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– – SICKENING – –
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05:10hrs: I woke up in the 966, £300 Oxfam charity shop bought, second-hand, wincingly grotty, beige coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy & dangerous, no longer
operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, Catheter-tube-trapping, recliner.
And released the catheter nocturnal bag from the day bag
pouch. Again, a decent colour of urine had been passed overnight.
As the signs from the innards indicated a change in mode to a Trotsky Terence one, I decided to make my way to the wet room without delay. A good job I did, too. The motion started as I lowered my bottom onto the plastic Porcelain Throne cover!
The spray was almost spitting-like, out all over the WC furniture and my bum and bottom. Took me ages to get it all cleaned up.

My plump, short legs were holding up the catheter bag pouch well today. Then, the bag suddenly split open down one side. Being a cunning, if pathetic DIYer, I repaired it with some of the Elastoplast and Elephant tape I had to hand and
refitted it.
I topped up the Nurse’s and Carer’s nibble boxes and went on the computer for a while. I can’t say precisely how long the computing went on as another darned Mind-Blank took me over. It might have been Carer Marie; she kept coming into my mind, and her suspicious smile was in there somewhere. I found this photo in the morning of where I’d left the diabetic socks in view to remind me to ask for them to be put on. They were on my legs alright, now. Back with it, I decided to make up some bottles of spring water, adding a little cordial to a few bottles. Off to the kitchenette, I poddled!
& ![]()
After making the drinks, I decided that, as I had the funnels out, I’d make some spray with an antiseptic disinfectant that I used to sprinkle in the catheter urine jug and waste bins. I made the mix and poured it safely and freely into the sprayers.

One: As I turned away to take the filled bottles, I knocked the topless disinfectant bottle off the draining board. I made a barb for it and sprayed the liquid out of the spout. It landed on my dressing gown, which got soaked. Then I dropped the bottle on the floor, which swizzled around, distributing the rest of its contents over the kitchen floor. I did not burst into tears! I just cursed vigorously. But I did consider crying an option! I decided to take some shots from the window, as not many had been taken with all the seizures. I genuinely wish that I hadn’t bothered now.

TWO: Now, the photos themselves came out pretty decently. In fact, I was pleased with the results. 
!
As I closed the window yet again, my sleeve caught the kitchen knife box, knocking it to the floor. A degree of spitting was used in conjunction with foul language, self-insulating, and loathing outbursts that lasted for a good while. What the hell Mary in the flat below must think of me?
Well, it doesn’t take much imagination. Sorry, Mary! ♥
I set about cleaning the kitchenette floor again.
I used the Speed Mop this time to save time and bending down to wring out the big mop.
Things are looking better now in the kitchen.
But not with WordPress and or the computer I’m using.
I am having all sorts of failures. I’ll whip on what I’ve got and try to post it. Sorry about this. Google has given up on me. I’m Trying Firefox now.



Fingers crossed!
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TTFN
Knocking the knife box on the floor is a cutting edge cursing moment. Nicely arranged plate of food.
Knocking the knife box on the floor is a cutting edge cursing moment. I wish I’d said now, in the blog, Sir. Hehe!
I smiled at the ode, but found myself agreeing nonetheless, making sense is sometimes lost in my world too.