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Inchie is up for adoption as a grandad
Just thought I’d mention it.
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On this day in 1945: The United States dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.
Humankind has not learnt a lot, have we?
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Good Morning. Good morning? Well, it wasn’t at 06:25hrs when I stirred back into fau-life so reluctantly. I eased the painful sacral region, my coccyx, from the bed; ARRGH! Unbelievable, the nocturnal Catheter, the new ones of a different design, had leaked for the third day on the trot! Partly my own fault, for putting it on without thinking. And some new original ones had been delivered, arrived last night. I could have used them. The self-lambasting started, frustration flowed, bad language, really bad. A flipping good job they can’t hear me in the other flats. (I do hope not) I suffered a fit of pique, I suppose a sort of temper-tantrum. Directed at myself. I’m not proud of it.
I got even more annoyed and stroppy by the time I’d disinfected and put layers of paper towels down repeatedly, and the coccyx, lower back and Dizzy Dennis kicked off with all the bending.  I stubbed my gigantic long-nailed and more than a few times. But I’d calmed down a bit by then… well, just accepted the situation I now find myself in. Good luck is a mystery to me. Getting the short end of the stick, being jinxed, conned, depressed, evil fortune, frustrations, mental & physical limitations,  TBI. As for better luck next time; that never visits nowadays; these are not lessening… the same as my problems, just grow and multiply. But I waffle again. Don’t know why I do it; it never gleans any help. What a
terrible start to the day; well, usual start for me.
Depression is starting an early heyday… again.
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Smashing, Carer Ejaz did the one call. Said he was not doing any more today. Not sure of later on in the week. Humph! Love the lad.
So much for promises.
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Carer Ahmed did the noon call, I think. A nice chap, willing and ready to help.
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The teatime lad was his usual self.
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Carer Mirza did the last call. A short one in which he perused the emails, none needing attention. Then he filled in some more of the Mad House paperwork.
Another treasure, dedicated Carer.
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My one visit to the Porcelain Throne took ages to start the evacuation moving. It was hard work, even after they had started. Four thick nuclear submarine-shaped torpedoes slowly escaped, but the really surprising thing was the colours. The first two, which I thought was all that was coming, were coloured deep red and light brown. About to wipe and clean my bottom, the second two started; they were like concrete and thicker. I could feel the blood trickling from the haemorrhoids, and the next ones were far easier to pass, and were deep red, both with deep yellow turd ends. A different shade and texture every time I use the Throne. Hehehe!
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Wonderful yalking-to-clouds again today.
I took the above two to try and catch what I thought looked like a beast head, maybe a fish. See it?
This snap reminded me of Mr Trump.
I wonder why?
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Evening mug of Glengettie tea,
I need some chiropody,
Will my night Catheter again go leaky?
I hope my night will go dreamlessly,
Will Thursday go exacerbatingly?
I’d love to have an Epiphany…
British Gas: What a crap company,
They promised an engineer would visit me,
Three times this year; verisimility,
Lies, fibs, from the BG Oligarchy,
I’ve fractured anconeus, wrist and knee,
Catheter, obviously I can’t voluntarily pee,
Mechanical aorta, TBI, brain injury…
Constipation & Peripheral Neuropathy.
Dementia, seizures, and poor memory,
Ingrowing toenails, piles, since 2023,
Love cheesy potatoes, beetroot & boleti,
I suffer deafness and indeterminacy,
Confused over life’s insubstantiality,
Intangibility, vagueness, and ethereality,
Gawd, I do miss sexual reciprocity!
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I fell asleep eating it, while watching TV!
I ate all of it, except for the sticky Tiryaki sauce-covered potatoes that had stuck themselves to my body: testicles, legs, stomach, etc. The cushion, the carpet, the chair arm, and I found one had attached itself to my foot. I thought I’d got a blister or carbuncle coming up. Haha!
I cleaned the mess up, between bouts of cursing. Went through agony bending to clean it up, got the dizzies, and at one time, fell on my coccyx; that didn’t help my mood in the slightest. The cursing increased, but I did realise it was now the early hours of the morning, so I kept down the volume of my obscenities and expletives.
I cautiously took my time when doing the washing up and putting away the cleaning materials used.
The lower back, bruised coccyx, my right shoulder and left fractured knee each had a visit from Arthur Itis, and I had to give up getting into the bed, just too painful to find a comfortable position to accommodate the pains.
So, I moved and added cushions and folded towels on the recliner, enough to get into a bearable position, painwise.
Got settled, and confound it; started worrying if I’d turned off the cooker, turned off the taps, or left the fridge door open. I just had to check these things!
Grappling my way up out of the c1966, £300 Oxfam charity shop-bought, wincingly grotty, beige-coloured, crumb-covered from my nocturnal nibblings, itch-making, uncomfortable, positively unhealthy, and dangerous, no longer operational, virus-breeding, easy-to-fall-out-of, catheter-tube-trapping recliner, my coccyx was the main botheration; after all that time getting into a comfortable position, too. The feet and knee joined it as I hobbled into the kitchen; but I was so pleased I’d checked things, I’d cleaned the pots, and put the ceramic bowl back in the slow cooker earlier, but left it switched on!
On the way back to the recliner, Shaking Shoulder Shirley started going. Then, it’s happened many times; my memory of getting back in the recliner was so painful, but I cannot recall doing so? When I did wake up, the acid taste was up in my nose and mouth, so I had more nocturnal seizures, I imagine.
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