Saturday 9th January 2016
Despite all the jumping awake I did, I must have gotten a good six hours kip in last night!
That is not the only pleasant surprise this morning either:
- To the bathroom to find, although stinging a bit, Little Inchy had not bled at all!
- The haemorrhoids were not bleeding at all!
- Found some notes I’d written on my pad about a dream, and I could read some of my writing!
- I stubbed my toes on the pedestal and unbelievably felt no pain? This one confused me a lot.
Made a cuppa and took my medications.
It was good to remember and have notes of a dream to record.
The Dream: I got a job in a massive sprawling factory and had to find the manager on my first day. The place was a mishmash of machines all type of tools. Some of them that I worked on years ago when I worked at Carters pop factory. I could smell the place I’m sure.
I walked through the different machine rooms asking everyone if they could point me to where he (The boss) was. Each bloke pointed to a different place or area or building.
I think I had to see him at 0600hrs to start work, and it was now dinnertime and the men broke off for lunch.
I wandered around the now-empty factory in search of the boss.
Climbed ladders, down stairways, in through doors and machinery without any luck for hours it seemed. I recalled thinking how long their dinner break was?
I came across a bloke under a machine working away whistling and asked him where the boss was. He climbed out from under the Doboy machine, looked around and swore, cursing his mates not telling him lunchtime had started? He pointed to a trap door in the floor, and told me to jump into it; that takes me to the bosses office?
So I thanked him and opened the trapdoor. Down I dived.
Suddenly I was in the countryside, the beautiful countryside too. Rolling hills, fantastic greenery and trees.
I spotted a large group of men walking on the dangerous narrow footpath on the outside of a hill come mountain. I don’t know how, but I was suddenly at their side on the path high up in the sky. The man looked like Michael Elphick from the Boon TV series. He was sending one of the blokes to fetch his spanner to him from the factory. When I introduced myself he gruffly said; “Okay you can fetch it mush. It’s in the top office, and don’t dawdle about!”.
Instantly I was back in the factory complex. Can’t recall all that happened but I did find the office after much hassle and annoyances. It was at the top of a winding wooden staircase they told me. But on and on I went up the stairs without finding it?
The note I’d written had the following written on them that I cannot decipher. “Woman, surprise – happy”? Damned memory won’t let me recall what this was about. Tsk!
Damned memory won’t let me recall what this was about. Tsk!
I wish I knew a dream-reader.
Then did some Facebooking for a good while.
The winds had dropped, and the rain stopped.
Did some graphic work, and began to sing to myself?
Cleaned the kitchen floor.
Cleaned the kitchen floor. Still humming away, merrily to myself. Worrying this, it is usually a portent of hassle and bother me being content.
A letter came through the box after I’d finished.
Guess what? It was from the solicitors. Every letter I’ve had from them, and there have been many; all arrived on Saturday same as this one did; Just when I cannot contact anyone for help and assistance. Huh!
Eight questions to answer in reply to the buyers concerns? A questionnaire on Light Fittings, eleven responses needed.
A questionnaire on Light Fittings, eleven answers needed.
A questionnaire on fitted units with twelve bits to fill in about them.
A questionnaire about outdoor areas with twelve muti-answer questions.
I’m not singing anymore.
I Emailed Steve Age UK begging for help on this problem.
Why all these queries now? Are FraserBrown drawing things out on purpose to get more cash? I’m genuinely worried now that the deal may not go through!
Ruined the weekend now. Crapola!
Every time I get feeling in better spirits something comes to knock me down into worry and frustration again.
I was going to tell you about the wonderful last words of Gregory Камеры, a convicted Russian serial murderer.
But I’ve lost interest now this hassle has appeared.
I also emailed Sister Jane and told her. Which I shouldn’t have done really.
Depression took over; self-pity lurked, and I sat doing nothing but wanting to stop my mind battling with itself over the new problems.
Steve will not get the email until Monday, and how long it will take him to reply and find time to get to see me is anyone’s guess.
Moross and morbid now, I do so hate feeling like this.