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!
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.
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?”
It has indeed been a very long time since I have written anything on wee PAs Blog. That is mostly in part, because it is my full time duty to take care of her. And indeed again, she has not been very well, for a very long time. In fact, after a rather long hiatus, she is now only beginning to write on her Blog again.
Earlier today, she decided it would be a good idea to try after so long, to clean up her Blog. This, once again after several failed attempts. She feels it is a:
“Goddamn piece of shit and a total mess. A total disaster and so fucked up that it’s a surprise that anyone is reading it at all because it’s totally gone to hell just like her.”
“She can’t believe she’s been writing all of these Posts on it that just look like crusty sheep barf on a barbed wire fence. Actually, she’s the one that should be covered her own barf every day, barf from everyone on the street, barf from everyone on Television and never, ever, ever be allowed to shower again. If it rains, she should be bound in chains inside her apartment and have more barf poured over her in extra buckets because the rain will make her long desperately with every pathetic piece of tissue in her body for a shower.”
“FUCK MY BLOG AND FUCK ME TOO!!!”
Oh, dear. I think you can see that I have more on my flippers than I can handle right now?
I believe it best to remove wee PA from all forms of Technology now. However, I might have to wrestle with her to stop clenched fists reaching for a mobile phone. Seizing her Mac is easy enough. I will simply use my “Flipper-Slip” and slide it into the its case when she wanders away to do something else.
Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day to work on her Blog. She might be more up to task. Right now, I bet my stakes high it is certainly not a good time!
Oh. Well, look what we have here? I am heaving a hugh sigh of relief! We are are currently experiencing a thunder storm with lightening. Wee PA positively loves them. This might make my job a lot easier.
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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