we all love a party

Yes, i believe we all do!
and smiling and especially laughing makes you live longer - er, its been researched that those who shop for things everyday live longer too.
And in the future men will live longer and i think women a little longer too.
so in essence it is believed HAPPINESS makes you live longer...
what produces that Happiness?  we will judge a few people who lived long lives without much complications on the illnesses side - the Queen Mother, The Queen, Prince Phillip, oh dear, my list is drying up...there are many.
But tell me, ALL named who can be listed are in the upper economic bracket, and research shows that the disadvantaged etc, are sicker and live mostly shorter lives than those who are priviledged.

We have the research and we have the resources to keep people happier and living well and less stressed lives.
Medicine has advanced, technical aids for disabled people have advanced.
Occupational Therapies and physiotherapy techniques have advanced too.
Along with all the information in the world on best nuitrition and best practise on the living of each day.
Good sleep, nuitrition, avoid stress, laugh, exercise and relax.
all research reveals the present known elixor of life and living.
How many attain this, and why?
my hyposisis being, lack of money, lack of family and service support and a lack of willingness to share the burden and load, lack of volunteerism and lack of charity, unselfishness and all that named 'stuff' and many reading this know all this in bucket fulls.
Tell me how a person who is disadvantaged can attain the same equality of standards as the elite, well i say, never.
EVer.  Even the amount we can attain is beginning to be worse despite all the research and advancements in the past decades.  We all KNOW what it means to have a good life, a purposeful life and a happy life.
we all know how science can make huge improvements to daily living for those who are disabled etc.
we all know that money and lack of support is the root of the evil of being unable to attain our best, to utilize our best qualities and to have a purpose, a role and a fulfilling life.
Smacking against us all is for many, stigma, lack of money and certainly never lack of wish, will nor wanting to get to that mini elixor, and i say Mini for none with a disability have huge expectations, but some have dramatic wishes and aims.
when you become disabled, you absolutely know without question, the difference between the 'haves and the have not.'
And also how you work through going to the theatre with a hearing and mobility impairment and do not have access to a van or car?
How can you get that medication that will help with the pain when your insurance in America has run out or your claims to insurance are refused for the slightest suggestion that you have enough money to but it alone or whatever.
How do you get that child to school if you are deaf, using a wheelchair, without a van, car a christian or other, helper.
Daily the struggle exists.
Lack of money leads to lack of services - and when there are some services they are less than professional and under a huge weight to economise on their giving etc, as here in Ireland.
Lack of money always in situations which are severe say in health terms automatically leads to stress, anxiety and increases pain thresholds, sleepless nights, flare ups of chronic illnesses etc.
Many are thinking how they can keep their homes, and many are still looking for ones as twin and i are which will accommodate our needs, that is on limited resourses in money terms and support terms, and the services in Ireland our HSE is now being run down or is being shut down slowly but in essence it shut down at least a half a decade ago or more.
To think of the disadvantaged in Africa and also east europe, some parts of america and such is adding to the mix that without the money and the support, the children who are deaf are still tied to trees in the dessert and let die, seriously that is so.
and with all the advances in medicine and research we are going back to the cave man mentality, if a burden 'put away' and also the Innuit custom of giving an older person enough to eat for a certain length of time, closing up the entrance to the igloo and moving on to the next place to find food etc and the elderly die in this way.  this is accepted or was.  For it was the survival of the fittest.
Tell me can anyone answer this one - why have we done all the research, spent millions and billions on researching the why and how people can have a happier life and die at an old age after a quality life when those who need the research findings so badly even to get on the first rung of the ladder to attaining just that which is advocated.
we have to get real.
far more will have to recognise that the divide stays with us for ever through the millenium but also with knowledge and brain expansion we should realise that if we are intelligent in any shape or form one has to help out the less fortunate and the disabled. in tiny sherds of ways,  put back a beautiful piece of pottery sherd by sherd and do as much to reveal the beauty of the pattern, even if the vessal cannot hold the wine, the person is the revered until the end of that persons life.
do we realise this or want to help a disadvantage person in the community.
a sad fact is NO.
anyone who says otherwise is fooling themselves.
to kick the teeth in too, of sick people and disabled persons is a scandel beyond forgiveness, to undermine what is left of that person is an evilness of intent to do just that for no reason.
to ignore too is an evilness especially if religion of any kind is important to an individual.
and mottos of Action not words' remains as useful as all the research that show the how we can be happier and live longer, words are useless.
end of rant, but lets take up the battle cry for better services first, for all on the ground trying to get on the first rung of the ladder.
Voices please, Action please and the world will be a 'happier place'

New day has dawn, yep, resurrection moya!

The lambs are gambling, the honey is being made, sun shining so all is good with our world.
40 days of penitence, we give up the sweets, the chocs, the drink and perhaps more besides, we then do the thumping of breasts in woeful sorrow, the nails are used again in human flesh, omg! thus is the dignity of the human body our God supposedly gave to us, sure he never intended for another to nail on a cross, he did it for all - so we could see a resurrection from - sin and also a new way to eternity, and that is what i say 'moyah' to.
its the penitence, the new day and way.
where have i seen all this.  well most Easters anyway.
you think that with the sunny comes the goodness and goddesses and god like behaviours, but you get the funnies instead.
well not so funny really but certainly few have found the way to better behaviours and embrace their own kind and so 40days of supposedly spending that time in reflection (going nuts for sugar), was not engaged with, the strict loyalty to your promise to refrain from the candy yes, your ability to work the brain, no.
no brain was worked for me over the Easter period.
I dont expect it, but then you do hope - what is Easter, a start for the bright new day and a new horizon and new beginnings, aka in the souls of the church goers and also in the souls of those who do not.
it was the same bloody awful event.
Last year i got nicked for not having a tax disc in date, when i am exempt from paying tax.
this year i didn't get nicked nor a choc egg, last year i did, and a gluten free eggie too, this year i got those wee wooden ones, on a bit of string.
The charity too in generosity of seeing me there along with twin was a-missing too.
for the party was over and we were invited to the afters, but there were no afters.
a suggestion was made we sleep in the conserve while the horses jumped over sticks.
I and my partner in life the twin agreed on the same line of thinking, we were not in anyway good enough comparison to the four legged horse so we legged it, our four legs home.
we had started out absolutely knackered, as only sick people know, and as only severely compromised in all organs and limbs know.
the hair was washed, we fished for the nicest of outfits we took time dressing and then had a rest.
we sat in that van and couldn't start the journey without a wee pause to catch the energy to do so.
to drive on no juice is a masterly task, and the twino dying for sleep as the eye lids showed heavy.
and my belly needed a long drink and my eyes were weary of the strong light, we begged for the swinger, with head nuts touching to embrace each other in our lonliness, our togetherness and our conditions for which we have aplenty and a sign that it be acknowledged by us as none others do.
so the lonliness of the wicked twin sisters was felt all the more abundantly after our huge effort to arrive not before three pm, we hit that with five minutes to go.
we have been lavishly lashed for 'being spoilt' when we opted for sleeping on the swinger, whilst the horses who were jumping sticks were being watched in another room by our host.
we came home gutted, depressed and even more tired.
we sat silently on that swinger and just felt empty, no words could explain it, swinging and swinging whilst the blackbird sang and the iron works creaked, i must oil them joints as the twin hates the noise.
that is the rusty parts of the swinger, for oil wont do for my own for sure.
we departed then.
i got into my jammies, and twin slept on the swingseat, her shoes with the leg brace sticking out from under a light throw, her black hair tossed.
i went onto the bed and wanted to weep.
what the hell is it about.
and where is all this leading my friend, the future, like. where?
my twin still remains on the sofa, the dog in coolock, and i have to say more rooms out there to serve a good job but which lie in crisp irish linen, unrumpled, vacant as our heads felt on our return from one.
so many comfortable rooms to lay a head in the forests of beauty other than sleep on a sofa in a tiny room in alcoholic boosie land.
the birds sing here too, thank god for that.
but i have to say, they do so knowing the joy of resurrection of a new day and a day for plenty and plenty to sing about after a long winter.
not so the human for which the world is supposed to turn for.
not so the Human for whom God sacrificed himself and his body on a cross, he didn't ask us to copy this act, he asked us to do what the act suggested and he did it to show the world that he loved us so, so much he gave his life.
those that hammered  nails into their flesh in recognition of this would do better to stay out of the hospitals and get mrsa but use the hands for the good of others.
God understands that, as many would, God doesn't understand belting nails into the modern man's flesh for demo and nothing more.
bring back the resurrection, and let us all live as it was intended, to share all and to share joy and to help each other along the way of life.
dont abandon all to be swingers.

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.

Them bones them bones them dry bones!

I think that is the way the old song goes, and thats the way the bones were, dry and disconnected, dislodged and disconcerting!
Well we were in a graveyard, and who would wander so deep to gather wood, no not for fire as in cremation, but as in decoration...
today was a good day...at the graveyard and grave side.
i was utterly shocked to see my dad has been dead for eleven years and my sister for fourteen.
Time flies, and remember we shall all be them bones.
Hopefully not found on the surface as my twin found as she foraged, she feels they were a joint, definitely a joint and she is an x-nurse.
so either an elbow or knee.
when i told her there was a vast difference, she said she was not going down to sniff it or inspect further or closer, but it was a joint, poking out, dislocated, disconcerting, in the depths of furtherlands at the graveyard.
we had loaded up today.
it was after a wander looking again for our 'forever homes' and we saw some possibilities.  we decided to pop into our Pop's grave to sort of stand and contemplate and ask the dead a favour, that is for Dad and Louise to think of us and find us a home.
we decided then that it was very very bare, lonely and dislocated, although new chippings had been put down, as you could nearly see bones, up until now, literally, the grave had sunk for a second time.
we wanted then, all of a sudden to decorate, make part of the living world, own it, not desert it but care for it.  I believe that is what older folk do do when it comes to the end of their lives.
the younger are too busy being young!
but we felt livened and energetic and called into the Windy Arbour (garden centre), for suggestions and ideas.
 i already had the idea of alpine plants for between the graves.  a tiny gravel dirt inch edging all around would have coped with this sort of plant, i felt.
mags loves flowers, she picked some beauties, gentle soft blues, with a hint of silver grey, they were smaller than a pansy, i think called viola.
she also picked another blueish plant.
Home we went with a few alpines and blues, feeling sunny and all warm as in yellows of the sun rays and shine of sunflowers (which are doing nicely at three inches high).
we had a dinner and debated our housing dilemma and choices, a few emails were sent on this topic and a further debate on whether to wait for the Irish v. England rugby match or come back for the second half.
we decided on the latter.
we wandered my yardenette and chose some Pinks, and some pots and planters, then the tools of the gardening trade, two small seats, the hats, gloves and many a full flowering or ready to, troughs of other greens which will be tulips and other.
As in 'we don't know' but surely will..in time...if time allows, and if the slugs do too.
Now we had everything and off we set.
We sat, purple pots, luminous green watering can, blue floppy hats and pansies, a clatterer on some poor persons deserted and very very lonesome grave of gravel and dirt dating back to the early eighteeth century.  Protestant.
We were on the Prods side of the graveyard, the catholics are on the other. Louise is in the middle being half of one and half of the other, she goes in with our dad who was full Protestant, with never a half about it, but maybe presbyterian, for i believe his mother may have been that, well i think she was and no maybe either.
Hence some family members are on opposite sides and others in Glasnevin on very much the opposite end of the opposite side.
My Dad is here and my Ma is there!
we got digging but not for bones.
Mags sat on a tiny blue plastic stepper, and i sat on a green real gardening seat for disabled and frail!
i scratched the edges, scoured and picked and hacked out pebbles and dry earth.
I had my blue hat on and twin, after she had discovered the bones on a wander told me some bare back of mine was visible so i had to sort that, see the sun destroys my DNA, in truth and reality.
I had the factor 80 or something on as well.
I was hot.  the sun beat down.
my twin sat after the bones and did the planters in the middle.
i scratched, as i already have said and laid out my alpines, pulling them apart to get more plants, but dividing gently so as not to hurt the tender roots.
i gave Mags some to put behind her on that edge, so i could see how it all was gonna look.
then came the adding of peat, the scrouvvel again with the shovel.
and a pat here, a brush there, and a lovingly perfect line of soil, plus a combo of different spreading (eventually) alpines.
i patted all around, stepping on my dad and sis, sometimes saying 'sorry' but mostly not, for i was taken up with the task at hand.
 i hardly noticed the twin but knew she was equally taken up, as i would know when she needed to get off her stool and straighten up!
we were mighty pleased.
a grave decorated, a visual feast for a dead person and persons, and a feeling that we did good in good honour on this small patch in a vast dead place of many.
we were visualising our own homes too, with their possibilities of gardens and sharing and togetherness if possible.
we wondered then after i took pics with my mobile phone, which i will never know how to download.
and so home -
To the rugby match and to our delight it had not even started, someone timed that well and someone got the timing wrong!
we settled, but felt something missing...food, nice sort...sweet and sugary and delightful.
the twin got up, dressed, she was starkers and scooted down to the small shop for a 'surprise' of delights, fully clothed.
i put the tools of gardening trade back in their places, brushed out the unit (it ain't a home).
and then brushed out my yardenette, i love it, as i do all outdoors.
Mags returned and was furious with me, she claimed i had done enough for one day and true i had.
Solpadol next! They are painkillers for those of foreign lands, who may read this!  Ooh, jammy doughnuts, six for two euros. someone did well there.
we settled.
i couldn't for long, it was a right tribal war on that pitch.  very physical and something rather  very macho with bottoms and bums in the scrums, something i coudn't imagine for self and wondered how they coped, and also wondered did anyone ever fart in that situation!
Anyway, such excitement, as we were demolishing England and relishing this fact by manic heart attack type cheering in the full Aviva stadium, i could not cope with.
the dystonia went wild, the legs dug deep and wrapped around the sides of the sofa, the arms were mid air or behind my head in a paralised seizure of contractions, due to excitement of an entirely different type than you are imagining.
i had to move. unwrap and flap to ease the bones and muscles and joints!
i cleaned again, as that too is basic and all i am able for and good at right now.
the twin hollored and told the team off, i asked if she was preparing for another career as coach.
We won.
the Irish celebrated.  Our now world famous Brian O'Driscoll had managed two records, most capped captain and most capped captain scorer and other.
anyway two records on same day two days after Paddy's day, not bad that eh?
Mags and i dressed again, she switched from pink trousers into her purple, and i took the pink put them on and we went..to the train station and agreed it was a varied and very very enjoyable day, a satisfying day.  a fun and nice day, an enjoyable day enjoying each others company, enjoying what we do best together and enjoying the life that is in us and in the day that was innit.
it was a good day for dry bones and joints.

Celebration PADDY!

Happy St. Paddy's Day, where ever you may be, 'we' have em in America, Australia, New Zealand, UK and all over, oh Canada as well, best wishes to my relatives overseas, in Dubai, Toronto and London.
Best wishes to all in Ireland too, in Mayo, Tipp and also Dublin, Co. Wicklow and scattered.
there were rather two scattered Pads today as we bundled up the nearest and latest crisis.
we seem to be having them in more than spades of late.
I guess buying the plonkers yesterday for our skulls might have helped us get rid of the Black Dog and find the Funny Bone today.  The parade did that, and Black Dog, well we shall have to ask  Paddy Doyle whatever happened Black Dog, i think he was banished by the Children of Ireland helped by Uncle Ernie.
The Black Dog around my parts is not that of chihuahuas nor of the Bulldog description nor the bouncy saff, of who we shall see asap.
more so of irate family members.  There seems to be them in spades too.
Too many black dogs running around like chaos gone galloping.
By the end of the day, lets hope...we have to, that the children of Eire helped by Ernie, the horses of Cheltenham, helped by Jocks and night helped by weariness will have staved off the dogs of black, with a capitol D, and then tomorrow, the parade of Colour and enlightenment will start the brave new dawn.
I picked my dear twin up in tears, red nose, tired around the eyes, very flat for a paddy, indeed.
Well this paddy wasnt so great either, for i seemed to the obstacle in the way of fantastic jubilation of the day!
Criptics can be uncripped and clipped by the crippled.
When the heart is full and willing, to spread whatever is left of jubilee, nothing can banish this.
snakes do slither far and wide but banishing laughter and jokes at an older age is not for the doubty, but for the young.
My twin and i are the willing and full.
we are SO willing to wake each morn and face it.
whatever it brings, the day has to be faced...crisis after crisis and forever.
The day there will be more than a funny bone to lift us up will be the day we are on the horses back (yikes :(!)
We both need peace in spades, if the crippled are reading this we are talking about PEACE!
but the crippled will never know themselves.
or are they THAT foolish.
i cannot on line say the unspeakable.
My twin and i need PEACE.
We need a home, not blown about the country side like tumbleweed nor dandelion clocks.
We need to be earthed not by the leaden legs nor clumpy feet but in spirit and soul.
We do know the capacity to end our torture is there.
the anxiety, the pain, the frustration, the endlessness of wondering when we both will have a home to call our own, not a camp down in a difficult unit or household.
a real home, where dogs can run free and bring joy, where we can refresh each other with cups of tea rather than shore each other up from the tears spilt.
this is supposed to be HOLY IRELAND.
It isn't, by no stretch of the imagination.
the tub of shamrock handed over in crystal, is not the tub the twin and i drank from today, nor the swathes of the rich in America who donned the green.
the twin and i though did it in just as much style but also in struggle.
tis more than the banks that have gone unjingled here, i want to say.
the brats of wealth and spoilers for others have done that in bag loads.
So who goes to bed a happier man or woman today in Holy Ireland?
I hope the guy sitting by the sea with his wee Princess, for princess was gorgeous and princess wasn't that old but well loved indeed. A shitz zu!
My princess is not getting any younger either, and i love her well, but poorly at times, but Love her very very much.
the blight is here still on my shore, the rain will come all too soon again, the mist come down, the darkness will dampen spirits, and the funny bone will have to be found all over again.
But did not the children rid the land of the Black Dog today?
surely fantasy reins for one day?
it is not over yet, the 24hrs of the 17th day of the third month of the year 2011 is not over.
Apologize those who have hurt others today and at least be resolved to go to bed comforted.
but one apology has to be meant as in the christian way, that is, you have to wake up and act the apology out by not being hurtful again, and penitence is required too.
a home please, to settle the weary.
i will know i did my best today, i tried.  God loves a trier.
but a christian would not allow me wander the land of milk and honey today.

To Kill a Mockingbird

How do you escape i ask and i think of the guy in this famous tale.
Never doubt it, the sins, real, imagined or perceived will never ever be forgotten.
Each and everyone of us has transgressed in Life.
that is part of being human.
what i wonder is, how human is lynch mobs, lynch mobs especially on character and personality.
This is all general, in the general scheme of things.
Look how far the personal disasters stretch down your generations before you and in the immediate lineage?
Mine?
well mine are clear and cut.
there is not one soul alive who knows me who does not know my past, my present and some even my future.
Has there been either rethinks, forgiveness, now that is too, asking for forgiveness in the light of what a person may know of me - if they bother to befriend me.
where has the sin occurred, and is the original sin, still being acted out in the minds of many?
or even myself?
well please decide.
what has been put aside, what has been taken up - on all sides.
squarely.
remember, no one escapes this personal analysis of sins.
it is a deep set mindset.
People are watching and waiting for the emission of 'i told you so.'
One step out of the line of society's expectation of norm you are gone, and cut and usually cut out.
Ireland is neither a "secret society."
In the end all will be levelled.
all will be out in the wash.
In small and insular societies, say on a small populated island which ireland is, a fact it doesn't recognize! er, and large expanses of say america where there are small disconnect societies, away from sort of mainstream, levels of broadmindedness and different  and varied attitudes, you will find the cut throat, of the valley, the valley of the squinting windows.
there is nothing greater to relieve the boredom i guess!
and the flea analogy comes to mind, again.
all hopping fleas from one body to the other, and the bite is woeful painful.
you bite me, i bite you, she bites her and he bites the other, so on and so forth.
its never a lick nor soft touch.
it jugular language of APES.
you know the beating of breasts and the barred manic teeth and the absolute dominance of the bully or the alpha male.
unfortunately its even seen in kids now.
the honking of the irate driver.
the screeching of the wounded women and the yowling of the angry men.
animal like.
there is no point in saying that human is superior.
you know that its far from.
you look around you and see, who sniped a shot across your bow today?
who yelled and screamed, who scuffed you in the street, turned away pretending not to see.
who made you invisible today, in words, silence, deed or the yowl.
and every inch of your life has been a book on their shelves.
they know you.
You say you do have secrets amongst you.
but there are none.
most human beings are replicas of the generations before, as if and in 'been there, done that, i know that, its all too familiar, omg not coming out in THIS generation again?
and omg, dont even contemplate telling HER.
cos if you do, well what will she do with the info?
usually nothing, cos someone else has done something with the info before the dreaded ostracized.
now books.
files as thick as tomes reign supreme.
you cannot escape and there are no secrets.
you are categorized, sized up, measured and weighted.  you are consigned.
designated to be slotted.
designated to be sorted, squeezed dry.
the whole point of such vile treatment of one toward another is, dominance.
it has less, far less to do with a person who has not stopped at the red light.
far more to do with the opportunity that provides to prove it to others that 'well, at least I did not do that, or that, or that!  Nah, no you didnt - but you did this, and this, and this and THAT!
what was it in the bible.  it is a well known phrase, and in all religions and philosophies and rarely acted upon - take the log out of your own eye before you take the splinter out of others.
Information mate.
what happens the information of lives within a supposed secret society which isn't one without a doubt.
its like a toilet, it finds the general pool, no stopping.
it can be stopped, some of it, at the S-bend, at least its slowed down there but once down, round and over its OUT!
so, cellotape of lips is a request yes, but what if you  cellotape the wrong lips and some are not so or become unzipped in some shape or fashion.
we then have the footsteps in the dark in the leaves and the preconceived ideas.
ooh, watch that window and watch them curtains.
Big brother is watching you!

Mad Sad and Bloody awful

I would like to know 'who can be right?'

Here goes as i try to explain....
Eventime, yesterday i felt ghastly.  Legs very wibbly wobbly, pain off the richter scale, sickness as in vomiting up, near or near abouts, and i was brutal.
these are serious times, for i have to work this one out very very carefully.
Why?  i am in Ireland, and i am I.
and if you wonder still again...i am one of the defectives according to your man in the US of A who decided all who suffer pain or psychological distress should be shipped to Siberia.
(he also stated the world was overpopulated anyway, and i wonder will the disaster in Japan, do?).  Well, is he anyway near satisfied that enough innocents have died there as in population control?  Rentokil pales my friend.
Now back to overpopulation in Holy Ireland.
well we are not, and will be depopulated soon by emmigation and at the A&E's.
More explaining...i tend to waffle.
I ended there.  the considerations i carried out last night were way off, that bloody richter scale.
In i go, and out i came two and a half hours later, no doc, no pillow, no sip of water, no exam, no nothing.  nothing!  oh, i filled a pee-pot that had fallen out of my hand at the toilet rolled under it in the wet only to be picked up by my male attendant and handed back to me!
who cares anymore, as the last time one was rolled to me under the door, i pretended i had dropped it and given another.
so this time you don't care.
with a wheelchair bumped along, jerking into a cubicle too small in the wash room.
Oh i hurt so.
asked about the pain when i came in on a scale of 1-10 i said it was up around 9.  well it wasn't, it was way over.
but see, these are only numbers!  they don't know how it feels.
as this explanation fits the feelings i have, and i have them be not without a doubt.
I am told i have Sjoghens Syndrome.  that was about two years ago or a bit more.
'ah dont worry about it, its relatively mild condition,' and even when i was sitting there in the wheelchair i muttered 'Mild, i dread to think what its like if its BAD!'  He sort of giggled a bit too. I never heard of the blinking condition.
anyway i go away, two years ago and a bit or more.
it is ten times worse now then then (don't worry about the numerals, no one understands their meaning in the face of illness).
the eyes are sticky and ache, you cannot read, you cannot be in bright light, well you can hardly be in any light actually.
they feel as if they have grit in em..all the time, like.
your nose is dry and scratchy, it feels like er, sandpaper in them nostrils.
it is clogged with hard stuff (no not nice and it doesn't feel any nicer either).
your skin is dry and thin, bruises easily, especially in a flare.
the palms of your hands are red and on fire, fire.
you cannot place them on any surface.
your finger joints are oh achy, achy and you rub em to try and make it go away taking the fingers with em for who wants them if they can cause this amount of pain.
you cannot flex some knuckles, a bit of a hindrance when typing.
your knees are f...k...in bits, you cannot let even soft throws lie over them and its painful to walk.
your neck is also in same way, you want to lie flat and remain so.for ever.
you have raynauds which is supposed to go with the sjogrens along with the RA factor, but don't worry on the latter, it isn't Rheumatoid arthritis, just feels like it and its non deforming. ur? Its a fake sort of arthritis, but fake hurts! Its a factor Rheumatoid artritis, whatever the factor part means, i couldnt be bothered even finding that one out.
the raynauds has you trying to type in mitts, sticking hands and feet out of bed one minute and then back in bed the next for first they are on fire and next they are icy cold.
you wear mitts in bed and a pair of woolly socks PLUS Aussie sheep slippers, the glove kind.  with the fur on and its soft and wonderful. it was worth my twins trip to australia if only for that.
well you wont notice it...like you wont feel it...like its only a mild condition...don't worry about the numbers either, i say...up yours!
no part of the flesh can be in touch with textured materials, you lie on fake silk.  but you can only do this for a while cos if you stay in one place and you really wanna the body unders started to scream with pain.  the underside of the legs that is, for they are effected worse by far.
you are overheating so the window has remained open all winter day and night.
the heating is off, until that becomes unbearable.
you go from being too hot to being too cold, with or without the heating on.
you sweat buckets, even though past the menopause.
dont forget that one, i AM past the menopause, contrary to what a doctor thought a year ago when he asked me was i pregnant, i had a crohns blockage, and i was 57 at the time, no unless by divine intervention i say.  the gut was trying to get rid of a stuck lump of food, a bit like a lumpy baby i guess, bloody felt the same, same idea, involuntary muscles and contracting every fifteen minutes, problem is, you dont get a nice squawl at the end of it, you get er, nothing, sod all, nothing whatsoever for your pain but abuse, "HEY, be quiet, there are REAL sick people here!
oh the crohns disease is only supposed to be 'a mild case' of it.
like hell sir, like hell, you don't have part of your intestine out for a mild case of anything.  That is considered Major surgery, so who mentioned 'mild?'
you dont sit on the toilet with cramps, sickness and a fan in your hand for want of a mild case of it.
it either comes down or it doesn't, and it comes down.  Use your imagination on that one please.
We are still with the Primary Sjogrens Syndrome.
Its a doddle, according to em.
Is it really, and you on fire?
the head is thumping too.
Not to mention the fibromyalgia.  Now THAT is equal to warrant a trip to siberia to friggin freeze to death!
this is supposed to be all in the mind..aka last night for two hours next to the laundry closet.
In A&E.
try this one, its neat, pain...on a grand scale, and if you knock an elbow or someplace else. You will soon know about it, and that has you bent in two holding the part that cracked a knob, doubled over like on the toilet seat with a crohns flare.
and if all three flare at the same time.
You want Siberia! You want it, not an Irish A&E/

so this is all mild eh?
say that to the cronnies on Irish Health.com and also the Sjoggies there too and all suffering from fibro.
THEY say it to each other, all us sickies, say it as it is.  and you are understood implicitly without any bloody number games.
they KNOW what you are talking about.
every inch of it, ever body part of it.
and i can tell you every body part hurts with these conditions.
no one ever mentioned the TIREDNESS and chronic fatigue.  They forgot that one ok, left the good til last, well its a good un. that.
You are a walking zombie, like a womble of wimbledon, a right womble zombie for sure.

the crunch of it all is NEVER say to a doctor on leaving hospital after MAJOR surgery that you are not feeling so good, why?  doesnt matter, you are OUT.
the night nurse may say the wound is hot, the doctor on call say the same but the consultant has a poke around the wound down your middle and declares you fit to go...so i go...and ask the sis to drive slowly...two days later...wound bursts....out flows...grey liquid into the air...yep we now have a massive infection.
Do they know, right, if they ask you how bad the pain is on a scale to one to ten...do you suggest anything to them?
I can think of a few things i would like to say, the first being...does it make THAT much of a difference..to you?
I was out of that place frying up like a prune, stay with the chihuahuas Ann for God's sake and HEALTH's sake, stay with the chis.
Medicine good medicine, is a few ounce of white fur balls.  each for one palm of the hand, light, fluffy, soft and even the little tongues that lick are small and not like sandpaper.
you are welcomed with beautiful bug eyed brown orbs and a twitching nose, wet and cold, and you say, lets go to bed.
you do, and you wrap around two tiny beating hearts of GOLD.
to-night on a scale of one to ten, how is it...up there mate, without the sickness for i have been flat on my back all day or most of it.