Aha? TFZer gal, starts a business at the Cool-It-Cabin? ♥

Thursday 10th September 2020

Latin: September 10th Iovis MMXX

02:30hrs: I felt absolutely disconsolate at another almost totally sleepless night, and decided to give up trying, and get up! I need a pick-me-up, some luck, a roborant, or even some good luck, or even sleep will do nicely. The things I ask for! Mission Impossible comes to mind. Knacklewrangles!

Feeling a little brassed-off with the unrepairable reasons for my getting little sleep, I was aware that I was falling into the darkness. This I could not allow. So a mental search for options, that would improve my attitude was carried out before I’d even moved my body in the recliner. After a few minutes, the realisation that self-pity was developing, it does that sometimes.

I forced myself to perk-up, by thinking of all those much worse off than I am. I whistled to myself as I fought my way out the £300, c1968, non-operational recliner, caught my balance, grabbed the stick, and made my way to the EOGPB (Emergency-Overnight-Grey-Plastic-Bucket) to relieve myself. The wee-wee was for a change, a decent one, nearly normal apart from the colour, how the heck can I be passing light-green urine? Still, it was easy, painless, and no pre or after Micturition-Dribbling. Immediately, my spirits started sneaking up a smidge, a smile developed, the need for a mug of tea arose, and never kept to plans for the day were developing! I sang 1960 songs to myself as I hobbled with the bucket to get it emptied and sanitised…

As I entered the wet room, I stopped the singing of Ricky Nelson’s version of ‘Well my bucket a hole in it!’, as I gave myself one hell of a brutal, cruel toe-stubbing on the chair which supported the danged-nabbed sock-glide! Arrrgh! This seemed to bring on the pains on the souls of the right foot and ankle areas, just as they were yesterday.

Fancy that, I said!

Cleaned the EOGP bucket, freshened and antisepticated it, and went to the kitchen, taking extra care to avoid the bad-luck and painful, injurious to use, sock-glide, and avoiding walking into any doors or walls en route. Oddly I began singing to myself again! Cliff Richard’s Young Ones. Don’t laugh! Hehehe!

More old favourite songs and tunes came to voice as I was taking this photo of the morning view, Adam Faith, ‘The time has come’, Ricky’s ‘It’s up to you’ and whichever group it was that made a cover of ‘A little bit of soap’, amongst overs, flowed unmelodically from throat.

Another stroke of good luck when I did the sphygmomanometerisationing. Amazingly the SYS had gone down to 140! Wunderbar!

The stick thermometer was not in a mood for working, to start with. I had several attempts but just got low, no figures as to what the actual reading was.

Well, on about the fifth try, I got a figure of only 32.3°c, that’s really low methinks? Why? I’ve not got the foggiest.

Billy Fury, ♫I’m running around♫ was vocalised. Quietly of course, and well out of tune!

After I’d just put the machines away in the medical drawer, then SSS, aka, (Shuddering-Shoulder-Shirley) kicked off. Even this was not going to bring me down again. I sillily mocked the ailment, because instead of the usual ‘Just-at-the-wrong-time’, she’d cocked-up her attack, and missed her chance of making me drop, and possibly break some expensive gear. ♫ La la la la la Lala! ♫ Hehehe! I am such a fool!

As SSS calmed down, the whatever is in in the ankle began to get real tender, I took a look at it. Looks like it feels in this picture, tender. It even makes me jump when the legs of the trousers catch against it. Tsk! Worrisit? Surely it can’t be the Clopidogrel allergy. Because that has never hurt, Mmm?

I started to update the Wednesday Inchcock, and SSS, NN (Nicodemus’s Neurotransmitters), and Reflux Roger were a bit of a nuisance and cost me a lot of time checking and correcting. But I got it finished at long last.

I don’t think that the annoying ‘Hum’ has been so loud for such a long time, ever before! I keep wanting to have a look outside to see if there are any fire engines with their pumps in use, its sounds just like it.

I got the fresh peas podded and in the saucepan. Then scrubbed some potatoes and got them in the crock-pot, with soy sauce and the fish vinegar.

The ablutions were tended to next. A proper-farce it was, but not due to Accifauxpas, or too many dropsies, for once.

I had a really smooth, best ever in weeks, session; apart maybe a nasty hitting the shoulder on the grab support when I dropped the soap. I’d got to the medicationalising stage, and the front door chimes rang out. There I was, naked, and a positive threat to anyone who may have to look at my elephantine wobbly body, so I wrapped the towel around my midriff and went to investigate. Surely it can’t be Josie this early, the thought that she might need help, caused me to hasten my hobbling speed to get to the door. I partly opened the door ajar, and peeked-out, but no lights were on in the lobby? Puzzled, I returned to the wet room!

I’d almost got the medicationing finished, and the landline rang out. I made it in time, it was my heroine Jenny. She said she’s left some tomatoes for me, home-grown from a relative, for me. We laughed when I told her where I was, when she called on me, Hahaha! I thanked her for thinking of me. ♥

Back to the wet room again, just furuncular cream to apply now.

As I got the tube in my hand, unfortunately, the right hand, to transfer cream to the left hand to use it with, SSS gave me a blast… and the cream shot out and upwards, landing in one long piece back down onto my bulbous stomach, and dribbled down onto Little Inchy as it broke up. I got it all cleaned up, but it was not easy getting back up again from the floor after getting things sorted. Tsk! It seems so funny now, but wasn’t so at the time! Hahahaha!

Herbert was tap-tapping a bit, but not too bad. Bless him!

I then got myself freshened-up and partly clothed. (No socks on, not that this was because I didn’t want to risk, or was afraid of using the blood-letting, finger breaking, sock-glide, of course! As if a brave, bold, young man like wot I am, would be so scared of using a plastic-coated metal, Satan-made article. Hehe, oh no! Ahem!

I got the towel onto the airer and retrieved the tomatoes that Jenny had kindly brought for me, from outside the apartment’s door.

I took a closer look at at the spots, papules, and scabbing, that had suddenly got more painful. I don’t think it is the leg ulcer, that has never hurt like this. Whatever it is, ulcer or something else, it seems to be spreading out down to the foot now!

Got the fodder prepped and eaten. The tomatoes from Jenny were okay, the yellow ones were marvellous. I ate it all up but struggled to stay awake to do so.

Took the pots to be washed, and heard a noise as I was doing so.

It was a hand posted letter from Nottingham City Homes, reminded us of the creeding being done on Tuesday 15th September, and we have to either leave the flat before 08:00hrs and not return until the work has been completed, or remain in the apartment until we are advised the jobs done, and the concrete dried. Fair enough!

Med’s taken, and down in the £300, second-hand, c1968, broken-not-working recliner, in search of Seet Morpheous. Who came very late on, but stayed with me for five blessed hours! Yippee!

TTFNski, haveth a great day!