Crispy Critter: Deep-fried in the (Yuk)

I wonder if anyone has ever been electrocuted by sweating into their computer keyboard...if so, it's possible that my days are numbered.

It has been ridiculously hot and humid here. I know that people will laugh when I say that it has been in the 80s, when everyone else seems to have temps in the 90s and hundreds (yes, I know: this is summer, after all). But for me, if it goes above 68F, I am ready to refrigerate myself until the temperature drops. And - humidity-ewwww. It's so bad, I don't walk, I slosh-and so does everyone else. I'm surprised we all don't just slide down the road.

I would say roll on winter-but then I will eat my words when I start chipping ice off my nose. So-no complaining about the weather when there is nothing I can do about it. I'm thankful I'm not in Dubai, or somewhere really hot. You might as well just stick me on a spit and put an apple in my mouth, and stop when well-done.

The problem with the heat, humidity, etc, is that my balance (such as it is) suffers badly from the extremes of temperature, the damp, the occasional rain, the barometric temperature changes. So I have started falling down a lot-gashed my arm last week and nearly sent the computer flying across the room. Swearing? Oh, yes, lots of swearing. And blood. So I stayed away from my desk, from anything electrical, and from my oven until I started to get a little better. I certainly don't want to send my computer into orbit, since I only just got it fixed-by professionals-as I should have done months ago, but I decided I could do it myself. Oops. Wrong.

Everyone seems to be depressed. My sister was badly let down by a very good friend, and that started a period of questioning every bad decision and bad choice she ever made in her life. I know that routine: I do it all the time, especially when I suddenly find myself headed for the floor. So I told her what my college roommate's father used to tell her: if God meant for us to look back, he would have put our eyes in the back of our head. Good advice. I never took it, but it was really good advice!

I'm a bit depressed, but not because of the weather. I'm a bit down because I'm living in Jurassic Park. At least if I was living in the Planet of the Apes, I would be surrounded by creatures who were more intelligent, better looking and probably a lot more polite. Grrrr. I'm so tempted to find an American footballer's uniform-with padding, and helmet-so the next time some witless cretin slams into me they can bounce off - preferably into moving traffic. I'm getting fed up with nursing bruises. And people watch British movies and believe the Brits are polite. Huh. Far from it. Politeness in this country disappeared several lifetimes ago, along with intelligence, wit and looks!

I guess that makes me (and other foreigners) very rare and special! Ewww...send me home, send me home, while my brain is still functioning!!

So-Claire is depressed because she married that miserable SOB- and he's hooked up with some bleached blonde with a huge chest (according to Claire). I asked her about the "other"-and she said the blonde chews gum constantly, and speaks with a really ugly accent. I couldn't resist it: I said-tell me she isn't from Essex!!! Yes, she said: Braintree. Oh, dear God, Braintree!! I started to laugh, which didn't endear me to Claire until I said: bleached blonde, Estuary accent, gum-chewer-Essex, Claire, Essex! Tits like torpedoes (implants, surely), the brains of a cannoli, and clearly a vagina the size of Norway. Just perfect for Geoff, that bottom-feeding, low-life, scum-sucking reptile who has a tiny little willy (according to Claire, who would know).

Claire started to laugh-then I added: think about them having sex. It would be like tossing a gherkin into the Grand Canyon. And that was it: Claire laughed so hard she got hiccups. And I thought-that is pretty good for something I just thought up on the spur of the moment. So feel free to use those descriptions to fit anyone you think really deserves to be pistol-whipped. As for me, I'm writing them down so I remember them in the future.

Debbie is depressed because she has to return to Australia and look after the parents-there isn't anyone else. So she is really stuck. And packing. And panicking.

Sara is depressed because everyone else is depressed.

Then there is Kevin. Kevin is depressed because he wants to put Geoff against the wall and blacken his eyes, then beat him senseless (well, he did hit Claire, after all), and then, when he has caused enough pain, Kev wants to hang Geoff out the window by his toenails and keep him there until he turns purple and his teeth fall out. Wow. And you think I'm a little strange?

That just about brings us up to date. My sister is annoyed because this blog began as a means to help others who have suffered from gentamicin, or have been born with CVID or some other hereditary condition. She says that this has changed into something else.

Perhaps it has...but I have also changed in the last four years. And next week it will be exactly four years since the gentamicin disaster changed my life forever. And-I'm still here. I have no intention of going anywhere. I'll keep taking the mickey out of the Brits because-well, it's so easy to do, and it's fun. I will probably keep falling over every time the weather changes.

But I have become much stronger. I refuse to quit. I keep going-like the Energizer bunny. Age is supposed to bring wisdom. Nah-it doesn't bring wisdom. It brings wrinkles.