a typical day really

my twin and i were up early, as a visitor was expected.
a young volunteer was to try and fix my bed that had collapsed, failing which two sisters with movement difficulties plus plus, would be lying on the floor, japanese style.
we were left to our own devices.
my neighbour told me 'don't panic' which i was, my twin though was getting kinda excited.
she wanted 'the job' she really did.
but i first opted for a man (do i detect a bit of gender discrimination here)?
would that pass the equality acts in ireland do you think? or, am i as an employer be hauled over the coals.
that said my friends, the man started the job and the woman/s finished!
yes, no such thing as womans, but we as singularly as we could, finished the job.
bought the timber, nails, brackets, swung the hammer, used the teeth of the saw and the angles on the screws just right.
the hammer was the weapon of frustration and a sure hold.
it got done. symetrical, the bubble was bang in the middle, the electrics worked and the end tipped up and so did the front.
my twin tested it, sweating and coughing.
we rested some but twin then needed the psysio, and i beat the hell out of her back trying to shift stuff via the ribs, muscles, knock out the lungs to get them to empty their filthy contents, did it work?
probably not but repetition will.
so too will the vick, the humidifier, the inhaling of vapours and a shot of lemon and honey which cost me a trip to the shops.
and a smack between my ears of 'your sister should be in fucking hospital!'
yes, we use very useful adjectives around here, but you cannot say that such is not without the dramatics, impact and in this case useful?
that was from the man with the tattoos who tried to fix the bed - which we finished.
oh said man put up a kinda prayer flag high on a pole right in the flight path of my little twitters and coo-ers and they were frightened indeed with the purple flapping which didnt look like any feathers they knew, so i guess you would be too if a rather large purple fish like thingy was wildly blowing where no purple thing should dare to go.
as twin and i sat on the swinger for the second time this week, twin did the unexpected.
"the flag flying there is frightening the birds,"
she shouted in the general direction of the neigbour, who, started off the bed repair job.
he, got out his ladder and took it down.
and i suggested out the front where fewer birds pass by and even suggested where to place it, on a high pole.
he then took the cue to tell me he knew where he would like to stick it, but all in good humour.
to which my twin responded. "now now, we wont have THAT!'
it didnt go up the front pole!
we move on to another human being of a completely different style.
you know the one that wear the crocodile with the curly tail jumpers,that type of jump man, the expensive find, with the three quarter length french style green woolen coat for the warmth to ward out cold etc.
well doctors do eh?
and when i saw him at the till, about to pay for 4x4' wood, i told my twin 'here comes R, the guy who said that i was too expensive,' he noted the comment of course.
"yes, mags this guy wouldnt take me on, he said i would be at his door every day, that i was a public patient and he wouldnt earn a lot out of me and it was too late in his career to take on a person like myself.
i wasnt worth this lovely guy time to help me with my health issues, yes next in ireland with the public/private divide we shall be stepping over those on public health care, and not to mention that such like i only get five blasts of physio in six years now, that is five sessions of three quarters of an hour, thats it all.
yep, thanks Ms. Harney for this.
I left for home upset, very.
but not before i went back and put my hand on his should and said twice in his ear, not fearing to get that close and intimate to tell him "your attitude will come back to haunt you, mark my words."
i truely mean that what happened today made him squirm, the cash attendent was a bit startled at the engagement but it was low key and not alot around,but anyone in ear shot would have heard.
i left with the bitter taste of the bitter pile of HSE services verses VHI services, for the lump sums, four wheel drives, posh clothes and a pretense of superiority and especially the ability to wave off those they dont want to help and encourage those with money they will.
tis a grand world we are creating for ourselves.
in this smal island on the edge of europe we have a legacy to rid ourselves of.
greed, laziness, and lack of will, enthusiasm and charity.
to know that two women with neurodegenerative disorders were slugging hammers and not anyone knowing this fact and least of all care, is a bit hard to stomach when you are at the receiving end of neglect.
next time i want to drive this fact home maybe i should get a lump hammer and sock it to the people, especially in the medical profession, oh the wish to, but then prison would beckon and life is short, rich in beauty, which is free and i dont want to go anywhere but to my forever home now.
i want out of this prison first.

Anyone got a vacant hole going with a good strong lid on it like the dung beatle or trap spider?

yep, i remember reading about them spiders - or was it ants?
they dig a hole, deep, and make a lid on it, i think and then they wait for something or other to fall in, through the hole and bobs your uncle we have a munch.
something to that effect but i could have this wrong entirely.
we had a few 'incidents' this eve.
why in the evening, oh why oh why, does anyone know if its a full moon?
anyway, i was to go to the CAB to talk about an impending court case, minor one and my first ever.
i was early so called into a neigbhour from a past life who did brill on the lotto, i mean brill, really brill.
no, i didnt want the money to pay my imagined fine in the court case, i wanted to congratulate her.
she wasn't happy and looked absolutely dreadful.
The place was freezing too.
she lives in social housing and is a paranoid schizophrenic.
 she was too sad for words, and started to ask what was the point of all that money when no one loved her.
good question, one i put to my therapist today about now having a nice home for the first time ever!
it wasn't a question i could rightly answer.
then she went ballistic saying 'look at me! who would love THIS?' she asked as she stabbed a finger toward her body.
she is large and has a strange shape alright, but she is both physically and mentally very unwell.
she is on buckets of meds for all sorts of physical conditions and not helped by psychiatric drugs nor eating far too much and also diabetic because of this.
this woman has been through hell and back.
no, she isn't easy and i have never come away 'well in the head' myself.
she is very, very difficult.
she never receives visitors, has a mensa IQ but well, what can you do.  I visit rarely, she scares me but she is very decent,she loves nature, wouldn't hurt a fly for all the rant but its hard to love her.  she tries so hard to even live half decently really, she is so troubled.
as i was trying to deal with this a knock on the door came, i overheard 'he doesn't live in a grand house either, an ordinary one.'
i asked who was there to my friend,  it was a guy from the 'united left.'
humm...
same gang called up to my social housing unit about an hour before, but without the chief bottle washer, he whom i asked for help, asked him to come and see me etc. but on this evening's visit  to my cul de sac he was invisible, on my last street very visible.
i launched at him. Verbally.  One court case is enough, by a long mile enough. I  wonder if i should actually become a dung beetle.
i lost it a tad, i shout as i am deaf, not helpful that either.
he got it for not doing anything and no one did, not one of our politicians.
none of em.
i was very upset indeed because i knew what had happened me in the past two years.
ah, i flew out with the bevy of polics gone and my x-neighbour shouting, holding my fortisip, which i had drunk there, and didn't do me much good after, i have to say.
off to CAB.
sat there, shades on, a ridiculous peaked cap, woollen mitts and my legs jigging like crazy, that my friend is cos i have some kinda movement disorder and dystonia too, so we have had a bloody good evening.
i am called to see the solicitor.
he is small and a bit deshevelled.
he hardly did look at the list of offenses i was supposed to have committed.
he muttered not disrespectfully but rather nicely, 'yes, yes, well i am in court that day.'
REALLY, i say.
'Yes, i can keep an eye on this one.
I know this garda.'
'REALLY?'
a slight curve of the lips, yes, he knew her.
i answered the smile, "is she KNOWN?"
as you understand, is she kinda 'known.'
'yes, she tends to dig in deep.'
as it was all hastily gone through in the moment, i had to add before i was shown the door, "well i wonder what may happen as the inspector is going to interview her in May."
he took a moment to digest this and with his look i answered that too, 'i made a complaint against her.'
the smile returned.
'and she has made a complaint against two of her colleagues.'
he said, 'she didnt'
SHE DID!
the smile was growing.
'what will happen in court, i mean, i have never been in court before and my twin is frightened.'
'go home and tell her not to even think about it, rap on the knuckles that all, not worth the sweat.'
he was amused.
it appears that this young woman is known.
as another inspector admitted.
she was 'special.'
i ask, 'special?
"Yes, 'interesting.' i have someone in the room so you do understand what i mean by that?'
I do.
now we have the intrigue and the rogues.
one expectant politician never crossed my door ever and i asked for a bit of help in my own personal demise.
and i was told by an inspector that this guard was posted to the midlands and yet the solicitor tells me she in the traffic division.
the politician also never came up my avenue this evening but he did send his gnomes but not himself.
when i asked his gnomes was HE with them, they answered in the negative.
so did the boss slip out the back way, go for supper or a meeting?
i think he slipped out the back, hence two lies in one evening, three rants by me, one by a sick person and a smile from another, all very serious stuff and i think i wanna be a dung beetle after all.

A new day dawned and closed, in reconciliation for the mo!

Tis a topsy turvy thing, relationships and sibling disputes etc.
how on earth do two people do it say for 40 odd years???
naw, not for me, you do get the good bits when too tired for another belt at an argument, forget the crock on the drainer, you are one yourself.
join the enemy, it will get done, dont worry!
but one plate becomes two, then three and we have a fair size of platters and spill to clear.
well the day has near closed, the light is dimmed, twin lying stretched on the sofa with the two chis on her belly, me on the orthopaedic chair, with not a lot on either, due to pain.
we are resting, and seeing the weather temp will rise and so with it, probably my temp too as i dont 'do' nice weather anymore due to sjogrens.
i am sure other sjoggies are in prep for the long haul of heat, the curfew ordered between 10am and 6pm, yep tha it for us or factor zillion block and the japanese actor look or gheisha but i would never pass as one and certainly the muck will stick in the wrinkles and the lip gel seep into smokers and oldie cracks.
doesnt sound nice when you put it like that eh?
how do you avoid it, aging, creams, floppy silly hats, gloves, shades, umbrellas in 101 degrees and an eye squint out the curtain divide of 'maybe today will be better,' eh, sweltering down belting rain and mist and humidity for the crinkle crisp here.
and so the end of day is not about arguements but surmounting the elements of an irish summer.
but as we were wrestling with a very hairy, wirey golden oats plant too compacted for words, we going shades  of red for twin and grey for me i said i bet she was glad she wasnt in christchurch cathedrel right now, and you bet she answered back.
a quice facebook race and discovery that all her friends there are ok and one anyway lives outside so big sigh there, but some it will be wet tears of abject horror and disbelief.
some might say its the end of the world.  the religious kind would.
but this is a natural order thing, the world is small, population mega big, like bouncing fleas big so nature takes over to stop the overcrowding of one species.
no matter what one feels about wars, natural disasters its what happens when we get out of hand and are too heavy for a fragile earth to cope with.
not enough land to grow food to save us too is natures way of cutting down on chompers.
right, when i rant on this on, i read that the UK throws away a third of the food it cooks, this is dreadful.
very aware now that the food in my fridge stays there and ends where it should and not in bins is making me make an effort.
do you have to grow old to be aware of nature, overspending, over using, over doing and all the overs you can imagine?
the frivolous frolics have sure ended.
we get whats called a social concience.
not so on the minutae of silver even ep or plastic, dirty sort.
you lose the plot so easy as you over using the energy there and also overusing the hands and overusing the brain and you get over cooked overspent and spent dead out flat with exhaustion.
so go easy on them rows, you know the ones that make you furious cos of weight or balance of spendature of energy, we are now all eco-ing so to prevent the fights, wash the plates!
moral of the day, dont go to bed with a bad itch of a row behind you.
you will be scratching all night.
lets hope the receiver will have got the message and all are the happier for it!

Little princes Dirt and Dogs

You know, i think i am old!  very much so.
it wasnt a heck of a start, hospital called for a check up and i saw a wee woman from my last stomping ground so i left her home as well, tha ok ok about that!
then called into a cystic Fibrosis sufferer mad on dogs and the ashtray was full of dead ends of role up!  Last person in that unit was found dead there last Easter.
tha not ok I am not ok about that!
anyway she is always very happy, very.
Dog crazy, very. a happy cystic fibrosis lassy.
oh well.
the woman who won 26K wouldnt answer the door, wise woman.
and then it was home.
we had a silent few hours and then off to the magic park i found in cabinteely, lush with crocus, millions and zillions of em all up the avenue.
the sun was low and cast huge shadows, it was magic.
until we met the Princess, small in size, you know the kind, she had picked up a bit of dirt, on her bottom, she had drools too, down her front, her hair was scraggy and tangled, the princess had been a tumbling by the look of her.
then came the mama of the pup, you know the kind.
tight ass, boots with heels, longish hair, when people are getting older you can tell how much so, for as the wrinkles appear the hair seems to get shorter, have you noted that?
i have, and this won was about half way there or three quarters, depends, anyway first child and prob her last, she pushing it a bit.
and the pup was pushing it a tad bit too, streaked and puffy red in the face she wore silver, the fake kind in longish hair, for a pup.
it was pointy on top, it was - the crown of - a princess but she was half way in and out from pumpkin to princess.
If you know what i mean.
the mother, yep the one with the flash lips wondered open mouth if the dogs were allowed run free.
my twin and i looked sort of vacant for the question was vague, but pointed.
and we looked.
'Ann, where is Maggie?' we looked around.
i had not got the message as it was vague.
you know that kind.  half way between my ears, space, the sky and the dogs...that kind.
it was MY dogs she was wondering about actually.
the little chubbies scruffing around on butty little legs.
she intimated that Princess was normally frightened of dogs, but as mine were so tiny...well...she was being very brave!
yep, her words, not mine.
i gave a sort of pale giggle, in disbelief.
ah the pup was being brave to inch high butties.
well if mama felt the kido was about to be savaged why wasnt the little princess sort of scooped or held on to?
if she wasnt to be scooped could she introduce her to the butties and teach her not to be afraid after all.  the were only wee butties and good to practise on for surely as she grows so will the dogs she meet.
anyway Princess with a capital P pranced off with an indignant tight assed mama who swagged off as well, same direction.
then the Princess did the ultimate as twin and i were rightly pissed off with her and her bottom covered in muck for us to see.
she took a sweet wrapper out of her bag and flung it on the ground.
yep, in full daylight.
'Hey, hey, did yo drop something?"
i shouted with a waving hand in the general direction of the brat.
Hey, hey!'
mum now looked round for she didnt see the dumper dump.
she looked sort of puzzled.
I managed to get to the silver on the ground.
"Hey, Princess, PRINCESS, did you drop some silver?"
she stood to attention but a bit sort of flustered but not at all put out.
I got to her then and she didnt really want to take her piece of silver back, the sort she flung that is.
i felt like taking the plastic off of her head and doing the same.
"Now now little Princess, that not nice in this beautiful place dropping stuff like that, thats called liter and you take that home, do you want to put it back in your little bag?"
whether she did or not it got put into her bag by the owner of the butties.
Mama now realised what she had done and she crested the back of her tangled head in a cupped hand, 'ah now that not nice, you mustnt throw paper on the ground.'
yep well they trotted off as did my butties but we did feel a bit sour.
well the magic was lost when you see spoilt kids and one rule for one and another for tudder.
but my buttons were embraced with silk scarves, lassoed really for we didnt want more of the same and i had lost the leads.
we walked around the lake.
there were some mentally ill people, just a few being seriously watched. yep very seriously watched.
there was a lake after all, one fling and you into mud and mire and water there.
so we went home then.
we did look at a derelict bungalow at the gate end.
it looked cute,
we wondered would we get a job as caretakers to magic land, but we guessed we'd meet too many fierce dogs and princesses.
we couldnt take the princesses but probably the dogs ok.
we can always put the back of our hands to the wet noses and say "ah you ok, aint you, you aint gonna gobble me eh?'
they usually dont, unless you whack him when he isnt looking sort of thing.
we went skip hunting and a thrawl at at a garden centre made us sick - with tiredness.
we did too much we did.
we were wandering around the garden centre seeing baby leaves and one could be the same as another we were that tired we didnt know what we were looking at.
coloured buckets catched our attention, now they stood out.
but green leaves for miles, nah, not to day.
off home.
i had a stint on the toilet, yep i did too much.
twin hung onto the computer for dear life, then she made dinner and i thought of the wee princess and wanted to note her down.
you do, you know..want to note these little chizlers down.

the Mood is BAD! that is Irish citizens in general

I was doing my own bit of campaigning/canvassing but without the political bias.
See we have an important election here, one like no other either.
Seizing the opportunity to target my fellow irish men and women i got a flyer done on the social housing debacle for disabled persons.
well there are not actually and will be none either.
So i sat on my wheels today outside the catholic church, not many takers, very few came out of the 10am mass, that in itself is hugely surprising but maybe the get up late here in ireland.
the mood was a disgruntled scroogy grumble.
and i got the 'bahh humbug' thing, but once i shouted 'not political' you saw then a reluctant weak smile and a hand outsretched to take.
many just crumpled them into their paws or pockets, i would say the mood being badddd, they will not clap eyes on it again, for its all baaaad news here yuk.
i never realised how few irish people actually live in dun laoghaire, or maybe again, they are still all in bed.
going then to the open air market produced more non nationals of european decent, hungry, holland, turkey, french and some arabic couples and kiddies. but where were the irish?
when i saw them coming around 11.30am they were the sort that was more interested in their curly good french breads and their curly kale than me with my wishy washy blue flyer.
many had children and overburdened, actually no, noone at this  market looks overburdened.
here the upper middle class gather, looking all sort of 'green' etc, and only buying the best from the grass oil cloths on one stall run by a krishna guy or a buddhist, anyway he had a funny streak down his nose bridge so donno what he was, but nice cos he took a flyer.
I got my coffee from the usual place.  if i go there, and i do a lot in past times, i pick up a latte and a banana and maple crepe, God that is so delicious, out of this world, but i wish it didnt 'drip so' it drips all over the place and by then the dogs are in the scooter basket, smell a rat (maple) and are going wild.
it gets all very complicated at that point.
but today no crepe.
I wasnt cold, but was not warm either.
I had run out of juice and was aware of that.
but more so aware of my fellow human being, as the young voters, and many probably for the first time were more interested in very mini skirts and weird and wonderful bandanas and eye makeup were disinterest, in me, my flyer and they flew ignoring both.
yeh, i said to myself, not so the spoil sport sort of yeh, just knowingly no one wants to KNOW.
and after i say to them "NOT politics,; i can get a taker tells all.
the MOod in my country is bad, very very bad and getting badder!
and the only wise ones to stay indoors on a blustery treatening day are the politicians, for none were out, none.
no great show or game this time round, no rossets or fancy nor laugher, banter and jest, all is serious and they behind doors afraid of being lynched.  and they would be, one and all.
the only brave ones are the 'people before profit' guys, but didnt see boyd barrett around.
once i saw Ciaran Cuffe in black and merging well with the crowds so as not to draw em but enought to slip the leaflets ok.
so  my campaigning for the day is all over.
its an embarrassing thing and i it doesnt sit easily on me.
i sat and scootered back to the vano and drove home. kiss the children (maggie mai and ana) and sat at the non speaking, abusive growling lap top.
yep and i hope to do some computer housekeeping to keep maggie brown happy and that awful guy that maggie is employed by, they too found to be as corrupt as any other irish company and semi state body trying to educate the less able in society, my bloody foot.
but maggie brown is a breath of fresh air and fantastic and i want to do anything for her, which means tidy up my images yuk.
boring....

campaign trail in Ireland,trees lopped and squirrels!

Yes, a pretty full day indeed.
I felt far better, the head had cleared (no not drunk just blinder for week), and i was more sparky.  took the chis up the hill - in some respects a bit of the good bad and the ugly here.
the good, dogs loved it, i love nature, nice people abroad and fabulous day. the bad, maggie mai is an inveterate snapper at bigger dogs, very embarrassing.  Ana can nip the ankles of bigger men too!
the good again is the word out that there are red squirrels up them hills! yes, i remember someone saying its one of the last vestige in Ireland for them and i remember one running scurrying across the road by Victoria Hill entrance, into the Catholic Church grounds, up a tree!
that was, a long long time ago.
further along the damp path with beautiful ferns and moss covered boulders i met a woman who is grieving for her rescued chi, we chatted.
she was a photographer and was telling me about some celedines she snapped last year around this point.
and further along, horror struck.
large trees had been cut, and a huge watercourse run off exposed on the side opposite, a deep slope from the hill and any flooding would have a clear path onto the above mentioned road, this time crashing into the back of Holy Trinity Church, thats the prod church of my dad.
these tree trunks' core looked perfect, not a sign of a rotten middle, yes further down one stump looked rotten at its core but it was far away from these tree bits, and they were very large bits to boot.
and further toward the cafe there was exposed land where once beauty reined of dirt and rubble and a stream below, no living thing, a gaping cavity in a continuous line of fine trees that have been there since famine times.
i was upset.
well i guess they gone now and i have asked one of the delegates who is not making it to the Dail to look into it.
I met lovely sheena and we chatted with her xshizu Paddy, he of the missing front tooth and mighty eye teeth!
we talked veggie growing.
then it was home with two muddy and tired chihuahuas.
but ann was not finished yet and somehow i got it into my head to do A3 flyers regarding the dire state of social housing in the borough where i live, that is social housing for those with disabilities, given that a designed,designated adapted unit for a person with mobility and other issues have never even been drawn up on paper yet alone built.
that was a rush job, emailed it to printer in sandyford, drove up, spent money and whizzed back to the town's centre.
I HATE shouting for attention with blue flyers, absolutely hate it.
what got the rabble was saying 'NOT political!' that seemed to make em take the piece of paper ok.
but oh disappointment when i saw one screwed and mashed at an outside table of a pub, and inquiring of a fat man further on what he though of it, he told me he had not read it yet,and probably wont!
on giving another to a very old lady who told me 'they are so so RUDE in county hall.' dont i know it, all to well as many others do too.
so just about everything put into that day, at the end of which another expense and all my disability done now for this week, i have become a heavy spender in recessionary times, maybe the money will shore the country up for a little longer??/ i doubt it, but i do have a good book to read!
oh, on ending, a woman ran over my bright red triangle sign on the road, a sign put up to save space so i could bring the scooter to the back of the van and into the van.
yep she was there at the back of her car and said she didnt notice it,er, red luminosity, shape, alert triangle, moya my foot.

Everything is blessed

Yes i do believe this, but nil point for humanity.

today i wrestled with my demons of depression and the lack of services and the lack of ability to move and get on with my life.
I do  not want this awful vaccum, this inability to move left, right, back forward or anywhich way.
the isolation from anyone with the ability to help make a difference at the end of my life.
I was so unwell, i had it up to the hair roots,
what can one do when its everyday, day after day.
when can i resume my life please, instead of lying on my bed or lying on my sofa, tripping over things, dropping this, things falling from narrow shelves, things being broken.
a months supply of ceoliac bread that is five large large brown boxes, where the hell do you put them?
everything stuffed and piled into a tiny space with no let up or light at the end of the avenue, that is the 'exit sign'
tell me please why no one really cares enough to give me their second rolo?  not even the last, just the one next to the first.
bed held up with suitcases and all i can ring is a charity suggested by the OT from the hSE, they dont have maintenance men with hammer and nails!
it took the last decade of my life to absolutely feel the obscenity of humanity, the fickle weaknesses in the system.
everyone says 'sorry for your troubles' and 'its awful really dire dyou are in this situation' where the hell is action.
every day on the phone to someone or other to get help, and all it produces is nothing or the words as stated above.
why is this happening to me.
who can give me the hope i want, the excitement in my bones that i will be loved and cherished that my end days will not be agonisingly a bloody struggle.
i really really felt when my dear twin came home on the boat after 40yrs i could have a friend for life, a person to do things with at last, gel with a lovely woman and we could enjoy the last years.
what have i got?
two sick persons wanting the same thing, to be at peace, safe, secure and loved.
when two are mashed into a tiny space like caged animals all everything goes out the window, everything in your mind reverts to chaos in reality and in the brain.
nothing then becomes stable or secure.
the nuts and bolts are not only out of my bedframe but coming loose in the head.
would someone bring me a red rose tonight?
nah.

i was sad today

it started with hearing the howls outside, the blowing through of cold air, curtains billowing inward and the disgust of self and the loathing of a new day.
a new day of pretty much the same...feeling ghastly, feeling unwell and never fully understanding and knowing that it will be a hung-day.
when i say a hung day, it means pretty much the same as the day before and the day before that.
sitting, waiting.  waiting.
wondering.
what will be the rest of my life...for this isnt.
suspended animation.
there has been a distinct lack of care, a distinct lack of contact from any in social services for my twin and i.
we sit here, no calls, no hope of calls, no hope of help and no hope of a quick resolution.
for me the day was spent first lying on the sofa in particularly bad pain, swallowing more painkillers on top of other stuff.
and there sat my twin by the window, watching the rain dribble down like tears on a sad yard, on a sad day with two women trapped together in anxiety, fears and bewilderment.
not a lot was said between us, in fact so little it was painfully quiet.
i lay, she sat.
she tapped - into - her lap-top.
and i tapped - into - mine....
we connected with the silent world of others doing the same as us - to connect.
we made a stab at getting the help - a bit - here and to no avail.
'can it be so, ann,' my twin asked once.
'can what be so?'
'that there is only one social worker for adults in this catchment area.'
'we are lucky twino, i did a sit-down protest at the local hospital for the social worker.
and i believe i am the only non child, non over 65 to have one!'
that drew the breath and stopped the pensive clatter, all was silent again.
she signed in disbelief.
i sighed in weariness and pain.
my sister will be on the floor again tonight.
when will it ever end.
when will my sister with parkinsons sleep on a bed here in ireland, again.
when.
her cat is in one place, her dog in another, her belongings in three places and her body on the floor.
even the cat and the dog are in comfort of a bed they are used to.
my sister isnt.
i am not allowed protest.
the protest brought me profound alienation from all i had known in my life, the disbelief that any could turn away from their own kind, that is holy catholic ireland ethos.
the vein hope of a trier to muster help.
well the balloon of silence is bursting as the wait and the effort is proving too much for my spirit and my brain and my own body.
no doubt the twin is experiencing all of this too, of course she is.
she is suffering and in pain and anxiety.
she is wondering all the 'whys' as i am but doesnt say so or verbalize it.
she internalizes it and tries to make sense of her homecoming to basically - very little.
what made it a bit better for me was seeing her smiling face as she came into me this morning, i was sitting up in semi darkness, i had fed the dogs put them out to pee, brought them in and got back into bed, i had not fed myself.
there was my shining twin with a huge smile on her face.
she left when i gave a weak smile back and inside i screamed, 'god i love my twin!'
and tonight i drove her down to sandycove harbour, and we sat there with both windows open, it was chilling and blustery, the air was damp, it was dark, we heard the sea whoosh wildly as it slapped the sand we dug when children of very minor kinds.
we sat again in silence.
'tis lovely, innit?' she asked.
'I love this sound' i said, as i placed my head near to her shoulder on my seat rest, my eyes closed, listening.
'are you ready to go' i ask.
yep, she replies, i turned the key in the ignition.
i hear her say, 'that was a precious few minutes eh?'
'it sure was,' and it was.
ha, then on the next turn we saw the skips and slowed.
'what is that mags, that blue thing there?"
'tis a plastic covered mattress,' she replied.
oh, we laughed.
oh is right.
then another skip past the house of a man who now started putting up notices and artwork screaming his pain for his abuse in childhood, and a holy person saying to me of this man that he was 'lowering the tone, devaluing the property here' and who would buy beside that.
and i remember disgust at my holy jo friend.
we are in christian ireland, let it be known.
we had a cuppa when we came home.
we bought some biscuits too, she her jaffa cakes, trying to slim, me my ceoliac biscuits trying to improve my wheat intake after christmas.
we then parted, she to organising a conference for working with abused and i to the bed, to organise a proposal for a tv programme.
we are tired.
another day over, two doctors appointments for me tomorrow, and one yesterday.
a lesson tomorrow to bring me hope that i can reconnect or keep connected to creativity.
no phone calls for help were answered and no help hoped for tomorrow as i fork out E150 a piece for my consultants.
dont get me angry when i think of that, a person fully entitled to public health care and whose disability pension has been slashed twice in recent budgets.
dont get me angry when i think too of the amount of consultants i see and the monthly amount i pay for my medication.
it was E13 this month.
how can we all keep this up!
how can my twin and i keep this up, day after day after day.
and it will be another long night and then an early drive to a hospital for posh, when you feel nothing near it, nothing near the gentile of money and lush but full of the sickness and none of the benefits.
i am sick of it all

A syndrome Not? A syndrome YES, YES?

it will be interesting to see how many open this blog with a title like this one!
Here i am talking about CRS, for the uninitiated, that reads as Congenital Rubella Syndrome.
If people have difficulty still understanding this, believe me I understand.
Think, Post Polio Syndrome here as more have heard of that one.
CRS, as its known in short, is the cluster of conditions and 'defects' that result from a pregnant woman coming into contact with the Virus of German Measles, that is Rubella.  It is a VIRUS, and viruses are nasty little buggers.
CRS is not known much today.
the reason being the disease itself is supposed to have been eradicated so its off the 'disease list' for want of better wording.
it is not eradicated, never will be.  there are cluster outbreaks many times over.
the last before this was in South Africa.
there is not an 'epidemic' in Oslo where five children have got the German measles.  these children are being monitored and all women in their circles have been warned about the dangers of being amongst the children who may or may not have contracted this disease from the kiddies.
the Pregnant women close to them have been asked to stay close to medical personel.
another incident arrived when a woman known to have Rubella travelled by Air on an Emirates plane to New Zealand, and all who were flying with her were notified to watch for symptoms and to stay away from pregnant women.
this virus causes eye, ear, heart conditions at birth, also a myriad of others as the people who are named CRS adults now presenting with the Late manifestation of CRS.
these range from decreasing eye and ear function. a range of mobility difficulties, diabetes, more heart difficulties, hypothyroidism and its endless.
the variations on the theme too are myriad.
anything from being a very bad sleeper.
to finding that no matter how many doctors one travels to, very few can understand the cluster symptoms older adults are presenting with.
some in the USA have travelled to many many neurologists who say, 'i dont know what is wrong, or why you find difficulty walking' and many of these are not up to speed on the virus, indeed never heard of CRS.
who is suffering in this for the want of a blog on it - myself, my twin and my dear friends scattered in the world mainly in America right now.
this condition slowly eats into a person to prevent them carry on a sustainable life, some have no health insurance due to it, so are very very sick and weary, waiting for medaid to come through etc.
the burden on a body and a psyche to deal with this is quite horrendous.
I know.
I was told i was a melingerer, that it was all in the mind and i was simply shown the door - many times, many times my friend.
such things as my twin and i have great great difficulty spelling words, and some of them are very simple words.
last night i was starting an 'expert patient file' so that i own a file with all that is wrong with me, my doctors, diagnosis, medications, visits etc. they do this in UK, the communication between specialists is so bad here, i felt we needed something like this.
i found writing no less than five pages in bullet points was hell for me.  my arm was agony and i found it very difficult to write.
it was the longest piece of writing in many a day.
typing presents less problems.
the day i told my twin, 'you have to walk, you cannot stop walking' has turned its head on myself.
I cannot DO IT anymore, i cannot.  I have been using the scooter more and more, my legs do not carry me and its very difficult, too difficult for in the expending of energy you lose it completely when trying to multitask as in 'enjoying something.'
many with CRS find that 'enjoying something' is hard, very.
you are crammed to the brim of the hair roots with difficulties, curtailed in improvement for us by the economic climate.
Saturday saw me spending E13 for my months medication and my Disability Pension has been slashed twice in the last two budgets and i am in danger of losing some of my services and my twin in danger of receiving none of these services.
this is reality all across Christian Europe and Christian USA.
why do i use the word Christian, in the big C format.
Where are the Christian thinking in say our governments, our closest and many professionals who ridicule, slam and ostrocise for a disease and complexity that DOES exist, has been proven to exist (but only proven in small research areas), and that is because the vaccination programmes were declared fully operational and the desease eradicated.
Nope, wrong, it aint.  not after the scare of the Autism links to the MMR vacine.
now many women are not being vaccinated and also many children are not being vaccinated against the Rubella virus.]
with inter country travel so easy today, from Asia and beyond this virus travels from the coutries who do not have an effective programme to another in the western world whose programme is showing cracks.
such results have proven disastrous for wee babies now entering the world with the complex condition and a life of strife and hardship, no matter which way you look at it.
its hard.  Believe me, its VERY hard.
to do all this alone is near impossible, it IS impossible.
Bite the bullet, get this disease onto the agenda of those who can help or increase awareness in the main populations of its devasting consequences.
Blast many who do not help us, and there are many in many professions.
ask the professionals who BELIEVE us to actually say so in the next referral letter, no you have a 'sick person here, alright'
end of my protest against ill health-mega.
please forward to the Irish politicians and your own who nowadays are the oNLY people who hold sway 'over' peoples lives, forever.

canvassing in another form

it was difficult i have to say, very.

my twin definitely needed an injection of 'hope' out of the melee and mess of Holy Ireland and her return here.
we made appointments to visit our impending two new 'forever homes' one secured through the urgency of being lost altogether, the other not, due to lack of funding.
Our canvassing for votes in way of accummulating Euros, hit on deaf ears and we have exhausted all our avenues.
the anxiety yesterday went way off richter, we petted each other, sat with heads touching, stroking, reassuring and bolstering up each other, in the only way we can.
we muttered the words with clenched fists together "Please God, do not let us lose this house for twin/me"
so we literally sweat it out, in the hope of miracles, so far none has come.
all the letters we could think of have been posted and so far no replies whatsoever.
Last night we sat together teaming our computer skills, and seeing where my twins flat is, on the markets list we found it there alright.
we decided to do our own publicity.
we found the building on a flickr site and added a comment!
a fantastic sales pitch.
then we cut and pasted the blurb from the estate agents list and sent it to just about everyone we knew, with the words, 'tell all, near and far and far flung too!' TIS UP FOR SALE!
there has been little immediate engagement with those close to our case, either the community teams nor other.
my twin and i are finally alone without a paddle.
we ARE alone.
Very.
the last six months has been constant 'forever home' thoughts.
Constant, via letters, td's, websites, emails, facebook, charities, community care teams, family, next generation, more charities and it goes on and on - to no avail.
We are here talking about two severely disabled adults now.
not just cheats and liers and lazy individuals who sat down on life and duty.  we contributed to life, and certainly to the less able.
Both in our own ways and both with our own reserves and capabilities.
We tend to think that the older you get, the sicker too, the less useful you are to the human family.
Not so, and never so, i have to say.
What does an ancient learn in a difficult life?
I tell you, a lot...
when many would only stop still a while and use this knowledge to help themselves and communities to work together and better all, it can be a useful exercise.
Not obliterate at first chance to purge the community of a nuisance and wasters etc.
Human being by being just that are never wasters and have been put here on earth to help one another.
if everyone was absolutely perfect it would be a dull world indeed, no one would learn the benefits sevenfold in helping another.
No one would even have an ability to care for only in seeing one side of the coin and the other can one appreciate their own lot and then, think.
think about the other side of the coin.
Many do not get that far, to flip the coin upside down and see who is on the other side of their world.
If they do, many ignore.
If they do not, it usually engenders deep inner unhappiness for not 'looking outside the box' can cause your problems to escalate and multiply.
Why?
because its the ONLY thing to focus on.
My twin continues her advocacy for others, along side knowing she is basically homeless and sleeping on her sister's floor.
Myself, i am tired now, and i have not been to my old ladies with maggie mai for a full month and i am upset.
I am too unwell to travel there and put my all and maggie into their frail laps and share their depression - at being dumped basically, blind half deaf most, they are dumped to sup a tea and dry biscuit every day after mass around a hard unforgiving table and with people they have to engage with whether they want to or not.

to fight to stay away from this scenario is most peoples end of life desire.
but many think, the better solution and easiest is to dump and forget and i have seen the trauma that has wracked the lives and emotions of too many.
As they sit there, you can feel the emotion of 'why did they do this to  me.'
and also "I am in the dying homes' and we do not call these the workhouses now.
they are in real terms 'the dying cages' of our elderly and sick we chose to forget and leave at the mercy of a limited company!
Not for my twin or I as we both will come to that and get there sooner rather than later.
but still we feel the emotion that wracks us now -
"why did they do this to me."
this is of course a familial statement but also a STATE statement, as the provision for elderly get worse and worse, and more difficult daily for the disabled in our countries.
As my twin has pointed out - service provision is basic, the intelligence base of the worker in professional jobs is unenlightened, burocratic and unprofessional in terms of comparisons of more modern societies and communities.
to her as the professional she has observed that Ireland is about 15yrs or 20yrs behind most of the developed european countries who have come to grips with language usage, expertise and streamlining of services for the less well able.
Here in Ireland she noted most workers go to work as if ready to go for a hike up the hills in totally inappropiate dress and inappropiate ways of speaking to their clients.
Bear in mind, of our service providers they are NOT working for the HSE, they are working for US!
we are the CLIENTS, who manage to be there so that they can be paid to help us.
without us, their graduation in their disciplines would not be able to be used.
they would have landed on unfertile grounds of unemployement.
but no, they get employed in their career discriptions and they have a job for life in the process.
if we were not here they wouldnt!
Simple.
But not so, never so for the sick and disabled of Ireland.
Has my social worker looked up the rights of people with disabiities either on the National Authority of Disabilities website, this is FOR the government and is an advisory body for those working in disabilitity.  No, he hasnt.
Nor has he even looked up the pleb site of the Citizen's advice Bureau.
this begs the question of how on earth one actually gets through a highly fought for place on a four year course in University, not to even be able to search the webpages for their career practises as in here we have an advisory backup if you are stuck...like.
and that leaves, my twino and I STUCK for others are STUCK and the country is VERY STUCK, our christianity has come UNSTUCK.
i will leave this wuffles and go for a coffee now, a strong one.
talk soon

Paw comfort on a cold day

Well Life moves on apace.
there is nothing the council can do about egg flingers as i didnt see em.
I have to say i do not hold a camera waiting!  the last time i was holding a camera, but not waiting - i was horizontal resting, and learning and the little girl child gave me a great lesson -
i got the best shot in the whole summer - great composition, great expression of thuggery on the childs face, she doing something with the guns safety part (she knew how to use it for sure)!  Fantastic exposure, contrast in colour, its a winner, if you wiped the face for she was underage so has the priveledge of thus and cannot be identified.
no, i don't zone the camera all Canon 450 EOS (and if someone wants to, i want to upgrade to Nikon 90, thanks, all contributions welcomed, and the extras will go to the photographer in Beaumont Neuropsychology department who just told me he had bloody gone and bought this camera, huh :(
I do zone my Aldi E2999 scope at the bird feeders, yep, and the detail is good for one half blind and did appreciate the difference.
In reality i would like the whole pane of glass a magnifying one so i wouldn't have to strain the eyes and hunch-back around a scope but i guess they don't make such things and that would be too 'in your face' after a while.
yep a four foot by four foot starling and the shit about a foot square.
Imagine if every time i turned and saw a gungy white blob slop onto my yard. Naw, not nice!
where was this blog taking me?
Eggs - a stephen from the 'anti-social' department of the council states nothing can be done.
i tell him its a right little gestapo institution down there and he giggles.
i told him than, i was glad he thought me funny and i reminded him the councils reputation goes before them, and its known they are the most corrupt, nasty council in Ireland, and 'did you know thats being said?'
Yes, i know, but he also said to me he knew it was the most corrupt, ha! admissions, well they can be actually deemed non admisable in court.

Well the egg spatting episode is over, so i better scrub down the caramelized egg off the window, for it can become like nail varnish in the son, so i am told.

my home help munchkin is making me a fantastic ceoliac lasagna, well it aint ceoliac for i still cannot find ceoliac sheets of pasta.
having driven to the shop for the items, (yes, the sickie has to do the shopping, place it in front of munchkin and she then does the cooking-for a person bril at cooking, thats the easy part, you dont use the footprints much) i got the items, thats all and came home.
very little petrol in the van, and no money in the purse, so...we are housebound for all the wrong reasons.
I am powering up my scooter, i think it is powering up, last time i tried i got a shot of electricity up my arm from the charger.
the irish worker who was called to see it said, dodgy socket, after it tested ok in the kitchen and walked off, i tested it in the outdoor socket, it works but you get electricity where it shouldn't go for the same effect.
And all is well with the world.
what other moan and rant can i produce, well...had a moan with the occupational therapist, not the postman, not to the munchkin, not much just about the gestapo, and not the twin for she is in Hyde park and grabbed a word in her ear, so no time to moan.
a moan defo on part of my anatomy, my left knee is banjaxed, literally.
stabs shoot through it, i am now a limper plus a shuffler and the combo is not pretty.
On knees please if anyone can make sense of this, why would a man with prostate cancer not have the operation for that, which is simple one in fact, in most cases if caught early and yet goes for a knee op and is on morphine for the pain.
knee ops for some reason are one of the most painful kinds.
if anyone has an answer for this, please tell me bar the reasoning that knees dont have anything to do with virility!
bye for now.
i am going to have a good day, my trotters are going trotting soon,
munchkin has overfed them already, my protestations there are to no avail.
she has an overweight English bull terrior in her car, too fat to trot.
hummm.
ah all is well with the world.

It has not gone unnoticed

Isnt it difficult to live?

it was a rainy, overcast day in Dublin.
Yet many braved it to trawl, drink coffee, mingle and meet friends.
Yes, i did the same, just the same.
the chihuahua with a temperature had to be seen to immediately, my little plum pudding is unwell with a gastric problem and i am to watch her - like a hawk.
right now she is enveloped in my dressing gown cuddled up to her half sister.
my pudding was duly returned to the care of her sister whilst i took it on board to go to Dun Laoghaire, armed with flyers for pre-budget considerations.
One was my experience during my rehousing and the distress incurred with the local country council.
the other, i am very pleased to say, was the leaflet for the national campaign, 'thinking ahead' for the umbrella group for all who are neurologically challenged facing inadequate services as we have now.
in fact we are way down in the league table for services in the EU, near the bottom in fact.
I was struggling today with a red walking stick and exhaustion.
the head too was overcast and loaded down.
I sensed the very difference that was my body, and my soul and attitude to my human brothers.
I felt the walking on an earth and space of others and being a complete 'disconnect' within society.

Yes, people try to be rather caring but over caring in all the wrong ways.
it is nice to have a door opened to help you indeed.
it is nice to receive the silent smile.
It is not nice to find that the voices once heard are not there.  the banter within my community as once i stood at traffic lights and commented on the 'time that is in it.'
I am met with the very unnerving stare, the unnerving silence and the distant look of many who actually wanting for some reason to focus their gaze just beyond the back of my head!
this i learn in photography, its a skill, to take in the middle and distance by focusing with a lense and changing the aperture and shutter speed to do so.
ah the human eye does it so automatically.
we find the ability to focus where we want, at will and willingly done as need suits.
It was a silent meander around the charity shops, on the way picking up some nice cheapies and a fantastic bed wedge, super in fact.
I met the gaze of Ciaran Cuffe our Green Party representative.
I stopped and talked.
it was not easy, knowing that he is aware of my difficulty and relationship with the deputy leader of his party.
it wasnt easy at all, to stand there and not feel the pressure that was in my brain, the pressure of depression as he stood there the reminder to me that i have been cut off and cut out of all my familial relationships from here on in, because of the political lack of will to deal with my very difficult situation in housing.
He had not heard i had been shot at.
I am fully aware that i had told him, and his deputy leader!
this is one of the small indicators that those at the top do not make it known to their members to take note of their constituents.
no note of warning to ask and discover why one of their own was placed in a vulnerable situation, when it was made known to them.
also made known were the steps my twin and i had to take to address this, in a very drastic way, leaving both in financial worries for the future.

but the load of disconnect right now is the prominent feeling after two years of hell on earth.

I prepped for a trip to a cafe with two books to distract me.
the girl at the till and coffee dispenser was suspicious when i asked for the coffee at the table and then i would pay.
i had been struggling to find the coppers in my bag.
her hesitancy is a sign of the times.
even for one who is physically challenged.
my coffee was not made until i waved with a clenched fist in her direction as i was seated, to indicate i had a clump fisted of coppers for her, and for my latte.
also the level of disconnect was felt in the grumped 'huh' i received from a large obese man when i asked if it was ok if i sat at his table as many were  full.
the disconnect too, more hugely felt when a woman who was at art college with me, and a great friend, i had thought, only meeting her in her house last weekend, was supping with a friend and acknowledged with a bit of small talk never asked me to join them and from then on in, i sat alone.
the gaze at my books was difficult.  i now see the cataracts obscure the letters and my eyes are tired through sjogrens syndrome.
it was a massive time of reflection.
the ability to look at the world in a totally different way, as i sat watching what most would consider 'normal' discourse amongst lovers, partners, children and intellectuals etc.
and there alone is a person part still by having pumping blood in her arteries, watching in a case of glass and the glass is recognised by her as depression to herself alone, and alone will be it.

Nah i couldn't cope, i do not go unnoticed for my difference of jiggers and stick and fumbling.
its the disconnect that is psychologically done and said so in un-worded language you never do hear.
the embarrassment of difference, on my part and that of others who do not have it, and do not know how to transcend difference and see a live human being in their midst.
i left.
my heart was in my boots, but not my brain which remained thinking and alive.
i walked back to the van, it was hard, i wasn't doing it as most would do.
it was more a laboured shuffle.
and it wasn't helped to know my college friend had taken a vantage seat on the second floor by the window with a full view.
how you do it, when it gets to this is a nightmare.
I opened the van.  a woman in a car flashed her lights to let me cross, and a loud honk and wave was emitted, but i know not who she was.
i got in.  i sat there sweating and weak, i felt bloody lousy.  I knew i was unwell from the moment i got up.
who wants to spend a day on the bed.
i felt the tears trickling down the face, the wipers washed the rain away but not them.
i signalled to drive out and away, and away i went - back to the inappropiate social housing unit, up a long avenue away from the world, a physical disconnect from any community bar a community of men who drink almost daily, who all are alcoholics with diabetes to prove it.
and i am single, sick, disabled have been slapped in the middle of these men without any due consideration.
this to me is the level of barbarism that is happening not only to me but all who are different in this small country who once had the honour of being the hub of christianity and christian values.
why on earth did i bother entering out to feel what i felt.
to have small discourse with a small party member who is more concerned about oil and light bulbs than his sick constituents.
his political agenda did not mention social equality at all.
and to that i say, i am wedged on the bed, comfortably.
the dogs are in a huddle and we won the match!
god bless us for small mercies.

does anyone ever get this right?

i am here referring to the 'art of living.'
I have asked this before, which is an indicator that the answer has not come or, so far...has not come.

on the scale of 1-10, not on any medical assessment scoring here, this is Life, social model scoring.
er, again, social skills scoring and life skills scoring.
Personality.
here we have to go from 0-10 literally.
Yes i am Loud, Brash, demanding, pesky, argumentative, I talk too much that on the scale would amount to 10+
BUT -
I am kind, honest, well i was going to say truthful here but if you are honest are you not truthful as well?
I am funny, creative, caring.
I like a joke.
If i am so BAD, oooh, so very BAD why have i hit the zero on the social skills social model scale?
Yep, I have.
I am so zero i am underground.
Definitely i see no 'light' as in at night i do not, and at day i get out of it, so go underground on purpose.
In the soul too tis dark, yikes tis dark.
Is that age?
Is it the creeky bones and cranky annie?
Or is it literally the 'piss off' which is stated or understated but taken as understood which ever way you look at it.
We go back to the honest bit, the trustworthy bit, oh, i didn't add trustworthy.
i am trustworthy if i say i will do something i do, in general terms, unless i am too sick to, and i am that far too often.
am i trustworthy at language, giving it - no.
trustworthy of details disclosed, yes, very actually.
I put it this way - one apology has lasted as no point in apologising if you do not follow through.  Right?
Right....now go tell the Pope that.
but i have got that far and i am far from sainthood believe me!
You do!
right - again.
no sainthood but the trap has been clapped shut.
it was always on matters relayed as the forbidden truths.
Tell  me please, you tell the world via facebook OMG, thats sad, and the blog, even sadder that you are humbly regretful of any wrongdoing whether real or imagined, (latter not by me).
So the world will not know, thats a given.
How can the population of Ireland get to know?
Bar the service providers...they are sworn to secrecy (not  true, the files follow from one joint to another).
How, see that bloody avenue out there, the one where the bloody full wheelie bin (not the wheelchair this time) is out the wrong side of the gate,full, over full stuck down with tape as half my bottles are flying high and wide in the wind, well not one person trots up that, who could actually BENEFIT from gossip, i mean benefit!
No one trots the path, period.
thats why the question has been posed.
You FEEL ok, sort of...you have an idea in your mind, social model mind that you ok, really ok.
you have not committed murder, tell me if i have.
You have  not raped, yikes now thats a big one and its way out of my league.
I have not stolen, maybe a cigarette lighter when i was a smoker and a student.
A bank?
Nope.
Not yet.
If i do i will not be asking any questions cos according to the law irish style that WOULD be getting it right.
so where are the trotters, what the hell do i have three handsets for?
i have two bug eyed trotters as in a hairy chihuahua and a fat chihuahua, but thats no sin.
and thats not what i am REALLY talking about.
but at times i think they are the better kind of trotters.
Lonely - thats sad.
awwwh, you lonely?
Who isnt?
Most would say they are not, not really.
who is the brave heart who says Yes, defo to that question, so we have half the answer.
See the main question.  What does it infer?
my brain is working too fast on this and this is turning in to a shambles of prose.
put it bluntly.
I had a fantastic kindly, laughy bubbly person trot today, up da avenue, she didnt close them gates, but thats not a fault.
she was dressed in black, oh oh, but oh oh it looked so gorgeous - on her, so she is excused, (Mags, black spooks me, when not on another person usually, bar the priests).
we had a coffee, hot cross buns - are we heading into penitential times?
and then it was down to work, sorta.
we ran over some vital points of vital importance to the development of the grand plan.
get your house in order and get the work out of the file and onto anothers, preferably some bankers calender, sorta.
thats the idea, now for the product.
they say in ireland right now that its 'the time' for the small businesses.
meaning bankers are out, and i am in.  small time.
well Mags Brown, (I am not gossiping) is the regular A1 trouper, she has landed an internship and i approve, for what it is worth.
at the ARK woa that will be absolutely great.
I am deviating all over the place here.
she was the only light spark in black that showed today.
and probably will be all week, or at least until wednesday when my twin comes home.
and when the twin comes home as she knows, the only people we see is each other.
we might as well look in the mirror!
hummm.
we are rambling...which is a very bad sign.
it is.
i shall end this part by saying I HAVE NOT GOT IT RIGHT, the life thingy bits.
On a lighter note, it was yowling out there, and muggins decides to take the trotters out, in the van-o.
on one part of the motorway the van did a bit of a kick, the kick launched it slightly to the right, really startled me, but not alarmed me.
the wind was so strong, the van kicked out.
never happened before.
and bits were flying, luckily not off my van nor others cars either, but it was wild.
we came to a stop.  Thank the Lord, gee i was a tired woman.
this is the tricky part of the tail.
i bundled the chis out, with their 'cosy' and walked towards a cheap store, everyone goes there, (not irish either,say that to the small business enterprises and the gov), walked to the trolleys and put in a euro in the slot, it spat it out.
chis are not wrapped around ankles.
I try another lot of trolls same thing happened.
a tiny queue is forming behind my chis and self.
i am flustered.
euro coin is dropped, expletives exposives.
someone picks it up in my demise, i smile pathetically.
Awwh, they are NICE, the woman says with a cheesy smile.
Ah, yes!  they are!
UGH :(
three trolleys later i discover the coin should be a two euro coin.  thats inflation for you.
someone offered.  i was offended.
'NO, tis fine, ha, yes fine, i shall get it right.
trolley released i dropped the sticks, followed by my van keys, the chis are now settled inside the iron cage and i have drawn a crowd.
i am sweating in confusion, pissed off for bringing the embarrassing causing dogs, and pissed off with the fumbling bumbling ancient here.
we do the shop.
well nearly. a young man carries over a stick i had left in another trolley.  Ah thank you, i muttered sheepishly.
i spent all of my disability pension, yes all.
we are now underground for a solid week!
bird boxes, scope (that was extravegant, but i blamed the bad eyes here and i am being honest too).  If you only knew!
wooden bird table, i missed out on the sought after, all sold, so i over compensated here, on a grand scale.
i got rubber gloves which anglers wear as they stand in waders waiting - for Godot.
certainly not a salmon, they all dead from pollution.
anyway the rubbers should keep the chill out and the raynauds at bay.  can they?  nope, but one must live in hope.
what else?
batteries, bleach and brushes as in dinner plate cleaners.
and i leggit out!
its raining.
i am hot, bothered. someone gives me a two euro coin for the trolley, that saves me going back to the depot and no, nothing is free in this life.
a man, he with the sheepish smile. there were a lot of those around today.
anyway this man offered to hold my driver door open.
ah, thanks i smile stupid sheepishly.
i giggle as he makes a comment as i tap the fat bum of the fat chihuahua, get in there for god's sake, no i didnt use that language.
i was giggling in woeful embarrassent.
pathetic.
what was it?
ah tis being the old eccentric that did it, the one with the flowery van, fashion item dogs, the colour way over the top, bar black which isnt a colour anyway.
and i am fumbling.
ah go to bed.
i will,
thank you.
i depart to bed.
another day over and another question similar to the one first asked is rising deep from underground.

Vapourised YES! Gone NO!

It can feel very like a cut throat job i have to say.
all was proven so, as i spoke to the twin in London, on a crackly line - discovered to be a personal faulty new handset...hum, anyway, i turned around mid-sentence and cracked up, literally.
Bear in mind the twin takes a bit of time for such explosions to register in her brain.
I have discovered i need to wait a few seconds for a response.
In this instance it would have been anyone, manic laughing as in spontaneous when Ann is in the throes of woeful depression, crying et al would sound odd.
well what I was laughing did look strange indeed, very.
On the bathroom floor, imagine this please...one goes to the toilet...no maybe not..don't imagine that,no.
start again.
imagine, one goes to the bathroom and decides..yes..that sounds a bit better...to well step out...
and one does....leaving behind a cracking laugh result i have to add...
bad english there i was trying to work on the prose.
bad english again.
cutting to the chase, on the floor was a dead ringer of a reflection of legs plus the soles of boots, as in those uggy boots, i think they are called.
I had been to the toilet, decided to do two things at once and stepped out of pink velveteen trousers aka dunnes stores and out of my boots from the Sue Ryder charity shop, (yes i knew after wearing why they ended there,  they squeak every time you take a pace),
what was left on the floor looked like a crime scene without the body-vapourised leaving a creased shell of the lower body parts covering.

One is easily amused these days.
the shot gun election isn't so amusing i have to say.
would i bother?
not any more.
Not so shot gun but surely the gov and brovs have really shot those who have had their disability slashed twice in the last two budgets and the crummies get off relieved and sweating with a nice fat paw.
But will any ever open an Irish newspaper again.
I doubt it.
I have taken a lot in the last 58yrs of life, defo.
I have survived, just about.
Really.
I did survive, my days were equal to the jungle survival game, but it wasn;t no game.
I would not, nor could not survive a caricature of self splashed with all my blemishes embellished for all to see, zillions to see, daily and thereafter.

If that is vain, so be it.  I am vain...to the extent that embarrassment does not wash well with me at all.
ask anyone.
especially doctors.
what they get in return for 'rubbishing me' is too inflammatory to repeat!
well, no I tell the truth, so i am saved.
thats why i am still alive and the gov and brov will not be, shortly.
and they will never open an Irish Times again or the Sun, nor the Tribune (well, no, not the Tribune, thats gone under...not talking of Australia either here), our young people have gone there as a tribute to what they think of our gov and brovs.
and there was a queue outside the American Embassy this morning on my way into the dental hospital.
which is worse?
the queue.
It was the very first time that place was actually FUN.
why?
It was heavily planned right down to the seat, (no, not toilet seat this time).
I placed my red wheelchair, plus cushions into the van.  The red walking stick, a bag, a camera, a banana.  check out the pic on my facebook page please and note it was not this banana!
I got into the van, the teeth were taken out around Frescati, of my dear fathers family home and placed in the glove compartment.  thats where they usually travel anyway.
so gummy and self concious (that would be a blemish embellished if ever a chance was taken), i travelled onwards.
I walked the wheelchair, one must keep up the legs, so they say, to the coffee shop and got a Latte and walked back pushing the wheelchair towards the glassed entrance, electrified near the back end of trinity (no pun) college.
On arrival i made myself known to reception.
its hot up there, very.
i decide as well planned this and from experience to sit it out in the massive entrance area so i wheel the wheelchair back  there.  I put on the breaks and suddenly see Prof. Nunn rushing toward her work station.
Awynah, you sitting here?
Yes?
Its cold here, no?
Yes!
You'll get cold?
NO!
No, i love cold i really do, 'cold.' in a big way.
me temp controls are way off these days.
I sit and push with the arms, not madly just gently, floating around, coffee wedged between the knees, thats easy and look.
i find some nice abstract structural shapes, and the usual spiky plant from the tropics, same one in Beaumont Hospital, they must all get a job lot on these.
so i see there is a floating sculpture hanging along the inside of the glassed roof, ah, that look good, i say to myself.
Not quite after a few 'takes,' I forgot what Mags B taught me on the difficulty of taking two contrasting tones, strong sunlight, dark walls.
after a few takes, i am crunching and sweating, literally.
its damn hard to crane a neck, try it, if its arthritic.
it crunches alarmingly, but what will you do for art?
no, not again, this time.  I wont hang the neck around a wheelchair, upside down, looking up at a bloody funny sculpture floating along a transparent glassed roof.
I move off. I place the coffee down on the floor by the skirting board when i drift off again.
amazing, not a soul did i see.
Brill!
I am not that great with the human species anymore, i get these very uncomfortable stares, hence the camera came with me this time.
i see the coffee container makes a nice composition by a triangular piece of artwork that is pointing right down to the lonely mug on the ground.
snap.
i move again.
i catch a woman running across the road, bloody stupid woman, but she was in red!
red is a great colour to catch when you have a monochrome view, and i had a very one.
she could have got killed, anyone could have.
why did she chose that very spot?
right on the swing around by Lincoln's gate.
she was a dead ringer for a smash-in all in red and i would have had it on camera.
well i did get her, on camera legging it.
great shot!
the dentistry proved good as well.
the dentures got relined as i watched the dental nurse at play time with her playdoh.  I asked her with muffled language, 'how many times do you get to play in a day?"
without an answer i turn to me beautiful woman in her headscarf.  I was actually thrilled to see her, i thought she had gone back to Oman.
nope she had to stay - for me!
nah, she still a student, but a great one, she pulled the teeth too.
'dont you let this damn thing weld to the roof of me mouth!'
again muffled.
I turned to the dental nurse still playing with pink stuff, and she was smiling roguishly, 'Ah,' i say, "Thats why you are playing with that stuff, eh?"
"hum ha." or something like that. meaning yes.
she waits, and works the pink stuff.
so that when its getting stiffer she nods to my dark tropical woman and gives that look which says 'take it out, now.'
so playing is part of the game here.
the teeth were now snug indeed after she had trimmed the playdoh away from the back rim, half way down my throat.
I scratch the rest off with a finger whilst waiting for a print-out for the next appointment.
knees clamped around the red stick, i foolishly felt this would only take a sec.
it didn;t, the printer was broken, a bit like the x-ray machine in St. Michaels the other day. (i go to too many hospitals).
and there was my red wheelchair, mid corridor with the plastic bag on back, opened for all to see, an expensive camera and a welcoming handbag, no baby in this but my visa card.
so the knees were welded as i try to stay vertical, my fingers are stuck in my mouth scratching away playdoh that was left behind on my false palette of my false teeth.
I drove home.
Teeth in, bye bye to the man at the back gates of trinity college who knows me well by now.
and someone else who knew me well today later, the parking ticket guy.
my PA ran, not elegantly to try stop him put a ticket on her car.
then the parking man saw me limp after on two sticks.
'Ah, yes, i know you, its ok, its all ok."
"Yes Mary, he knows me! Everyone bloody does, for foolishness, loudness or a flowery grey van!
but i am known.
and i wasn't even in my own town but the one next door to it...darn...i am embarrassed.