Shooting myself in the foot (again)

I've been thinking about depression this week-a lot. I went to the gym on Thursday and Friday, and I worked really hard. On Thursday, I got a call from the registrar at the hospital to tell me that he secured a bed for me. So...I thought about that for a couple of hours, and I decided to ring back and tell him I'm not going into the hospital - I said that if I am sick while I am away, I will just have to deal with it until I return to London. Needless to say, he wasn't very happy about my decision. It's on your head, he said (rather bleakly).

So, it looks like I might have shot myself in the foot again: I've annoyed the team at the hospital, and I could be letting myself in for trouble if I have any problems while I'm in New York. BUT-I considered the alternatives very carefully, and I decided that I don't need a week in hospital on intravenous antibiotics. What the hell - I'm already 90% antibiotics, and I don't have much time before I leave, so I want to enjoy my few days while I can, not spend them in the hospital!!

Only the passage of time will tell me if I have made the right decision. After all, I trusted the doctors two years ago, and we all know how well THAT worked for me, don't we??

I'm meeting Julia for lunch at a health food store in North London later. We met at a Pilates class years ago, and sporadically kept in touch. I say "sporadically", because Julia is one of my band of weirdos.

Now, Julia is one of the most negative, judgmental, sanctimonious people I have ever met. She is also very, very bitter-but also very secretive (I don't even know where exactly she calls home, or her home phone number, or very much about her - she won't tell me). When you look at Julia's face, you see the pinched, sour look of someone who has not been happy-probably ever. I say she is a weirdo, because the last time we had lunch together, we saw a man showcasing green tea-and Julia accosted the poor guy, practically jumping him. She wanted to know his entire history, where he lives, whether he went to Oxford-please, woman, the man is working on a display for tea, not surgery!! He looked at me in a panic, and I was finally able to get her away from him. Every time we meet up, she does this to people. Is this weird, or what??

BUT-Julia also came to visit me when I was in the hospital two years ago, and she kept pushing me to walk while I was on the ward. She was the only person who actually bothered, although she did say it was her "Christian duty" - errr...so what? She showed up, and that was, for me, really a kindness.

Is there a point to my mentioning all this? Well, of course there is!! I was thinking about our lunch meeting later, and I suddenly realized that looking at Julia is, in some ways, looking in a mirror. I don't mean physically, and I don't mean the weirdness of her accosting strangers and practically throwing herself on them to start a conversation!! I mean some of the other characteristics: she is clearly unhappy, judgmental, bitter, filled with hatred (of what or whom, I still don't know), and terribly sanctimonious. She is a religious zealot (that isn't me at all), but as for anger, unhappiness, judgment - I don't feel that I am there yet, but that would be me when taken to extremes.

I can see that my negative attitude hinders me from getting better - and I can also see that my attitude is what attracts the weirdos in the first place!!! I've dumped some of the dross from my life-most, in fact!-and I realize that I would greatly benefit from an attitude adjustment. My anger and bitterness at what happened two years ago are things I need to let go in order to move on and really see improvement. The physio told me that stress and upset work against getting back any balance - and, really, that is enough to get me motivated.

I'm not someone who lets go easily. In fact, I can hold a grudge forever-and I mean, forever. But-that doesn't serve me when it comes to that crucial 80% - so I need to work on it.

If there is a patience gene, it bypassed me at birth - and so did the forgiveness gene!!

Foot in mouth-again!

I put my foot in my mouth so often, I think I should just leave it there. Of  course, I was born without an immune system-but it seems I was born without patience, too--and tact and diplomacy. What the hell-I've reached the age where I just call things as I see them. I'm amazed I got this far, frankly!

It was a very wet week; I am not great in the rain, although I am better than I was two years ago - or even six months ago. I can tell that my balance and vision have suffered over the past few days, though; when it rains, I feel like just hibernating. And that is a huge mistake, because that is exactly when I should be getting myself out and walking. So I've been very naughty this week, because I haven't done what I am supposed to be doing. It doesn't matter how I feel, I need to just do it. And keep doing it, regardless of how I feel about it.

Yesterday I had my semi-annual visit with my chest consultant. Off I went to the London Chest Hospital, and I want to say that it was a waste of time-but I had to do lung function tests, and they showed that my lungs haven't got any worse than the tests they did last year. That is a good sign-I actually had a good sign!! BUT- the crippler (Sofia Grigoriadou) was also present, since the clinic is a joint one. ~When the consultant asked how I am, I said that I am still crippled. After I said that, the crippler had the sense to sink into a chair in the corner.

Well, me and my big mouth!! After just about poisoning myself with all the bug spray, the citronella candles and the citronella oils, I felt very, very sick-and I had severe, drenching night sweats. Did I say I had sweats-just before I am due to go to New York? Oh, yes I did-and I forgot to add the bit about the citronella, because I felt like a complete idiot. Now, Lieske (the chest expert) wants to put me in the hospital for a week of more intravenous antibiotics.

Did I agree to go? Very, very reluctantly. Am I going? Oh, hell no, I'm not going. I'm not giving anyone the opportunity to do anything to me to prevent my getting the hell out of here-not after two horrific years I'm not.

So I've decided not to answer my phone until Friday night, when it will be too late for the hospital to book me in. Fingers crossed that there will be no beds available until - oooh, next Wednesday or Thursday, so I can say forget it, if I'm sick when I return I can go in then.

Foot in mouth. Up to the femur. A very big oops for telling the truth- at least, this time. The only thing that will keep me from going to New York will be complete nuclear destruction.   

Everybody has dreams

We all have dreams,goals, aspirations-at least,I like to think (and hope) so. Whether they come true or not is something else!!

Today someone I know slightly asked me how I am doing-and I gave my stock answer, which is "very well, and how are you doing?". What else can you say, really? Nobody wants to hear anyone else complain - we all have our own problems. I know how I feel when I ask someone how they are, and I am stuck with having them tell me (for a headache-inducing twenty or thirty minutes) about their bunions, hemorrhoids, back pain, everything pain, gallstones...they are enough to give me gallstones, I swear!!! So I finally got wise to it all, and when I see those people I say hello and say that I am late, I will see them soon. "Soon" means not in this lifetime!!!!

I started thinking about dreams, goals, aspirations-well, I started two years ago, when it seemed that all mine were taken from me. Now, two years down the road, I think I'm lucky to have got this far. Some dreams just are that: dreams. I would like to think that we can do and be anything we choose-but, realistically, that isn't always the case. Example: I won't be training as an astronaut any time soon! So that is what I mean by being realistic.

I went into the storage unit this morning-and that always brings back memories. It also brings aggravation, lots of dust, and a feeling of - how on earth did I accumulate this much stuff??? And I found-wait for it-a pair of leather trousers, a leather waistcoat (with lots of zips), and a leather jacket. Happily,the mice left all those alone. Of course, I brought them home with me. And I tried them on. And they fit. I look like a bike chick. Maybe, at this stage, I look like a bike granny. And I couldn't care less what other people think, I'm going to wear them anyway-with my leather cap. They are all black. I like to think I look dangerous (I said I have dreams, didn't I?). I will have to wait until I can leave my walking stick home. Heh.

My dream - and this is an achievable goal, I think- is to live to around 95 (maybe 96), be fully compos mentis, have all my physical faculties, too - there is no point living to a ripe old age if you are decrepit and don't remember who you are, is there? I'm 95 or 96 (by that time, I'll be aiming for 100), I'm driving down the Pacific Coast Highway (if California hasn't fallen into the sea by then), with the wind in my hair and my 75 year old toyboy sitting behind me.

Just watch me make it happen!

The 80/20 Rule Rocks!

I remember saying in a previous post that studies showed the average IQ of the British to be 80-now that I absolutely believe-except, of course, the people of Essex, whose average has to be 20. In fact, I've met many who cannot possibly have any intelligence at all; this means that, for each of those people, there are four walking around with an IQ of a whopping - 25!!!!!

One of my friends in Pennsylvania told me that she didn't believe this - and now I can prove conclusively that this is the absolute truth.

My good friend NJ (who lives in the USA) told me that she joined one of those online weightloss groups, and that she lost a lot of weight on this program. It seems to be very sensible, it works, and-best of all-it's free!! So, I joined, since I can stand to lose a few pounds. I haven't had time to set up my page or to join in the forum yet (I still have no internet at home. Bless BT for that), so I rely on NJ for the news.

I spoke with my friend the other day, and she told me that the other participants seem very supportive-except for one, who got on the forum and demanded that everyone else provide her with the motivation to lose weight; apparently she has a huge amount to lose (no surprise, since there are as many obese and morbidly obese people in this country as there are in the USA).

So, how did NJ respond to this? Bear in mind that the other woman has emailed NJ a few times, and provided some of her history. Well, NJ did exactly what I would have done-almost. She emailed the other woman and told her that motivation cannot come from anyone else, but has to come from within. She cannot reasonably expect someone else to be responsible for her weightloss. So, NJ got a vicious email in return, calling her negative, unsupportive, and a few other choice terms, and saying that NJ would now be blocked from her emails. ~And where does this idiot come from? If you guessed Essex, England-you would be right.

NJ remembers all my comments on Essex people - she is a good friend and has been following this blog since the beginning, and I have known her for nearly 20 years, so she also knows that I'm a pretty good judge of people (well, not lately, obviously!!). And we had a very good laugh about this Essex idiot.

What would I have added to NJ's response to the idiot? I would have said that she should get a grip on her life and stop being so precious. I would have said that nobody cares if she puts on a skirt and looks like a whale in a tutu. And nobody is interested if she is being hotly pursued by Captain Ahab and his harpoon, or if her nickname in school was Moby or Orca, or if she can only fit into clothes that have been provided by Omar the tentmaker.

If she wants to lose the hundred pounds she needs to lose, she has to have the desire, the willpower, and the motivation to do it herself; nobody can provide those for her. It would help if she would stop shoving everything that doesn't move and isn't bolted down into that huge mouth of hers (and probably some things that are still moving-which is a very, very creepy thought. Sorry I gave such a visual!).

I know about motivation, determination and discipline: I learned all three over these past two years. If I stop doing the walking, the exercises, if I slack off in any way, I will regress to being where I was before: with no balance system, I stay that way unless I challenge the brain to create new neural pathways so I can, at least, walk without falling over all the time.

Trust me when I say that the big three- motivation, determination and discipline-have to come from within oneself, because nobody can (or will) do it for you. Nobody. We can all be supportive and encouraging, but everything else comes from within. If you don't have it-don't expect someone else to give it to you.

And there is one other thing I would like to say to Madam Braindead Essex: put a sock in your blowhole!

The hitman, the alcoholic and the arsonist

I have to say, I could always really pick 'em!!! I do have first hand experience of dating an alcoholic-and what a joy that wasn't. He said he wasn't a drunk-but he even drank a bottle of Brut-that really nasty aftershave-because he didn't have anything on hand that resembled beer, or the normal things people drink. I lost patience very quickly-and I bailed out after a couple of months. Why a couple of months, I can almost hear you ask? Well-because I was in Mother Teresa mode: I tried to help someone who just didn't want any help. I've since learned to let people be: if they want to drink themselves to death, or throw themselves in front of a moving train, it's their decision.

And the arsonist? Oooooh, I dated a guy when I was in university, and he worked as a flame and sword swallower to make extra money. That was okay-although kissing him after his act was a bit gross. He didn't make it through school, though-and we lost touch. The last time I heard from him, he had been arrested for arson (he burned down a building, poor thing. Luckily, it was empty at the time). Er-a few problems with his temper, I suppose-I think his part-time job was probably a big clue, but I ignored it at the time.

As for the hitman-well, that is another story. I didn't date him, I hasten to add (believe me, after the crazy people I've met and/or dated, I actually was more careful!! And the man was so evil, who would see anything in him anyway?

Someone clearly did. Zoe was born Elsie, and changed her name as soon as she was old enough to do so. I would have done the same thing. Who sticks their kid with a birthname of Elsie? She probably went through years of taunting at school, changed her name and then killed her parents. Nobody could blame her!!

Well, anyway- Elsie was the sister of an acquaintance of mine; Elsie met this hitman I will call Jack (just think Jack the Ripper. It suits him, now that I think about it!). And Jack used to kill for hire in the East End. What set him apart was the fact that he had a wooden leg. This is true; he apparently upset some of the East End thugs by burning down the home of one of their friends (with the guy inside), so they came after him with a hacksaw. Off went his leg; what they did with it, I don't know (and didn't ask), but I'll bet that made his eyes water!!

So he used to go to these acquaintances' house for dinner-and when he sat down to eat, he would unscrew his wooden leg. Don't ask; I don't know. Perhaps he thought he was being polite. Or, perhaps he kept it within range so he could throw it at anyone who hacked him off.

What happened to Jack? He died a few years ago. I heard about this, and I thought someone set fire to him with a hot chip pan (his specialty: he used to boil the oil used to fry chips , and then throw the fat at his target. Such a nice, stable man!!!). Then I wondered if someone burned his house down (with him in it, of course - another specialty of his).

Nope: old Jack the hitman died of a heart attack. Huh. How pedestrian of him. How rude, not to go out in some spectacular way. How - boring!!

I mention all this, of course, because I talked the other day about wanting a hitman for the prat who lives upstairs. Oops!! Bad karma!!!

Now I'm so careful about the company I keep that I practically interrogate everyone before I become friends with them. You can't be too careful. You never know when a total nut case is going to come into your life.

I will say something about the above three people: they did make life a little more entertaining than usual!!!

Ah, life: it is never dull!

Stress? WHAT stress??????

How is it that we can put a man on the moon-well, we did that, so it doesn't count here (even though the Brits would love to take credit for it!!!) - okay, then, how is it that and Englishman was responsible for the jet engine - and Messrs Rolls and Royce once made great motorcars, as well as airplane engines - and I can think of many discoveries that were here first - then again, What else was made in Britain? Yep-the Titanic.

Okay, so how is it that British Telecom (also known as Bloody Terrible) has all these alleged fantastic deals on phones, broadband, television service-but they are unable to fix a cable out in the road - a cable they (in their infinite brilliance) sliced through - three months ago, leaving me to have to go to an internet cafe for internet service??

How is it that the company is unable (or unwilling) to fix something they broke?? Go figure!! No wonder I bailed out of using BT years ago; the only problem is that all the wiring is theirs, and other service providers pay them to use the lines that they break (and can't fix!!).

When you live here, you get very used to idiots: bad service, incompetence, rudeness, and downright stupidity. But this really takes the cake-and there is never an apology, possibly because all the call centers seem to be out of this country (they are out of the country; they are in a place where nobody speaks English!!!).

I think that we should import experts-or, rather, experienced technicians in every field-from somewhere that actually trains them.

So what can I expect, when I am in a place where the average IQ is less than that of a doorknob???

I wouldn't swear to this-but I think I might take up drinking (alcohol, that is). For one thing, I would fit right in with everyone else who lives here. For another thing, they would still be idiots, but I would be past caring!!!!

For once, a serious one

Some events make history-and not in a good way. Eleven years ago, on September 11, 2001, was such an event: the genocide of nearly 3,000 innocent people. And I wouldn't feel right by ignoring it, because it had an impact on me that will probably last forever.

I remember exactly where I was when the first tower was hit: I was in the kitchen making coffee, and my (now ex) husband shouted at me to come into the living room, where he was watching the news. I couldn't believe what was happening; as I watched the events unfold, I burst into tears. I was practically cemented to the television for the rest of the day (part of me wants to joke about that not being a good look, but I will restrain myself!!).

That evening, my husband could hardly wait to turn to me and tell me that we deserved it, since we never had a terrorist attack on American soil. I was so shocked at the hatred in his eyes-I knew that I just didn't want to be married to the man any more. Actually, I knew that many years before-and it still took me another fifteen months before I filed for a divorce. And, by the way, after the genocide of my own people (most of them) in my own home city - and his heartless comments - I didn't speak to him for a week. I told him what I thought of him - not much, as it happens - and I walked out of the room and refused to speak to him. I tried to call my friends and family in New York, and the international lines were crashing; everyone else had the same idea.

There was an outpouring of grief and shock that spread around the world - and, for awhile, the Brits were unnervingly nice. That didn't last very long.

If you really want to know what it is like to be an American living in the UK, you have to ask an American who has been here for many years, and who isn't rich and well-connected. It's no good asking an actress who names her child after a fruit. Really-imagine if Gwynnie's favorite fruit was a kumquat! And the next one: presumably she can't spell Mohammed. I'm not really poking fun at the poor creature-but she has doomed those children to years of psychotherapy, after which they will probably turn into serial killers. No surprise there!!

So here we are on September 11th - and I can't help wondering how many people (excepting the ones who lost someone in the bombings) are looking back eleven years and thinking that this was the day the world lost what innocence it had.

I feel sad. I also wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and I fell over. So I am now bruised and sad!! Time for a strong coffee - and a few prayers for those who were left behind.

I hear all the good holy rollers who say we should forgive-but how can anyone forgive genocide? How is it that this world has come to such evil-and all in the name of religion!

There are so many good, honest, kind people in this world. Let's all go out for a pizza.

More life philosophy-on a Monday, too!

What idiot said that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger? That makes us all need a hitman!

After the surveyor inspected my flat last week and pronounced it unfit (and downright dangerous) for me to live in, I started looking for private accommodation. I've realized-after two years of council rubbish-that the only way to live where I want and how I want is to return to the private sector. Honestly-you don't know what you are going to get anywhere, but at least I can find a place where I can have a dog!! I think it will be a Rottweiler (they are beautiful, they eat you out of house and home, but other people are frightened of them).

This is a neat little segue into my Rottweiler story (I promise I'll be brief. For once.). Years ago, I had a hairdresser who had a Rottweiler, a rescue dog (a terrier cross) and two cats-in a bedsit (studio, they are starting to call them here-but still one room-about the size of a breadbox). Peter's other half worked for London Transport, was very butch, and unwillling to "come out" because of the impact it might have on him at work. So the boyfriend used to go out with the other lads after work, get completely wasted, and come home and beat the living crap out of Peter. I would see him with a black eye and a bruised face- it was terrible. So I used to go visit him-and the rest of the family (the four-legged family), and I would tell the Rottweiler to jump on Pete's partner (I'll call him Steve, just in case someone who knows him is reading this) the next time he hits my friend.

For about three months, this little training of mine had no effect; Peter would come into work, black and blue, and would cry on my shoulder. One day, I was in Peter's place, playing with the Rottweiler (known as Rocky), and Steve came in and began to push Peter around. In a flash, Rocky was on him, and the dog gave Steve a nasty bite on his arm. And that was the end of Steve; Peter told him that if he touched the dog (or him) again, the police-and London Transport-would be notified. Hah-the joy of having a dog!! I think I want two, even though I might have to take out a mortgage to feed them!

That's the thing with dogs: as long as people don't abuse them, and take care of them and show them affection, the dogs are (to me, at least) better than having children. They (dogs) are at the door when you get home, wagging their little tails, showing how happy they are to see you. You don't need to buy them a car, buy them everything that all their friends have, send them to college, bail them out of jail, get them off drugs-pay for their wedding, divorce, rehab-dogs are the best. I don't feel the least bit guilty about not having children - give me a dog any day (the four legged kind. I've known enough of the two-legged kind).

So there is my philosophy about life-part of it, at least!!

On Friday, I went along to Queens Square for my last vestibular rehabilitation session. This should have taken place in May-but I had two other physiotherapists, and Ben is my last one. And-he turned out to be the best one!

He had me go through all the exercises-but this time, I had to be barefoot. It was awful-I felt like such a klutz, you wouldn't believe it. He then informed me that I was doing several exercises the wrong way, and that I was omitting the ones that make me feel sick: those are the ones I attempt to do with my eyes closed.
We talked about neuroplasticity, and the fact that I have to do everything-and more-if I want to get back that 80%. He said that I can, even with the CVID, the chest infections, the gentamicin toxicity that destroyed the entire vestibular system-no matter, he said, as he gave me a list of exercises to do-daily, and religiously.

He said that the more I do what makes me uncomfortable-the more times I do what I don't seem to be able to do (or do really badly), the more I challenge my brain, and the more balance I will get back through the nerves in my legs. He also said that I have been more than a little lazy, and that I have been more than a little fatalistic. And I thought about all that-and I have to say that he is absolutely correct.

For two years, I thought that I was doomed to be unable to go out after dark unless someone was with me; I thought that I would forever be unable to do certain movements, and that my life was over.Wrong!!

My life is far from over; my life as I knew it before might be over, but my life is not over. Not by a long shot.
This visit last week really got me thinking-and I did exercises over the weekend, and spent a lot of time thinking. I've been spending all my time fretting, angry about the nasty old fart upstairs, and angry about what happened to me - but I haven't spent nearly enough time doing all the things I am supposed to be doing. I also haven't spent any time actually living. I've been a recluse. This isn't the way I want to live my life-and nobody can do anything about it but me.

Nobody can tell me what to do, how to do it, when to do it-nobody else can live my life. If I don't start making a life for myself, regardless of the circumstances-then the people who caused this (and I know it was incompetence and stupidity, that they didn't do it deliberately) have won.

The only person who deserves to win-is me.

I need a hitman. And a flame thrower!

There are times when you feel like you need someone to go to bat for you-with a bat. Or a shotgun. Or a couple of friends...this is one of those times. Unfortunately, I don't know any obliging hitmen-and I don't have any violent friends, either (which can only be a good thing, since the prat upstairs isn't worth a prison sentence).

And-the flame thrower is for my place. That would cure the damp, the mould, the noise, and the fact that I am the world's biggest procrastinator, so I wouldn't have to spend any more time throwing things out!!

Oh, dream on!!! What a nice fantasy, after all...

So I had the surveyor examine the flat today-and he said that there is nothing they will be able to do to cure the damp. In other words, Haringey won't fix it. Well-they don't even collect refuse, why on earth would they cough up the funds to fix the building? I can now happily look for something to rent privately, and then I don't have to depend on a bunch of jobsworths who have less brains than a snickerdoodle.

Tomorrow I go to Queen Square for my last ever vestibular assessment. It was due to happen in May-but my physio left the vestibular rotation, I was in the hospital, and it just kept being pushed back. That could be a good thing, since I've had more time to walk. If there was an Olympic medal for walking, I'll bet I would get a gold. And I feel like charging the hospital for mileage!!

Next week I must return to the storage unit-and I have to be ruthless in getting rid of stuff. There won't be my usual "oh, I can use this", when I haven't seen an item for five years! I have moved so many times in the past few years, I am practically an expert when it comes to packing boxes. I've obviously missed a great opportunity: a mobile packing service! Much more fun than, say, party planning. I get to throw out other people's junk!!

I bought two portable, battery operated insect repelling machines yesterday. Actually, they seemed to work. Of course, I also bought something called "Jungle Formula". It contains a huge amount of Deet, which is great for repelling mosquitoes, and midges, and other people-I wonder what damage it is doing to my system. Perhaps I'm getting rid of the midges - but embalming myself at the same time!!

Reasons to be hacked off - Part 1

You had to know that cheerful wouldn't last long!!

There should be a law: make it absolutely legal (and desirable) to take people who are noisy and plague their neighbors, tie them up, maim them (and possibly shoot them), beat the living crap out of them, and then toss them off a very high bridge. Life would be so much more pleasant, don't you think??

Well-that was my weekend: midges, no sleep, and very uncharitable thoughts of revenge!! That is what sleep deprivation does to me. It's very difficult to be "Christian" when I am awake all night, wondering how I can beat the shit out of him without being caught! And-I have no solution-yet. It makes me smile, though!

I've been very down for quite a while - as people undoubtedly know. It's difficult for me to be positive and cheerful when I have all this other crap going on - and my sleep (what sleep??) pays, and so does my balance. I've been falling over a lot-so I go outside, where I don't have midges taking as much of me as they can get, and where I don't have some imbecile upstairs hammering and deafening me with his noise (please. At least play something good, like the Eagles, or Bon Jovi), and I sit in the park and feel sorry for myself.

I've been feeling so sorry for myself that I have finally bored myself rigid - and now it is time for some action. I don't mean action as in smacking the guy upstairs (I only dream about that. A lot), I mean action as in getting out and doing my walking, going to the gym (even my muscle aches have muscle aches. I've got muscles I didn't even know I had. And they all hurt!!), braving the crowds and going to museums (I haven't done that yet, I'm saving it for the weekend), and looking into learning a new skill (shooting, perhaps? LOL).

I learned how to play chess when I was about 8-obviously, I have forgotten everything I learned- and I want to get the old grey cells going before I lose them. I did ask some of my neighbors if they knew how to play-and they looked at me as if I just landed from Mars. One even said that she doesn't know anything about chess, but I should take up watching Coronation Street for entertainment. Oh, dear!! I'm so pleased that Dallas is back :)

No wonder I'm a firm supporter of euthanasia!