Day: 23 April 2020

Wednesday 22nd April 2020

Latin: Die 22 Aprilis MMXX

01:20hrs: I woke with Duodenal stinging away, and I was fretting over the Diabetes course link not working later on. To my feet, and the regular wee-wee was taken, another WUPT (Weak-Unwilling-Painful-Trickling) variety.

I was reminded of my sitting on and breaking the new headphone last night, as I spotted them looking in a sad state hanging off of the £300, second-hand rickety-recliner. Well, they lasted about four months, I think.

I made a brew, took the medications and had a look for the latest (Yesterdays only found, too early for today).

Cleaned and disinfected the emergency wee-wee bucket, had a quick wash, and onto the computer to start the updating of the diary.

Which was cut short by the arrival of the Porcelain Throne being needed, and off to the wet room I limped. What a change this time. The pain was far less, but the evacuation was so sticky and messy, runny, and had an aroma more fouler than yesterdays!

Pressed on with the blog (for several hours), got it finished and sent off the links via email. Then on Pinterest, WordPress Reader and next, The TFZer Facebooking.

Had to make a couple of graphics for today’s post.

Back to the Porcelain Throne for a second visit. Exactly like the first one, but I think the pain was a bit less this time. Duodenal Donald was giving some stick still.

Handwashing was done, rung and hung.

Had a bit of off-time on U-Tube, then got the ablutions sorted out. At a cost!

Whatta-a-farce! It suited this Klutz, come farceur Inchcock down to the ground, ideally! But at least the ablutions went differently than usual. With new Whoopsiedangleplops and Accifauxpas. Oh, Yes!

• On getting in the room, the third use of the Porcelain Throne was needed. Messy, smelly and not much evacuated.
• Cut gum on the toothbrush. Dropped toothbrush and then razors several times.
• Dropped the mouthwash bottle! (It burst open after landing on my foot!)
  
• Bent down, holding onto the sink, to get the plastic bottle, and the squashing caused Little Inchies fungal lesion to start bleeding. So, more hassle to sort out!

Bigger farce than the ablutions, I tried to get on the Zoom site, for the Diabetes course. As they (Ingeus) said, at 09:30hrs.

So, I downloaded it, where to I have no idea, but the screen stayed the same, other than telling me ‘The meeting has not started” and the sad Ingeus people told my to log-on at 09:30hrs for the 10:00 session? The message kept repeating and putting cookies on the computer every 5 seconds? Pressed load and run again. Nothing changed. Totally lost now, I left it running.

Tried again, and thought I was getting somewhere. Zoom wanted to know the meeting I needed to get into. No idea what to put, so I typed in Ingeus prediabetes. But it would not allow any spaces in the block. So, I pressed to join.

This led me to a page wanting a password, email, date of birth etc. So I filled them in.

Well fancy that, I got thrown out for Invalid meeting ID. (3,001).

I think I recall mentioning three or four weeks ago when they first contacted me about this conference type meeting, that I thought, with Ingeus involved, it’s not going to go right. Huh! Spot on Inchock!

The phone chirped, and it was Caroline (I think), from the direct support team. At the time, I was in pain from Duodenal Donald and was up all uptight about the Porcelain Throne visits and my not getting through to Zoom for the meeting.

I went on the Zoom site again, and realised that my stupidity knew in limits! Either they had changed the day to the 23rd, or (more likely) I’d put it down for the wrong day on Google Calendar! I could and do cringe at myself!

I’m not sure how it got it, but I am now a member of Zoom?

Just think; I’ve got this to go through again now, in the morning! Hoggledruidisations!

I really am getting wee’d off with myself. What a Chaleria of a Nebech!

I hobbed and wobbled off to get Porcelain Throne visit number five, I think. Huh! Constipation Konrad has been instantly replaced with Trotsky Terence! 

Well, I discovered I’d got spots and blemishes all over the body!

I washed and medicated certain delicate areas after the visit to the Throne.

Incidentally, the reconstructed taped together little clock I broke, twice, is still working! A tiny speck of success in my accident-prone, ill-fated, pointless existence! Of course, any iota of victories I may have always fallen under the umbrella of the ‘It didn’t really matter anyway’ section. Tsk! But they do help keep me just this safeish-side of the ‘Losing all hope’ barrier.

Got the nosh sorted out, I’d have prefered getting the brain and mind sorted out, but why dream of the impossible? (Blimus, I’m going bonkers here – what a wassuck!

I was a little concerned in my choice of having the maple marinated lamb steaks, with Duodenal Donald playing up. But my spirits after making one of my more-stupid cock-ups over the timing of the Diabetes meeting, and getting myself all heck-up, I was in an even lower than earlier. So stayed with the lamb idea, which may prove to be a nasty mistake later. But was I bovvered? Nae!

I sorted the meal prepping. Got the lamb in the oven, they are thin slices so only need twenty minutes to cook. Checked the mushrooms were cooked and added them to the can of curried beans, with a splash of hickory. By then, the meal was ready to be served up. Smashing! Taste rating, 7/10.

Enjoyed the meal no-end. Up to now, no reactions from Duodenal Donald, he’s not any worse than he has been all day. 

I got the things washed up. I imagine my guilt at getting things all mixed up again earlier on, made me decide to get some cleaning done, for I knew how painful it would be. Maybe not precisely self-flagellation (perhaps purgation, though), but my indeterministic frame of mind thought it a good idea.

I got some black bags made up and limped to the waste chute. I trapped my hand in the chute and broke the elastic band on the alarm alert bracelet. But the alarm itself bounced away from the chute and landed on the floor. I cannot remember feeling more relieved for months. Phew! If it had gone down to the bins twelve floors below, it would probably have been the deciding factor in my wish to carry on. But, there it was, in the middle of so many things on my mind; my Zoom cock-up, Duodenal Donald now getting worse, the confused state of mind, came a little good luck!

I almost cheered up, turned to leave the waste cubby-hole, and gave myself a crackingly painful toe-stubbing on the door edge! As I limped, slightly more than usual back to the flat, the good luck that I was over the moon about minutes earlier, faded.

I planned to get the kitchen floor mopped up next, but I’d left the tap running while I was out, and no hot water was available. (Had this been a ploy from me, to avoid the cleaning? I don’t know!) I decided to boil the kettle and clean the floor edges of the cupboards by hand. Surprising myself at getting back up on my feet each time, with less bother than I usually have? Life is so confusing, especially to the already confused!

Duodenal Donald was getting worse, a lot worse. So I lamely gave up on the cleaning and took the evening medications, with gulps of the ineffective Peptic medicine. I dare not take any extra painkillers with the others, so gritted my teeth instead. (Hahaha!)

I settled to watch some TV. Surprisingly, with it being so early yet, I nodded off into the land of bliss! Which was broken, by the ‘Klunk-Bang-Tap-tap-Knocking’, coming from somewhere above the flat? I was niggled at this breaking my precious sleep at first. Then realised how early it was still, so irked, but not worried about the ‘Klunk-Bang-Tap-tap-Knocking’, not this early. It might have been Herbert doing his models, a repairman or anything, it didn’t matter. I was the oddity for trying to sleep so early, to catch-up on missed kip.

So, I got up, pants on, and tried to do some more cleaning up. The door buzzer rang out. It was the catwalk model, Obersturmführeress Warden Deana, just checking, that was nice. Pleasant to have a little Socially distanced chinwag.

I got back into the night attire (Well, stripped off). And into the £300, second-hand, not-working, rickety recliner. Pulled the bobble cap over the eyes, and went in search of some rest, sleep, sweet Morpheous…

The ‘Klunk-Bang-Tap-tap-Knocking’ started again and was persistent this time. All one could do was to try and put up with it. Eventually, it stopped, but by then, I was so agitated about not sleeping, it was hard to get any.

* “Life is so pleasant, calm, gentle and trouble-free.”

*  Many more lies are available on request.

TTFNski.