A day and a month of it!

i really mean - a month in a day of it.
a hard grinding day of intrigue...who was who, who knew who and who knew what plus, can you believe em?
answers from the conference, one doesnt know at all at all.
who was who i guess was pretty much just about looking at the line up of speakers, and accents.
of course the french man was - a french man, and the english man was the english man, but the woman, whose face we knew was - well, we couldnt make that out and not by her name either.
she was gorgeous.  she was in all an intelligent woman from a very troubled part of the world indeed.
who knew who was pretty much self evident, everyone knew everyone else but not everyone knew the twin and I and those who did knew something and others knew nothing.
and the ones who knew something were telling some others about that something, so a few more didnt want to know the twins.
are you still with me?
at least i am still with myself...or just about, after that month in a day of it.
Lets say my history goes before me, as does my twins housekeeping or lack thereof.
I wish my history was as innocent though.
after the day and the month of it, i lay almost screaming on my bed, roaring yes, not screaming.
tears dribbled down, as i lay naked on the bed.
mags my twin gave me a spinal massage and especially around my neck and shoulders.
i cried out loud. and as i twisted back on the bed so as to put the head on a soft pillow i begged the twino to say why is it so.
that ann, this person of ALL, right we think of all i know and who has all of this?
one, in all i know.
how can so much in one body?
she could not answer.
so how my friend, how can one person be the chosen, the elite of the elite in the pain and disease catagory.
any one of my conditions would be hell enough to cope with, but no, someone or divine, decided for an odd reason, or out of boredom to lump me with an overdose of plenty.
we then settled down together.
myself naked and twin wrapped up in her outdoors cloths still.
'are you not cold?' she asked.
"no, i never feel cold, i feel hot all the time, and it isnt nice hot either.
and as i lay the bedcloths hurt, yes, two little fluffy throws, hurt my knees and my bum.
so the throws get drawn up to waist and i am left exposed to cool air.
neither could i put knee joint to knee joint nor finger against finger.  The pain was so terrible.
as i lay and twin lay we were pretty quiet.
my twin saw the spindly lower arms, from my year of chronic muscle wasting, but also she saw my scars of years of life wasting as in slashing up.
this is the history i am paranoid about, with good reason.
"can you not use camoflauge makeup?' asks the twin.
i tell her its a bit like ordinary make up and fools no one.
she wants to fool the doctors and the consultants.
she is right to want to fool them.
never has history blighted an individual.
Never.
the sort of history which would disallow me ever from being on a jury or giving a credible withness account of events, in court.
I have been marked down as being in the psychiatric system.
so when a man breaks his legs he can still up the sticks and leg it into the courts with honour.
when one is beaten down and breaks up you cannot get the sticks to help you back there, to give the credible evidence.
and i have cred.
to myself i have cred and history my friends is just that.
how many times has a person said of a bad event, ' move on,' 'put it behind you' and such.
well actually you can and want to but not a lot of a certain breed will allow you and they taint those they know and then they do ditto to the ones they know too!
especially in our grubby little country with so little to do with the education they have got in other countries, and never on the map of world reputation they have nothing better to do then to tarnish the cred and reputation of a person who cannot influence life or world events, nor make them rich and famous.
is it the last word in that, the very last that makes them behave so shoddily?
i have to say it is.
If you cannot be famous, you can at least be arrogant.
and if you cannot elicit wealth from another, you screw em to the wall for their histories.
when the dark suits walk out in line, they reminded me of the priest.
the dark suits, the power there in numbers, who knows what numbers and who wont and will tell another, but all to prevent the one who knows better get the better of them.
and you get depressed about it all.
Injustice is a dreadful thing.
its how wars start and i am in a personal war zone.
I think i have had this rant before in another blog, so does this tell me and others that i am bored or ill prepared for a blog!
i am neither, but i am tired and very.
a day at a dystonia conference.
a full whack of it.
with english men, irish men, french men and a woman from a troubled country and a troubled woman in the midst of the many who have a chronic illness or disorder and may be very compromised indeed, but at least they all had cred.
so while, i sat in my chariot of fire, and it was that, for my body was alight with tiny pins of pain, travelling the length and breath of its structure.
also the same crinkled body was wreathing, in dystonic, involuntary movements.
that is the arms were twisting up down, curled under and out, the legs were twisting and wrapping around the foot rests to stop the slithering of dystonia get a grip and send them shooting off.
but as the time went on, my head was going down to meet the knees and the knees were coming up to meet the head.
the pain of another condition, two in fact were unbearable.
the arms now were grinding against solid steal of the armrests, somewhere between the back of the wheelchair and the sides and other times, wedged between the side arm rests and a thick body of mine.
but still the finger tips were sharply pressing into the palms of my hands and the thumb was stuck inbetween the first two fingers or doing the trick of 'pill rolling' without the pills.
and all the while you are trying to concentrate, with deafness, pain and bright lights, with the sunshades on, the painkillers in your body, exiting from the chambers to be watched as you walk in a very crooked way out the door on a stick.
a weak smile on your face, unsure too how the teeth look. the prominent ones, the ones that are false, and as false as the smile i have to say.
who is taken in?
not a lot, and certainly not me.
and you try the 'come body relaxez vous' outside, to no avail.
and still you have to walk the history.
you walk it and live it because you cannot escape it, and many in that room knew it this time round and not the last, so those two experts were ignoring me!
then, when they do that, you know you are paranoid with every good reason.
we are a small country.
our paper trail is large and sometimes poor when convenient and sometimes enormously good when not so, for people like myself.
and also we are of small numbers with very little to do other than bad mouth our fellow man.
especially when they are down.
From the cow to the feet.
yep pretty much so.
less intelligent go for the veneer, such as clothing, and inspect and consider nice or nother.
and the intelligent go for the interior and consider if it genuine or neither.
and who gets it wrong and who gets in right.
the person wearing the clothes!
both internally and externally that person is right...to themselves and no one else.
everyone else's view is highly speculative, and perceptual.
it is not, i repeat not, realistic, intelligent or right.
it is not intellectually or right to shoot first and ask questions later.
and its not realistic to jigger, shake, contort for no reason nor be in a padded wheelchair for no reason for a full six years now.
and still the history is there, and no reason can be found for the person being in that damn bloody red chariot of fame, or infamy,  the medical exam was highly suspect so it cannot be used in evidence.
the good jury is out, and if no outsider gets in or the insider gets out, maybe one day the jury will be in on this dilemna.