Snarky is my middle name

I've been rumbled. It was inevitable. I always forget to check to see if there are any messages for me-and there it was: someone called Rose talked about people we both know, and she mentioned the real name, not the nickname. Oops! So I checked to see if there was any email address so I could get back to her; there wasn't, so I left a message.

At least it was a friendly person (I hope) and not a lawyer, threatening to sue. You know how much I just love lawyers-my family is filled with them, so years ago I went to a family gathering and had a t-shirt made for the occasion. It read (in very big letters): "Take a lawyer to lunch". Underneath, in small letters: "and poison him". I've been persona non grata ever since-I've got no idea why, do you?

Well, have I broken any resolutions after a week into the new year? I suppose that, technically, I have broken at least one. I'm still snarky, still have a caustic, black, sarcastic sense of humor, and still have no problem taking on anyone who pisses me off (and, bearing in mind where I live, that would be just about everybody). Resolution number two says that I need to stop fighting with everyone, and choose my battles more wisely. Duh. I don't fight with everyone-but if someone acts like a moron, I'm the first to tell them.
Maybe I need to be more diplomatic-as if that will ever happen!

I may have the cancer genes, and the dud genes that should provide a working immune system (but don't), and if there is a patience gene, I lack that, too. But I have to say that if there is a Mother Teresa/Samaritans/have a big sign in neon across my forehead that says "sucker" gene, I've got that one, too.
And the activist gene, if there is one.

I'm always ready to jump in and help anyone who needs it (and asks for it-no sticking my nose into other people's business and risk having my face punched in-or worse). I can count on my friends, and they can count on me. But I had to rid myself of toxic, poisonous people-people I've known for a long time, too-because all they do is spend hours on the phone, moaning about their lot in life, moaning about Facebook being filled with people who always say how wonderful their lives are (so get rid of Facebook, dummy. Duh- is that obvious, or what?), always bitching and bellyaching, but doing absolutely nothing to change anything. People who just want to moan all the time, and dump all their shit onto anyone who will listen can find someone else. I'm starting off the year by not being a sucker any more. Having said that, if I see that someone is in trouble or that there is something unjust that I can possibly help, I automatically go and do it.

And, sometimes, we have to admit when we're outnumbered and outgunned. I fought Barts and the London Hospitals for years about the gentamicin disaster, and I fought hard-but Bart's has very expensive lawyers, and I knew that they would keep going until they bankrupted me, so I had to walk away. But I still mentioned names on YouTube, and I still give them a little nudge and some attention on this blog. The difference is that I finally decided that being angry at the injustice of it all doesn't make me feel better. So that's something that is important in this new year.

Besides-the cripplers provided the incentive for me to just keep going, to never give up, because I can still improve my balance with a lot more work. The fat lady hasn't sung yet.

I'm doing everything gradually-trying to make big changes all in one week, all at once, is a bit of a useless exercise, because if we slip we only feel like we've failed. Like I said, just keep going. And I said that to a young friend of mine who used to live next door. We keep in touch, and we met up for coffee last week. Tess was telling me that she is forgetting things-she is only 42, she said, how can she just forget everything? So I said that you know, the memory is the first thing that goes.

First the memory, then the grey hair, lines and wrinkles, brown spots, the hearing, the eyesight, and everything that used to be perky starts to slide south. Excuse me, didn't I have muscles there at some point? Where did they go? How is it that I have bags where I never used to have bags? Zumba? Seriously?

Now, if I could only find my keys...

We had a long discussion about sleep-or, rather, the lack of it. Every newspaper has articles on sleep, how much we need, how to get better sleep, and you could write a book on all the remedies for sleep deprivation. Any good? Well...I went to my GP and told her that I have been an insomniac for years-and I do mean, years. She offered me sleeping pills-mild ones, but still sleeping pills. So I went away and consulted the Great God Google and discovered (on professional medical sites, not just anywhere) that these sleeping medications are connected with dementia. So you sleep well, but you wake up and can't remember who or where you are. No thanks.

Tess and I talked about everything we'd tried, because we both are insomniacs: tryptophan (keeps me awake), glass of wine (doesn't seem to help), hot milk (ewww..I don't drink milk), milk with chocolate in it (sounds disgusting), and after kicking around a lot of ideas, Tess suggested counting sheep. So we finally left and decided on counting sheep, and we were going to call each other and report how we got on.

Counting sheep? What the hell (oops, there goes more money in the swear box). I counted sheep. I counted them all night. I started at 500 and worked my way down-at least three or four times. I was so knackered that I started seeing pink sheep-orange sheep-sheep holding hands and running down a hill-there are places in this country that are well known for sheep shagging, and I saw that, too. That was really, really unfortunate-what a visual in the middle of the night. When I saw sheep doing the tango, I gave up. By 5am I was ready to find a gun and shoot the bloody things. And I had this tremendous desire for lamb chops...

So that was my first week of 2018-and I will probably stay as irascible as ever. Why change the habits of a lifetime? So I'm off to Starbucks.