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I’d fallen asleep again last night in the recliner. Well, it took a few hours for me to nod off. I think I must have got around six unbroken hours of sleep. Waking up when Carer Christopher arrived.
I believe I waffled on about something for a while. My body simply refused to get up, and a tiredness overcame me like never before. No idea why? I was, to say the least, feeling muddle-headed as well.
I lay there unmoving for about five more hours!
I was not sleeping. I just sat there thinking and confusing myself, feeling weak, and the innards started rumbling. This forced me into imitation action, and I delicately freed myself from the clutches of the warm itch-creating, bruise-giving, catheter-tube-tugging, crumb-decorated from my nocturnal nibbling, God-awfully uncomfortable, cringingly grotty, no longer working, dirty beige, anti-sleep designed, c1966, second-hand bought for £300 ten years ago from the charity shop, recliner. I Christened it Recliner Roger today). My balance was all over the place. But I took my time and visited the wet room to remove the nocturnal pouch and utilise the Porcelain Throne.
I came so close to falling asleep on the Throne, but I didn’t… well, I don’t think I did, anyway. Of course, I may have had a brief kip. Hehe! I cleaned up and went back to the recliner room. That was when I saw it was 11:25hrs already! I still felt so drained and tired, so I thought I’d do some cleaning to get the limbs moving. I didn’t know if there was any possibility of getting the brain going. I made up some needed bladder water drinks, putting some bi-carbonated soda in with added lime juice. Thinking it might perk me up a bit.

Then, I got the hoover out and cleaned the carpets, which had what looked like biscuits or crisp crumbs all over them. I didn’t recall having anything to eat overnight, but I suppose I might have. But when I did the waste bins, I found no empty bikkie or crisp bags in the bins.
To my surprise, Carer Chris returned. He was doing this week’s domestic duties. He still issued the medications for me. I asked him to clean the wet room and kitchen floors for me, which the lad did. I was feeling much better now, more with it. As he was filling in the duties sheet, Carer Shaquille arrived. Not knowing that Carer Chris was here. After they had both left, I got onto the blog, which I was well behind with already, not needing to lose the five more hours I had. As I said, I was much more with it.

It’s well into the afternoon now. I spent an hour or so on the computer. I mostly tried to analyse the computer’s faults, but I was getting frustrated again with my lack of understanding of the machine’s inner workings. So, over the next two hours, I took some photos in between cursing. Here they are.
I moved into a with the actions of the computer.
CorelDraw froze yet again, and MS Word will not save anything for me. A pleasant surprise was that MS Excel was now letting me load files after yesterday’s reducing me. So I can get the Health Check Results back online. Knowing my luck or lack thereof, it’ll probably pack up on me again tomorrow.

I so hope I can get up early in the morning to get a good wash, scrub-up shower shave, medicationalings done, and the Porcelain’s Throning before the order arrives.
What am I on about? It’s coming next Tuesday, innit?

Gonna get some nosh now. TTFN.

Sleepy Inchy-Reporter Returns.

Carer Christopher called. My diabetic socks were taken off, and just one Codeine was given due to my earlier silly tumble and hitting my head against the cooker. I seem to have developed expert skills in headbutting hard objects lately. I haven’t shoulder-charged the door frame in the wet room for six days now. I shouldn’t have said that!

I prepped and served the meal, ate it, had a bag of Frazzles afterwards, washed the pots, and manoeuvred my way into bed. About two hours later, I was still lying there praying, pleading and asked Mr G if he would be kind enough to let me get to sleep and if he could please stop lambasting me, raising my patheticness, historic cock-up-reminding and the pointless,  fruitless future I face. An hour later, I gave up and got out of bed into the c1968, tatty, scruffy, unkempt, uncomfortable, virus, microorganism, bug, bacterium, bacillus, germ, parasite producing, and disease-fermenting second-hand, eyesorely-horrendously grungy beige-coloured, £300, charity shop bought, crumb-retaining, moth-eaten, non-working, itch-encouraging, incommodious, Haemorrhoid Harold testing, catheter tube yanking, recliner, and turned the TV on… but it didn’t come on, only a floating balloon telling me ‘No Connection Available’. Harrumph! Thank you, Liberty-Global Virgin Media!
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Live Long and Prosper
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