Archive for the ‘PA Sucks’ Category
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?
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.
That expression formally endswith 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…
Quite easily, appently. As of November, this stupid, damn, insane Blog has managed to exist for 10 stupid, damn, insane years. o_O
I have no idea what to say about that. Well, I suppose I could shout out strings of profanity that make no sense. However, that doesn’t feel so celebratory. You would just find a lot of it here.
Right now, it’s like my Blog isn’t even here. Or it’s made of lace. Or who knows what?
Maybe it’s some kind of dormant monster that’s been waiting to sink its teeth into me. The last thing I’ll see, is the Grim Reaper leaning against my doorway, enjoying a Cuban.
Cigar, that is.
Stranger things could happen. Like me in the Blogosphere for 10 years.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Don’t tell the neighbours.
An afterthought to my last Post “Forever Bullied.”
MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH talks a lot of trash. It’s like backward primordial ooze but coming out of a Heroin Junkie’s Wormhole. Or some hole.
I could get her to pour her ooze out through her fists. C’mon small talker. I dare ya.
Here, when someone reports any type of assault, no matter how big or small, legal action does not hold between the parties involved. As soon as you make a telephone call, it’s immediately out your hands.
After that call, you might have completely wished you had never made that call. At all!
That’s because any assault reports are directly handled by the Police. You have no say, except for what happened. Then, they do a full investigation and prosecution for any and all charges are their decision.
What an evil thought. I know she’d be screwed though.
Oh, what an evil thought…
Went out tonight. Getting ready to leave. This one guy I know through association from a friend (they work together) was there. So, yeah. Nice guy, and we got on well too.
Another guy I’ve known for a few years got into this game about, “Which one wanted to go out with me more?” A totally stupid game as one of them was married!
Enter, THIS FUCKING BITCH.
Now, I had tried to be nice to her since Day One. She was sometimes on, sometimes off.
I’d like to say she’s a total, MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH. In fact, I will.
So, nice guy by association and, well, MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH pulled this bizarre “thing” recently.
We were sitting at the bar, I had my sunglasses on for head-injury-photophobia, and nothing was happening. Just silence, watching the TV, I’m not even close to him or saying a word to anyone. Then, she snaps a picture of us on her mobile phone.
After done, begins howling MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH LAUGHTER! Almost like she was ready to fall off her barstool. I asked if I could see it. She showed it only to him.
I said I had littler things that I could care littler about. I mean, what was MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH going to do? FB, Twitter, Instagram or whatever this “harmless” picture?
Well, tonight was a real topper!
Association-Dude-Small-Cock-Oedipal-Complex comes running over with some guy’s information on it. He kept saying he’s looking for someone to date. I should call him. He’s really nice.
Perhaps I too loudly said, “WHY THE FUCK WOULD I CALL SOME STRANGER FOR A DATE, WHEN…” At that point, I was interrupted.
“Well, can I give him your information!”
I think I might have shrieked back? I’m not sure.
“WHY THE FUCK WOULD I CALL SOME STRANGER FOR A DATE AND YOU GIVING HIM MY INFORMATION? THAT’S SO FUCKING INSANE! THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD GIVE OUT MY PERSONAL INFORMATION TO A TOTAL STRANGER! EVEN YOU ASKING IS JUST PLAIN RUDE!”
I like the fact that I actually brought up proper manners at the end of my tirade. What can I say? *shrugs* I have proper manners.
Then MOTHERSHIT PSYCHOPATH starts screaming, “He’s got lots of money!
And the massive laughter continues…until she lays another one on me: “Oh, are you crying???”
Snark back, with irritability and sarcasm: “No. I’ve got my sunglasses on.”
Not without a traveller. Highly illegal but my local does it. I didn’t even have to pay because the guy working was pissed off too.
I’m close to the owner. If ANYONE ever gives me a hassle they could be kicked out the door.
I’m on the fence with this one. Tell him about it? See if more shit happens?
I always take the high road. Unless cornered? Which I certainly was tonight. Now after thinking and calming down, I wish I could have handled things differently.
I felt like my Asperger’s was back in FULL BLOOM. Like my entire life. Looking back at everything. Bullied since born.
It still happens as an adult. More times than this. It makes me wonder, “Bullied until death?”
They’re still working on getting me an appointment at the Stroke Management Clinic. Which is fine. Referrals can vary for time periods.
Sometimes you have to appear sick by the Doctors, sometimes healthy by them, maybe be their best friend, or kiss lots of nurses in the “Paperwork Closet.”
Or just get lucky. Apart from any Paperwork Closet Activity.
When I called yesterday, it turned out the paperwork hadn’t been sent. This, from the (third now) hotel, the Ambulances have always chauffeured me to, and upon arrival, with great aplomb. The Orderlies should be playing, “Pomp and Circumstance” EVERY time.
So the Stroking, I mean Striking Woman gave me the exact number to call at the other hotel, to have my Paperwork (Closeted or Otherwise) sent over to their hotel.
Closeted or not Closeted?! Have we not moved past the Stone Age and given all of these people their Rights and Freedoms! Ho! Oh, Ho! Ho!
Is this sounding like a bad Monty Python Sketch yet? I’m doing my best.
The Paperwork was sent but it was basically end of day. So, call back today. I thought the Striking Woman would just give me an appointment as typically, all Medical Administration Assistants do. But I received a nasty surprise.
“Okay, PA…I’ll put you through to Triage now…” Click.
Okay. Yes, when you are chauffeured to hotels you go through ER Triage. Who is about to die? Who has cut their finger? Although, children are Triaged quite quickly and with great care.
Look up the word: IATROPHOBIA.
Never did I expect to be transferred to a person over the phone, to discuss my problems in any “Triage Manner.” If ANYTHING, I thought they would Triage appointments based upon Doctor Reporting from the patient, the full examination, all workups, tests.
And boy did I have a FULL Neurological Exam! Things were done to me a million miles beyond so many basic ones I can do in my sleep!
At one point, he was testing my leg joints, mobility in different ways, and other reflexology–not just the “sit and tap the knee.” Wait. He did do that apart from all the others. I just wasn’t sitting.
My legs were up in the air. And there was no need for a woman in the room! I had my pants on. But at one point, it was like a combination of two gentle forms of Shiatsu and Swedish.
ASIDE: I am addicted to Shiatsu.
The strangest Neurological question he asked, was the most bizarre I’ve ever heard. Probably will remain so.
“If you comb or brush your hair, does it ever hurt? On one side of your head? Both? Nothing?”
Holy All the Elephants in Africa Pause! “Erm…maybe my right. Yes, when it’s tangled? Yeah, my right.”
WHOA! HOLY MEMORY! I screamed like hell having my hair brushed and combed as a kid! What on earth does that mean?
Anyway, what does the title of this mean? I started to drift off into TIA Land on the phone with the Triage Guy.
God, we were almost coming to blows. I have to warn EVERYONE new I talk to that I don’t mean to sound like a “Professional Patient.” I’ve studied Medicine. I was going to pursue a Career in Medicine. It’s just that sometimes life doesn’t always go as planned.
I also said I was unprepared! I had to make a list of so many things! So much happens (in the back of my mind to argue against your pseudo-points!)
So, fine. Conversation ending, then WHAM! I said right now, happening, told him what was going on. Speech starting to slur, rambling, needed dark glasses immediately!
He said he’d let me go and rest.
But what timing. *sighs*
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