Nope - Still not dead

 This is going to be a running joke. Every time I'm really, really late in posting, I have to say that I'm not dead. Yet. But with the new variant and people being idiots, who knows how long that's going to last?

I'm reminded of an old saying-old, and trite, but true, that says that procrastination is the thief of time. It's nearly Christmas-again, another one, and we've still got Covid hanging around-and I'm still negligent in doing all the things that I have wanted to do in the last two years since the abomination began. Like I said about a hundred posts ago, I seem to be the procrastination queen of North London (and, perhaps, the rest of the world). I'm working on it. Very slowly.

There's another saying that I like a lot: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. My intention has always been to say "happy whatever the holiday is" before it actually happens. You see what I mean: Thanksgiving was last week. But I hope that you had a great one. I ate more than usual, walked a few miles to walk off all the calories, and had chocolate mousse for dessert. Home made-by Marks and Spencer. I don't do that too often, or I would have to have all the doors widened.

My intentions have usually been good ones: usually. But, in many years (hopefully I'll outlive just about everyone-especially the four cripplers), when I finally croak, it'll be a matter of opinion whether I go north or south. I hope to go north. Better weather. I don't like heat.

I've been saying that 99.9% of the population are bottom-feeding, useless scumbags with the brains of a cowpat and the manners of a cockroach. I stand by that. For me, that has been proven in the last two years (actually, many years before the virus caught us). Truly, I've never seen such abominable behavior from anyone, certainly not a "civilized" society. Britain claims to  be just that, but the evidence against their attempts to tell the world how wonderful and brilliant they are is overwhelming. Would I be home, now that Trump is finally gone (hopefully forever)? I would-but I would have a very hard time surviving. I've been fighting the effects of vestibular loss for too long, and there are problems that are permanent; it's been very difficult for me to accept that, but after twelve years it's time to acknowledge that there are some things that I'll never be able to do (at least, not  the way I did before).

A very good friend of mine back home reminded me that I need to stop hating the cripplers, the people who did this to me out of stupidity, negligence and incompetence-and never even had the courage to face me and apologize. Personally, I would tell them to take their apology and shove it up their asses-but I'm like that. I hold grudges. Do I ever!

I spent a lot of last Thursday - when I wasn't eating, which was most of the time - looking for reasons to be thankful. I even made a list. I can tell you that writing things down really does help. And I thought a lot about the things that I can't change, because there isn't any way to go back in time to correct things that went terribly wrong. So I'm working on accepting the things that I can't change, and avoiding wishing that someone would push the cripplers under a moving bus. Old habits, you know? But if anyone wants to find Grigoriadou (at the Royal London), Matt (fucky Bucky, the spawn of Satan) Buckland, also at the Royal London, Phil (not so) Bright, hiding out in Bristol, and Hilary Longhurst, making fortunes killing patients while in private practice, I wouldn't grieve. I would take you to lunch...

Christmas Day is only three weeks away-so let me wish you a Merry Christmas now-plus a happy Hanukkah, and a very happy and healthy 2022. Just in case-the intention is to get there early, but the history...hmmm...

I'm talking about old, worn sayings, and I now have to tell you two of my favorite old ones (I don't have to, but I will anyway). The first comes from my grandfather: 

Never talk to the monkey. Always avoid the monkey and go straight to the organ grinder. For years I went to the monkey and up the chain of  command. It doesn't work. Go straight to the top and dig your heels in and harass everyone until you get what you want. Someone will do something, even just to get rid of you.

Then there's the one from my mother-and probably your mother, too-and everyone's mother:

Always wear clean underwear. You never know when you're going to be hit by a car.

That's the advice for the day. And on that note, I'm going out into the bright sunshine (we do get bright sunshine, just not often), take a good long walk, and try to avoid the bottom feeding scumbags. I really need to find a crutch that's filled with lead. Then I can hit back...