrified too.

Eventually. Hopefully.

I haven’t shut everything thing down after so many easy (and difficult) situations.  That must mean something.  Perhaps the fact, that it’s actually not the lowest of low after all.

Yet?


Are they still called that or can we just put a blanket name of “Snobby Pretentious Useless Fucktards” over them?

I’m in my old stomping grounds.  Old friend and I had lunch and hang time until got my hair done.  After, I popped into the coolest pub I’ve ever seen in the city.  Not that I’ve seen them all, but this is cool without trying to be.  And for other reasons.

Sure it’s a pub but families come here ALL THE TIME.  Reference to time? There’s a five-year-old here, well past bedtime, but he’s surrounded by lots of responsible family members.

Call some kind of Family Services Agency? I say no.  If anything happened, every single person would be right on it to help. 

But that’s a little heavy duty and strays from this Establishment’s Coolness.  And the baby blanket people I hate.  Misplaced Gentrification as well, but let’s not bother with that now.

This place has managed to combine pieces of historical politics, art, pop culture and more all over the place.  It’s a crazy amalgam, but totally awesome MUSEUM. 

It’s like a puzzle when you first look at it.  Totally overwhelming.  But give yourself and your eyes a chance to relax and you’ll be amazed.  Everything will fit.

Or it won’t.  But it will somehow.  Just look.  That’s art.

Music? Some Live Bands.  Otherwise, great music that will be up tempo, down tempo, reggae, more that will just make you feel relaxed and… HAPPY!

So I’m outside having a cigarette and I see this couple, could they be more bewildered, asking, “What is thi…do they serve foo…”

I replied, “It’s a really awesome pub.  Go in.  And they serve foo…”

They turned their heads and marched away before I could show them the menu on the window.

Good thing they walked away.  They should have been turned away.


Have you ever wanted to write a Blog Post and you just can’t do it.  I mean, you really want to do it.  You HAVE to do it. 

If you don’t, you’re going to totally blow up, go insane, disintegrate into pieces, or you have no clue. 

Because you’re too “preoccupied” with the Post you HAVE TO WRITE!!!

Well, there’s both the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea! It’s called your head!

Because there’s nothing you can do but let those seething, boiling waves drown it over and over with your thoughts.  The thoughts you want to get out so bad, you would trade choking on them, just to make it happen.

I’m choking, but nothing’s happening.  Except for this.  And clearly it’s not what I want to talk about? Yes? Well, if it wasn’t clear, there you go.

So my brain is trying to keep it’s head(?) above all of that water.  So many thoughts churning around and I’m trying so hard to get a grip.  Find the sandy beach. 

Hell, I’ll even choke on the sand if that would help!

Gulp.

Where’s Spock? He’s always my good side at sorting these things out.


Although it has not been scientifically proven, Bedbugs do not cause headaches.  However, they do cause an allergic reaction through biting.  Or, rather by infusion and extraction.  It’s really interesting but it can totally suck.  Because I get bitten like crazy.

They have two dastardly needles to stab you in sequence.  The first is an anaesthetic; the second is then used to draw your blood.

Quite compassionate little Vampires? I think not!

So I’m starting to unpack some things in between doing my regular laundry and all of the clothes in my closet (which had to be done on the day of the TWO times of Pesticide Treatment.)

Well, the closet I couldn’t get done.  I have a cane and very much needed now for some mysterious head injury.  I was told I could do my closet within my own suitable time frame because I’m sick–from that and more.

And yet, I still can’t fathom ANYONE doing all of that!

I’m not a Clothes Whore (am I?) Well, I have a lot of nice stuff but if you’re Jewish, I also have a lot of schmatte.  So, okay.  I’m a Clothes Whore to some degree. 

Fine.  I’ll admit to “Labels” too.

Back to unpacking.  For Treatment, put a lot of items in big garbage bags where Bedbugs might be hiding out.  However, only certain things.  This didn’t make any sense to me at all.

Why shove my suitcase that was in my closet, and not a big box of photographs, wide open, in the corner of a room? The corner was dark.  My suitcase was closed up tight.

ARGH!!!!!!

Which brings us to tonight.  I had to bag two Bankers Boxes that were completely falling apart, full of documents.  Now do you get the photos in the corner of the room idea?

Well, I have to unpack everything, so just like moving? Time to get rid of a lot of junk! Although I knew it would be a disaster…  Bedbugs? Paper? Boxes nearly disintegrating?

I went out and bought a Paper Shredder, new Bankers Boxes, and let the fun begin! No fun.

I had to buy the cheapest Shredder and it can get jammed after about seven or eight pages! The bucket looks pretty big, but maybe “Spatially Challenged Me” somehow doesn’t “Get It.”

Or the Shredder is minutely, minute.  A few sheets in, dump.  A few sheets in…

But I think I “released” some of those pricks.  Pun intended.

Bedbugs like blood.  They’re drawn to it.  Which is lovely when I have my period and THEY HAVE ME!!!  I have to be so careful.

The Shredder doesn’t like any airborne (or other types) of chemicals.  Oh, okay.  I have black bags everywhere, nowhere to sit, how and…?

It became a combination of construction and surgery.

I had to block off all the white powder with bags to keep it from floating around? They like blood.  Medical procedure gloves for paper cuts! A pair of tweezers and a little plastic container of water.

That last part? I know.  Definitely, Dr. PA.  Catch anything that might fall and plop!

That’s another secret to tell.  If there are any problems with your mattresses and you’ve stripped away all of your sheets and bagged them too? Vacuum, as well?

If you have patience and a good eye?

I did the above but things didn’t “look” right.  I saw very tiny black, spots that weren’t fluff or dust.  Then a little RED one!

I started squishing them with my hands but that just resulted in more bites.  Enter the (soon to be patented) “Tweezer Invention!”

Going through the paper, trying to catch stuff, it’s stirred something up.  I’ve got some bites on my hand and wrist.  But even after the Professional Treatment, they said to expect activity for a few days.

ARGH!!!!!!

Don’t tell the neighbours.