Sunday, 27 November 2011

Just for this morning . . .

I woke up 9am Yay lie in!!, with this song in my head and have sung it at top volume ever since.
Much to Stropsters annoyance, Hamper G's amusement and Geekster's indifference. Really I'm sure if I asked him what I'd been singing all morning he would say "I didn't know you had been singing" :-)

Beautiful song, beautiful man (Cat Stevens), beautiful day.

Back later. 27(? must count them today) Hamsters to clean out amongst other things. Annette of  "Journey of recovery  . . . Search for serenity" had me checking my skirting boards ( US.baseboards, I'm learning a whole new language here) this morning . . . They could do with a wipe shall we say. I always do my Spring clean in December so the house is pristine for Criggy . . . I'm getting so damned excited.

Did almost all of Hamper G's shopping on line yesterday. It's my first year on-line . . . how easy was that? No queueing or searching round endless shops to find they have all sold out of Penguins of Madagascar for the Innotab (kids I-pad) Hamper's main pressie. Even on-line I struggled. It was gone. Everywhere. Yes even Amazon. I didn't want to pay double on E-bay. Geekster came to the rescue, as he does with all things involving cyberness . . . and went through Google Earth to find it!! He found one copy. Yay!! Bless the Geekster, Bless em all, Bless you all.

Thursday, 24 November 2011

Gee Thanks!!

Ok I'm gonna join in with this Thanksgiving.
Firstly I'm thankful for my new washer woman "job" Ten loads of washing (per week) for a Gypsy family £40! Every quid helps this time of the year.
I'm never sure with all this PC crap if they prefer to be called Gypsy or traveller, but I like the word Gypsy. Traveller to me means more "new age" type, converted ambulances, buses, dreads and dreamcatchers. These are traditional Gypsies in caravans. More gold, glass, chrome and cash :-)
I'm thankful for the NHS. To be able to go in and get my flu jab today-free. Pick up my methadone script today-free. Dental X-rays and impressions-free. Blood tests this week-free. Very thankful.
Thankful for my house and garden, provided by the council. For interest free loans given by the DSS, that can be paid back over the year. I have one every November and just see it as my way of saving £17 a week all year towards Christmas. The kids are always guaranteed a good Christmas. I love it when they are young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Only one believer left! Its so magical for them.
Thankful for my children. Ok not every minute of every day but mostly. They keep me focused, on the whole.
Really thankful that Stropster went straight into work/aprenticeship mechanic this September when he left school and even more so that he enjoys it.
I suppose I've got quite a bit to be thankful for. I did a lucky dip on the lottery yesterday for the third time in my life. I have checked neither the winning numbers nor my "lucky" numbers. I might have a lot more to be thankful for if I do. Though I seriously doubt it. I might not even check.
Thankful that I don't really give a damn.
I wonder why we Brits haven't adopted Thanksgiving day . . . ??
Thankful for Thanksgiving Day for making me think what I'm thankful for.
I best post this before the day is done.
Thanks to anyone reading. Enjoy what's left of Thanksgiving day and the turkey.

Saturday, 19 November 2011

Numbing down to a niggle

Things that have niggled me this week to the extent that they are still bothering me on a Saturday evening. When nothing else is bothering me. Children are asleep, at Dads and with mates.
Firstly my family's total lack of concern, sympathy, understanding, belief (?) over my sudden hair loss. Ok, I know, it's hardly life threatening, painful, life changing even, but it's upsetting and worrying. Not because I think it is a symptom of any underlying condition . . . simply because I don't want to lose my hair, or even half of it. Well half has gone. That is fact. I know how it was. I know how it is. I need say no more. The Dr has booked me in for a thyroid function test and a hormone level test. The helpful comments from my family so far have been  . . .
"Are you sure?" . . .  "AM  I  SURE?" . . . Erm . . let me think . .  just in case I'm mistaken . . . No. I'm pretty sure. As sure as one can be. Yes I'm sure.
"It's still long!" . . . Awesome! Ten strands down to me arse will do fine thankyou.
"You can't tell" . . . I can tell. And if it continues, soon you will be able to tell. I can't tell that Mr K has prostate cancer but that don't make it ok.
"Well you don't literally mean half " . . . ??? No I mean about an eighth!? WTF?!?
Ok. Enough examples on that one. Its exasperating just thinking about it. What it is with them? Or is it me? Sometimes I seriously wonder.
Ok. There are a few more petty things such as, my Mother being purposefully unresponsive to my dentist news and disgusted by the mention of false teeth ( I'm 78 and I've still got my own teeth. Yes Mother only because I hold my temper, or they would be down your . . . (joke) )  after having made me feel bad so often about the state of my teeth  . . . I made it clear I was upset. Knowing she had gone too far, In a rare fit of generosity to try and fix it all, she told me she had found (found being the operative word) Two super king-size quilt covers that I could have. One was a brand new, never used, never likely to be used, dark red Monsoon quilt cover that she had no doubt bought on a whim. She said I would love it. I thought I would too. The other one was a bit old, faded plain cotton but would do for my bottom quilt (as I use one underneath and one on top). Lovely I said. Yes please. Thanks. A couple of days later, feeling safe that our relationship based on her saying exactly how she feels and me biting my tongue was, if not quite back on track, at least on its way, she arrives with the old faded one. Being able to read her with my eyes shut I said. "O aren't I getting the Monsoon one now? . . . "I can't find it" she said. No you can't look at me and say that either.
There is more but I know all of these things individually are so petty they are not worth bothering about. It just speaks volumes to me about the way my family feel about me. I know when I stop the gear there are matters I will have to deal with. It will not be so easy to constantly sweep crap under the carpet. Without a painkiller/number I will feel the pain, anger, resentment, lack of love of a lot more and I will have to say something. This is what I've been dreading and avoiding for 35 years.
Shit. This post started out as a light hearted list of stuff that had pissed me off a bit this week. I soon realised most of it was from the same source.
Apart from Ant and Dec!!  hosting "I was almost a celebrity a long time ago and would like another chance . . . Get me out of here." How did that pair of buffoons become so popular?

Geezer's indigestion

I started a post last night that I fell asleep on literally. It needed so much editing I may as well start again.
Every time I go on a prison visit I get so nervous about getting into the place, one would think I was taking a kilo of H with me. I'll tell you why.

A few years back, pre Hamper G, I was already with her Dad (We'll call him LQ though he doesn't feature much) and he was doing an 18 month sentence for dangerous driving and a few other bits and bobs. He had sent me a Visiting Order for Myself, Stropster, Geekster and a friend of ours, lets call him Geezer cus he is a geezer. He hadn't been with us before and wasn't exactly a close friend of LQ but he had a car which made things easier so I just accepted that's how it was. I did wonder on the way over if he had been invited for a "reason" but I didn't ask, I didn't want to know. I wished I hadn't even started wondering about things in the car, now concerned that I might behave nervously on his behalf.

Let me just say at this point, If I were offered a million pounds to take so much as one bag of gear into prison I would absolutely, most definitely not, under any circumstances, get involved. I am just not the type to pull it off. Or even try to pull it off.  There are obviously many that can, and do, without a flicker of an eyebrow, but it aint me babe. When LQ was convicted he pretty much expected that I would help him in a way that ex girlfriends had helped him . . . Sorry lovey, call me spineless, and he did, but I have two kids (at the time) to think of. Tell me over and over that I will get in ok without a second glance but I know I won't. Shit I cant even tell a white lie so let's not be silly.

So we got there late, everyone else had gone through. I'm not sure if that was intentional on Geezer's behalf. Maybe he knew stuff like if you were late the dogs would have been put back to kennels or there would be less staff on entry or . . or . . I don't know, maybe we were just late. Anyhow we waited and waited. Geezer smelt a rat. He has a well trained nose. The staff went through the motions of walking us through the scanner arch, putting our belongings in a locker, the usual stuff. Then they ushered me and my two boys into the next room where there was a black Labrador waiting. That was unusual. Some prisons have them on every visit, some occasionally. For that particular prison it wasn't the norm. Geezer caught a glimpse of the dog as they closed the door behind me. That was when I saw the rat that Geezer had smelt. He was small, thin, steely-eyed, kind of perverse looking with a smirk of sadistic enjoyment. He told me to stand on the "footprints" and must have made some secret signal to the dog to "show interest" because the dog did indeed "show interest" and there was absolutely no reason why he should. I suppose if they have intelligence on someone who is definitely "carrying" something  ie.The prisoner has been heard boasting about having something brought in that day or has been heard making plans on the phone. And the dog shows no interest because they have it well enough concealed, there must then be a way of making  the dog "show interest" as an excuse to do follow up searches.
The Rat was up in my face, on his tiptoes, as I had platform boots on  "You will be looking at 7 to 10 years for this, how did you think you would get away with it? You foolish girl. Did you really think it would be so easy?"
I protested. The dog is wrong. Do you think I'm mad? I was shaking, my legs were failing along with my bladder.You're wrong. I wouldn't do it for a million quid. You don't know me. How dare you? Are you mad? I was crying. The boys were crying. The Rat was having  none of it. He thought I was acting up.
"We have intelligence on you" he said "We know you are carrying drugs! and you will face the consequences"
Shit. I started to believe him now. What if? What if  Geezer had slipped something into my coat pocket or . . . or . . . or.  No he wouldn't. Would he? Would he? Why else did the dog sit down? Fuck. Shit. God. Please God. I was dizzy. Nauseous. Seven years! This is not happening. I might not see the outside again. My boys. O God Please.
We were put in a side room where the boys and I were searched as well as they could without a strip search. They couldn't strip us there as they only had one female officer available. We were put in a corridor to stand for what seemed like hours with our hands held out in front of us. Geezer was strip searched in a side room and came out . . . free to go!!!! What? So where was it? Or was there nothing? My head was fucked. I started thinking awful things. Had Geezer put it in one of the kids pockets when he first smelt that rat? or in my bag? No. He's a friend. Surely not. But he was free to go. They told me I would have to wait to be taken to a police station to be strip searched. They didn't know how long we would have to wait. They put us in a holding cell. Geekster was only 5 he hid under the chair. He stayed under the chair. Tears catch my throat thinking about it. I was terrified. They were terrified. Geezer asked if he could see us. There was a female guard and a male guard in this tiny room with us standing at the door. Facing us. Geezer popped his head in (behind them) to say he would wait in the car outside for as long as need be. As he said this he made an "eating" motion with his hand to his mouth? Was he telling me to eat it? eat what? Did he think I had something too? I didn't know what to think any more. My head was a mess. Eventually a car was available. They took us to a police station.The driver was good to the boys and let them stay in the car whilst I was taken in to be strip searched. He was particularly nice to Geekster and let him sit in the front to make the blue light flash. God knows the lad needed some distraction. I wondered why they didn't want to search the boys. Why wasn't I hand-cuffed, I could have pulled out anything I might have hidden whilst in the back of the car and thrown it away on the way into the station. I started to realise this strip search was just humiliation and that I was no longer a serious suspect. And it was humiliation. I've had a few strip searches and that was by far the worst. The most thorough. Bitches. I didn't care. I was too damn relieved to find no one had planted anything on me. Even as they searched through my clothes I half expected them to pull out a surprise. No. Nothing. I could go. I was free. I didn't feel it. I was still scared.

We were driven back to the prison where Geezer was waiting. We drove off. I didn't speak. We drove home the back way through the countryside. Geezer told me when they took him into the room to strip him, they said they had seen him bite something from underneath his watch strap as I went into the dog room. He told them he kept Rennies there for indigestion. They said it would be on cctv. He said, good that way they would see it was Rennies. I could see now why Geezer had come with me. When he'd left the prison to wait for us Rat man had followed him out and said "Just off the record mate on a one to one, what was it then? Heroin? Crack?" . . .  "Rennies mate, Rennies"

He pulled into a field on the way home, downed a Special Brew in one, started throwing up from the car door, went into the field for a piss and seemed to score from somewhere. Two half t's (2 x 0.8g). He gave one to me but I didn't have any foil. We went straight to the nearest Spar. I needed that smoke. He needed another Brew.
I received a six month ban from all prisons. Then a year on closed visits (behind glass).

That's why I am nervous about getting into prison. I imagine all possibilities and impossibilities. I stay right away from everyone in the waiting area. One waiting area was rows of seating. I had on a hoodie. I thought what if the person behind me drops something into my hood to be retrieved in the visit room? My head goes crazy . . . I  go to the loo every 5 minutes, making myself look suspicious. I have no choice. I watch Hamper G in the play area of the waiting room. What if one of the parents tells their child to put this "sweety" in that girl's pocket? What if? And on it goes . . . No wonder I find visiting so stressful.

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Reasons to be cheerful . . . 1, 2, 3, 4

Wow what a busy few days. Non stop. I'm so tired I'll probably fall asleep way before I update . . . but I'll try. I didn't get my head crushed by the X-ray machine. I did panic a little as I had my head sort of clamped in position while the machine spun 360 degrees round my head. My imagination does me no favours. I saw my Dr. who booked me in for blood tests on hormone levels and thyroid function to see if there's a good reason for me feeling like I'm about to spontaneously internally combust ten times a day. She reassured me that my lungs will withstand a general anaesthetic. Whether my nerves will is another matter. As I left the Dr's I had a phone call from a friend to see if I was interested in doing four or five loads of washing for £40? Sounded (too) good to me . . . might have known with it being a male estimation . . . twelve loads of washing later! Still a good £30 profit after electric, wash tabs & softener though.
Arrived at prison today with Hamper G, her uncle (her dad's brother) and his son (2) and realised we had only £1 cash between us. One of the highlights of a visit for the prisoner is to eat loads of "treats" that they rarely get otherwise, Chicken wings, samosas, chocolates, crisps, jaffa cakes, biscuits, coke, coffee . . .  I went to the canteen with my £1 voucher that I'd bought on the way in (you can buy between £1-£15) and asked if I could get a coffee and mars bar for a pound. Yes, exactly a pound. One of the prisoners (gold teeth) working the canteen took pity and put two extra choc bars on the tray. Nice . . .  An extravagant visitor who was just leaving brought his tray back to the canteen hatch still half laden with unopened chocolate bars, crisps, cartons of juice, jaffa cakes, bottled water and mini cheddars and said to Gold teeth   . . "You might as well have this back mate, I bought a bit more than we needed". Gold teeth goes "Chuck it all on her tray!" . . .  Brilliant. I was just about to go back to our table and another leaving visitor asks me "Are you here for a couple of hours?"  "Yeah"  "Have this then, I put £15 on this voucher and have only spent £6 so there's still £9 on it!!" . . . Unbelievable!!  They were well chuffed when I got back to the table. We proper "pigged out". Hamper G's Dad was looking well and we had a right good laugh. I'm officially starting Christmas tomorrow. I'm actually looking forward to it all (at the minute). Seems the more effort I put in, the greater the reward. What better incentive to make some more effort? It can't be this simple.

Saturday, 12 November 2011

The dreaded "D" word

Quote (me on Thursday) re; dentist visit, teeth, fear, etc "I am proper scared. If you saw my teeth, you would believe me. Once they are restored to their former glory, or as near as they ever get, I will post a before/after photo of how they are now  and . . .  blah blah"

HA, well there will be no "restoration", that was a tad optimistic of me, to say the least. So "as near as they will ever get to their former glory" is, in that case, now!!  They are a million miles away from it. Come on, no, this can't be so.

Another quote, me on Thursday on the same subject  "If it means removing the remaining teeth and having false ones, I will be mortified but if that's what it takes to smile again . .  blah blah".

Mortified was an understatement. If that's what it takes, I might not bother smiling again.

Being my ever-optimistic self I have found three four positives to the whole shkaboodle
  • It's only the top set of teeth (Big Wow Whopee-Doo)
  • I will be asleep when all the work is being done (ripping my remaining 6 teeth & 4 severed roots out)
  • I only need one more visit to the dentist for the impressions to be made.
  • I might  have to give up smoking to have a general anaesthetic due to my lungs.
At  the minute it all feels like a very bad nightmare. I was so looking forward to looking and smiling like my old self again. This morning I woke up feeling normal(ish) for all of 1/500th of a second before my stomach dropped as reality hit. He cannot/will not fix the remaining teeth and replace the two fronts crowns that I lost yonks ago. He said its not worth it, they wont' last (?) and it will end up this way . . . so let's go for it! Yeah right, I'm gonna end up dead one day too but I don't mind waiting. All very well for him to say. Being the honest twat that I am, I filled in the medical history truthfully including methadone and drug addiction. I hope this didn't go against me. It probably did. Usually does. If anyone reading has or knows someone who has had a good experience with false teeth, please let me know. Only positive things. I don't mean better blow jobs either, that's hardly me benifitting is it? I know enough of the negative. I started a pros and cons list but got too depressed with the amount of cons. I loathe the idea. I'm gonna post this and start a new post. I can't bear the thought of it. All because I was too scared to go for 12 years. Or because my last dentist went private. O well, it matters not why . . . tis what it is. I can't even type the "D" word let alone say it. I can say false teeth but I will not call it what the dentist called it. Arsehole.

Friday, 11 November 2011

Positively lunar positivity

Very productive day (thursday), must be full moon mania creeping in. This is the third day I've woke up with energy. We had  an emergency appointment at 8.30 am with a new dentist for the Geekster, pain had finally got the better of him. He had a baby tooth removed three years ago by another dentist who almost put him off for life. Instead of numbing the gum around the tooth which is more than adequate for a first tooth, he numbed the facial nerve (the one right at the back in the hinge of the jaw. Ouch).  It both shocked and hurt him and he would not go back. Until today.
I coaxed him into giving the new dentist a trial. I felt like such a hypocrite as I badly need to go but have been put off  by one too many horrors. I promised him I would not let this man hurt him. He checked the tooth and said come back at 12.40 for an extraction . . . so we did. I explained to the dentist how he had been scared away and that he badly needed his confidence restoring. So please don't hurt him. Then I sat and watched. He was very gentle and considerate. He struggled for some time with the tooth, wiggling then levering, eventually he got it out and seemed quite surprised at the size of it. It was a big tooth with a long root. Geekster was so brave. I am so proud of him. So impressed with the dentist was I that I registered us all as a family and booked appointments, brave in the knowledge that there was a 6 week wait. I booked Hamper G and Stropster together and me on my own as I don't want to pass my fear/hysteria on to the children. Just as we were leaving the receptionist says "O hold on we have a cancellation tomorrow at 10.30 am would you like that for yourself? Like it? For me? . . erm?  . . . erm? . . . I'm not sure . . . O go on then. No point putting it off.  So that's me tomorrow morning!!  I am terrified and I mean proper scared. If you saw my teeth you would believe me. Once they are restored to their former glory (or as near as they will ever get) I will post a picture of how they are now and after. I was always complimented on my teeth. I took them for granted, with the view  "Everyone has them, what's nice about teeth? what's so special about them? " twelve years of drug addiction later, looking back at pre-gear photos . . .  I now know what was so special about them. I could weep.
So this is a massive step for me. I know its early days and I haven't actually had any treatment yet but I really want to be able to smile again. Proper smile. Not a "hiding the teeth" smile. If it means removing the remaining teeth and having false ones I will be mortified but if that's what it takes to smile again that's what I'll do.
I saw my drugs worker today and told her I was definitely coming to the end of the road with gear. She pretended to be interested, almost managed to sound pleased, asked a few questions that she has asked before and handed me my script. Its just as well that I'm not relying on her for any support other than methadone. I made an appointment with the optician for an eye test to get new reading glasses as one of the arms/legs has completely broken off of mine. How do they stay on? I twist the leg that is still intact into my hair from the side of my face back towards my ear then perch them on my nose! Genius! Made an appointment with Dr for next week regarding this drastic hair loss. Over half my hair has gone in the last month. Worrying. Possibilities are stress, menopause (God help me us),  trauma 3 months ago (?) thyroid problems or just another joy of getting old(er) . . . whichever it turns out to be I hope it stops now while I still have some left. Unlike my teeth, my hair was not affected by drug addiction. It stayed long and thick which I also took for granted . . . until now. If this continues I could end up *clean, bald, muscular, with dentures and a beard  . . . Nice :-)

* I crossed clean out the next day. If I end up bald and bearded, with dentures I would have trouble staying clean.

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Ok . . . I've said it.

Just a quickie then . . . well I can't say I failed as that would imply that I tried. Maybe that's why I didn't try . . .  so I wouldn't fail?
I have no idea why I didn't try?  Really I've not had time to think about it yet I suppose. All I know is, it was a good day. I woke up with some energy, got the lads out, then spent 5 happy hours with Hamper G cleaning out the hamsters, checking their babies, chatting to and "voicing over" them, finding new combinations to accommodate the "newly discovered males" before we have any more accidents and generally enjoying the little swines. Flew through a few of hours cleaning, washing, cooking, bathed hamper G and  . . .  texted my dealer. Fool. Everytime a bit of me even tried to consider the option of not texting/phoning it was as if another part of me, stuck its fingers firmly in its ears and La La La La'ed very loudly! No. Not listening. Ner Ner. Fool. That's about as much as I can say happened, as that is what happened. Why?? . . . On a good day like today. No stress. None. And that's a rarity. I even prayed today would be easy and productive as I was well aware that a stressful, lethargic day would be the perfect excuse. So Why? If today wasn't right, when will be?

I am reluctant to say "I need to be forced to have a night off to make me realise it is not so hard" as it's likely to happen if I do. So why not? The trouble is, those rare times that I've been forced to go without (drought or gear just not being available) although it is what I've prayed for/wished for/wanted/needed, some twisted logic says this is not for the best, not the right way, it's being forced on me and will NOT work. No way. It leads me to panic and convince myself that I need to get gear. It has to be here, then I can say No. My choice. Yeah, right. Hideous and wrong. Because it does work. It's happened before and after ruining most of  my evening texting or calling users and dealers whose numbers no longer exist, jittering about, chain smoking, forcing a sniffle despite extra methadone, cursing and fighting this rare opportunity, knowing I won't get a result because this is meant to be, I finally go to sleep . . .  I wake up feeling brighter, looking better, moving faster, singing (?!) louder and realise I survived, I slept more soundly and saved £10/£15!

So ok, I know it works, it will happen and it will be for the best . . . "I need to not be able to score, to be forced to take a night off and see that it's not so hard after all" .

Any idea how many times I highlighted that line ready to delete?

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

First goal

Ok I've pretty much outlined the main changes that I would really like to make. I'm not looking to become a different person or anything "more" than I've been in the past (pre-H). If I do become more content, more motivated, or more anything than ever before, that would be a bonus, but I'm tying to keep my goals "real". It's weird cus sometimes it feels so do-able. I was clean for 38 years, although not sober. Other days it feels impossible. Yesterday I spent time reading blogs. Some things I read reminded me how hard it is to stop this damn drug. Its easy to talk about stopping when it's still in your life . . . but the void it leaves is quite incredible. I have tried before. This time might be easier for the following reasons. I wont have to do any cold turkey as I have a methadone script. I only use one bag a day. I don't socialise with other addicts or live the "lifestyle" associated with Heroin addiction. I no longer spend hours a day raising money to score, running around trying to score, scoring and using. All of which leaves a lot of empty hours when you stop. So the actual using time that I will need to "fill" is not a problem.  . . . . .  Where is the difficulty for me?  To be honest I can't remember but I soon will. I need to try to do one night off. Even if it's only one night to begin with. That is my first goal. The sooner I do this the happier I will be that this is going somewhere. Like getting on the bottom rung of the ladder. Once I am on the bottom rung I will believe that I can go further. The first rung to the second rung will then be easier. I think I will be quite excited. If I can't get on the bottom rung I need to find out what it is that I'm so frightened of. What is preventing me from making that first move. Ok let's see what tomorrow brings.

Sunday, 6 November 2011

A fluffy dressing gown fantasy

Ok, I seem to be back on track again. Not 100% recovered but a month has gone by and I haven't made much progress. I need to give this some thought. What do I want to change? Really want to change. I suppose I could have a little fantasy . . .  I could fast forward to my 50th birthday or thereabouts. Skip the 16 months in between and all the hard work  (if I'm gonna skip it, I might as well have worked hard) . . . Just to wake up one fine morning mid-January 2013 and what?
So I wake up in a bed for a start. I don't think there's anything wrong with a mattress on the floor but I'm starting to get middle-age aches in my joints, I think a comfortable bed might help. Alone in a bed. My daughter will sleep in her own bed and room by then, which I will have finished decorating. That way I will get a good nights sleep. I wont reach out for the baccy to roll a ciggy because I will have quit smoking by then. I will walk over to open the window and take a few (ever increasing) lungs full of sharp clean winter air. Mmmmm. I'll put on one of those full length soft dressing gowns (size 10 because I will have lost the weight that I want to loose) with a hood and equally soft slippers. Every winter I intend to get these. Every winter I use an old fleece with trackie bottoms and no slippers. I will go to the bathroom and brush my teeth . . . teeth that will be fixed by then. Having brushed them I will bare them in the mirror to check them. Baring them will be bearable again. I'm glad I'm skipping the 15 months in between as I've already lost weight, quit smoking, decorated, faced the dentist phobia, and I haven't even gone downstairs yet . . .  I hardly recognise myself :-). I will choose some clothes to wear. I wont ever own a walk in wardrobe with 50 pairs of shoes cus that just aint "me" but to choose from at least three pairs of jeans, maybe six or seven quality winter jumpers and 3 (?) pairs of boots would be luxury . . . I'm not talking a lottery win here, just an adequate amount of clothing. Like my kids have. I emphasized choose as I don't choose at the minute. There is no choice. Lets just make one thing clear . . . I'm not feeling sorry for myself. My choice has been to spend my clothes money on gear. I  have kept some size 10 clothes but since I've been a size 12 I don't want to buy clothes. I will wait. I wont give into a size twelve. Having fed the kids and got them off to school/work I'll do the usual chores, nothing different there except I will move faster, breath better and ache less. I'll dedicate some of my day to creativity . . . drawing, clay modelling, decorating or similar stuff that I used to enjoy, and some time to music. I'll get back to playing the piano. I still have my piano. I'll work out 3 or 4 times a week at home. I've done this before so I have weights, bench and a routine I could will get back into. There is a small friendly gym about 60 metres from the house. I might feel "normal"  enough to use it by then. Ok, maybe not. That's far-fetched beyond fantasy . . .  Most importantly I won't need to start texting/phoning around at four O' clock to make sure I've got what I want for the evening. I won't sit clock watching, counting down the hours from mid afternoon until "gear-time". I won't get impatient and irritable when I'm messed about by some-one who don't give a fuck (dealer). The highlight of my day will not depend on some arsehole being bothered to answer the phone or call round. The highlight of my day won't be ruined and turned to misery by some selfish arse selling crap because he's bought crap, instead of cutting his losses, which he could certainly afford to do. And so on. And on. Fantasy. It's not impossible but that is only one side of it. The good side. That's why it's a fantasy. I'll go further into this tomorrow. I'm falling asleep. Pretty boring fantasy really.

Thursday, 3 November 2011

I don't think so

Ok I need a magnum to get me through this one . . .
I did mention briefly in a previous post that my blocked toilet was an ongoing saga. I thought for one blessed moment that the end was in sight today. How to cut a three year story short? Yes, three years!
Three years ago the Council removed my beautiful old toilet with the high cistern, pull chain and my £20 ceramic pull handle. They replaced it with a useless modern version which has a neat little (non) flush button.

Not once during ten years did the old style toilet block. Never. Within two days of the new version I had worked out that the hole where the shit is supposed to disappear was just not big enough. Simple. Square pegs and round holes etc. The "Gap" is almost letterbox shaped, whereas the old one was round, the right shape to take something cylindrical. ie. a shit.  Many letters of complaint and visits from the council followed. Visits to check the outlet, the drainage pipe, the sewer, the cistern, in fact anything but the "Gap". They said it was standard. They would not listen. I spent the next three years with a stick in a bucket of bleach installed  next to the toilet to break up anything that wouldn't fit through the Gap. That was most things. Occasionally the whole thing would totally block and fill to the rim with filthy brown water and other things. I allowed the council man to unblock this once. Never again. They use a mop as a plunger and plunge away until something gives. I appreciate this has to be vigorous but by the time he had unblocked it the filthy brown water and other bits were splashed everywhere. They "don't do cleaning".  Any subsequent blockages I dealt with myself by copying him with a mop I'd bought for this purpose. I managed to do this without splattering the mess everywhere. Sometimes this would work almost instantly other times I would be there plunging and sweating for over an hour. Occasionally when this failed I'd have to empty the contents of the pan into a bucket, carry it down to the garden, remove the manhole cover from the sewer access and chuck it all down the sewer. Yes I know I have a very long tether but I was nearing the end of it.

This sewer trip business had happened at least four times in the last week and I decided enough was enough. I e-mailed  the Council to say "Please sort it out or I will call in the environmental health. For the last week my daughter, my 12 yr old son and I have been using a child's potty in the kitchen and my other son is slowly filling the pan up as he refuses to use the potty (rightly so). This is medieval and quite frankly a health hazard."

Yes this is cutting it short . . . Yesterday some fool came and emptied the toilet, discovered it wouldn't flush, blamed me for occasionally using wipes, investigated and found the whole soil stack (that is the large "pipe" from the toilet on the outside of the house right down to the sewer) to be blocked. O that's the problem he says. No. That is not the problem. The problem is the Gap!! that is just a"side effect".  Yes of course it needs sorting but it will not solve the problem. Well lets just wait and see me duck shall we, says he . . . The drainage man came today to blast it all with power hoses, rods and the like. Lovely. I said thank you but that will not change a thing. Luckily he was still sat outside when Stropster went for a much needed shit. Guess what? It wouldn't go through the Gap!  O surprise surprise. I ran out to the van, opened his door and tried to drag him upstairs to witness it. Come and see I insisted . . .  No I believe you . . . you believe me? Could I have that in writing please? No I'll do better than that. He phoned the Council while I was there and said its the toilet. It's wrong. The Gap is not sufficient. We need to change it !!!!! Hallelujah!! Yeahey!! Thank You. It was almost a Dr. Chawala moment in that I could've hugged him. But I dint because he was quite messy by now. Ok he says someone will be here soon to measure up for a new one. I went upstairs and broke up that  last (?) shit with my faithful stick so happily. So satisfied that at last I had been proved right after 3 years. It was the Gap . . .

One hour later big boss man arrives . . . Head of department. Brilliant. Yes come on up. Have a look. Help yourself. I almost offered him a cup of tea but I didn't . . . Come on man just fill out an order for a new "old" toilet and lets get it done with. No. He lifts the lid of the cistern, looks at the water level, shakes his head and says . . . That's where the problem is! ! . . . . You fucking Whaaaat?  (I thought) because I am unbelievably tolerant ;-) You're water level is too low! No. No. And thrice No. I said. You are mistaken. He looked at me like I might be insane. I might. He asks for two sheets of newspaper to demonstrate his discovery to this "silly woman who has no idea what she is talking about after 3 years of poking shit down the effing toilet". The first sheet he flushes with the cistern half full,  it didn't go down (Yes I see where this is going Mister) The second with the cistern full, it went. Yes. Very good. Excellent. But guess what? . . . We don't shit sheets of newspaper. It doesn't matter how much water is in the damn cistern. The G.A.P. is Too small. I am almost in tears by now. I am looking at my stick and wanting to thrash him with it. Ok he says well lets see how it goes shall we?   I had a Dr's appointment to get to. I'd had more than enough for two days, not counting the three years. So I said ok off you go and I will e-mail you as soon as one of us has a shit. Byeeee. (see you tomorrow).

 . . . At the Dr's. (not Chawala he wasn't in today) Chest almost clear. Good. No need for further anti-biotics or steroids, just rest. Rest. O yes Dr whilst we are on the subject of steroids, could they have made me seriously manic? Yes. Ok. No-one warned me but I'll let it pass because I'm good at that. Could they have made a third of my hair fall out? No. Absolutely not. In fact quite the opposite, sometimes they are used to promote hair growth (chin whiskers she meant). O that's strange because I lost roughly a third of my hair last week. No, she says, then she had a little think, could it be stress? Stress? . . . Stress?  . . .  No I don't think so :-)