
What a night’s sleep; Not much of it. Despite my being in the £300, bought eight years ago from the second-hand shop, Harold Haemorrhoid testing, repugnantly beige-coloured, crumb containing, virus-breeding, acne-giving, rickety, none-working recliner for a good 7 hours, I’d guestimate the time sleeping adding up to maybe two hours at the most! No cause that I could find. There were no
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I was ultra-confused as I got up to check the night pouch and saw that it wasn’t attached at all. The day bag was well-filled. I hobbled precariously to the WC to empty and wash the jug.
Then, still, in a mind-haze, I took two snaps of the now late morning view.
I got the mini-hoover and cleaned up some nocturnal nibbling crumbs on the carpet. Then, I returned to the kitchen, opened a can of vegetable soup, and put it in the saucepan for some reason.
On the computer for an hour or so, not that I was making much progress anyway, and
Back on the blogging. For half an hour, when who should arrive, but
The refrigerator door said differently after he’d gone, as did the marks on the floor. But he squashed all the things that were on the carer’s table and looked neater.
.
AN INSTANTLY CREATED EXTRA INCHY ODE
Simplification, via Organisation…
Often avoids an aberration,
A good administration gets my admiration,
Although FND causes me aggravation,
My mind is in constant altercation,
My mental damage is in escalation…
I need a specialist to do an evaluation,
Failure to do so causes me exasperation!
Best before I turn into a futilitarian!
I’m living in a fantasy, in hallucination,
No chance of mental impetus or impulsion,
My thoughts are going into laevorotation!
Merging into misapprehension, misconception,
Delusion, misunderstanding, misinterpretation,
I’ve got a dying-off neurotransmission!
My body does its own thing without my permission!
Mentally, thinking and deciding are ordalian…
They told me there’s no pharma-conation,
I struggle with perception and conceptualisation,
All this is truth, not just an impression…
As I await my next pseudohallucination!
I’ve become an involuntary solitudinarian…
No wonder I’m always in depression!
My future is clouded, stygian!
Written by an ageing proletarian,
Scripted without dramatisation…
Using a damaged telencephalon!
Just a call for help from someone!
Please help before I’m gone.
There, that should get me help.
14 billion on the blogosphere.
FND doesn’t just disappear…
I’ll just sit here…
Feeling daily more odd & queer,
Awaiting a call, I should fear!
That flowed too smoothly, oh, dear!
I poddled to take some more views with
I was struggling with such limited concentration to get the blog advanced.
Not that I found many, one!
Started getting the potatoes in the oven and sprayed and seasoned them. Getting dark quickly again.
Took these three
I got the potatoes in the now-hot-enough oven.
No cuts or bleeding!
Feeling a smidge hungry now.
But so tired again.
The computer was turned off. The TV was turned on, and I kept an eye on the time as I watched An episode of the great “Open All Hours” comedy.
Back with an update in the morning…
Providing I don’t snuff it overnight, of course!
Good morning. I’m back with the update!
Worra Nosh!
TTFN
Your ode is an excellent parody of “Where Have All The Flowers Gone.” Instant ode is a good one too. Meal came out looking delish.
Thanks muchly, Tim.
You might have enjoyed tonights, mate… but you may have needed a little extra chilli in it? Haha!
Fare thee well!