Dork

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I was sitting out in the Bahama Hut a few minutes ago thinking how pleasant it was out there at 11pm with the night sounds being blown around by the wind and the gentle cracking of the possum crashing around in the bamboo and I got to thinking, as you do, what the Hell is so fascinating about a clump of bamboo when it has no fruit on it? Why live in a barren waste just to trot across to the neighbours to nosh on their avocados? Why not live in the avocado tree at the neighbours? Cos, like, I was stuck in that bamboo for fully 5 minutes the other day and I can quite confidently say, I didn't see anything exciting about it at all.

Of course, this not seeing might be because my eyes are a bit naff, that ridge of high pressure invading my eyeballs that I was yapping about a few weeks back but it's more likely that the possum is just a dork...


Dork - slang for penis, amongst other things. Sometimes an affectionate nickname, sometimes spat out in frustration. But I bet this takes the cake for Dorkdom. It came to me in my mail (thanks, Shane) and just goes to show how big a dork someone can really be.

Dear Diary

Tomorrow I am going to see the eye specialist about the pressure in my eye balls that is much too high to be normal but has existed too long without making me go blind to be glaucoma.

It was noted in the eye man's report in 2001 when MS first came to live with me on a permanent basis.

I want my MRI, dammit.

:0(

Crochet, a dying craft?

**pulls out a fresh towel**

My Nana didn't knit or crochet, but if she had, I don't think they would have looked like these...



This is my, er, favourite. I think.



Certainly something a little different to give that beloved new grand child, eh.

PS - spot what's wrong with the co-joined teddies...

Lookalikes

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Our old girl had her birthday the other day - Nushie is 9, definitely a graceful old lady.



Looking at her, I got to thinking how right that old saying might be, the one so many people have trotted out and giggled at in the years we have been the owners of a mighty Shar Pei.

"Dogs look like their owners".

Oh I just laugh and laugh every time someone (usually the same friend) trots that one out but maybe they have seen a truth I missed until tonight - we do have some resemblances...

• She is short. So am I.
• She a natural brunette. So am I (underneath whatever dye I'm wearing, anyway).
• She is stiff and sore after lying or sitting down, so am I.
• She's as ugly as sin to those who value outward appearance over worth, and so am I.
• She is old and wrinkled, need of a face lift and mostly taken for granted. So am I.
• She is resigned to spending her days in useless sleepy boredom and so am I (almost).
• We both like riding in the car, we both have trouble getting to the loo in time, we both have a facial hair problem and we've both been spayed. 

• Best of all, we both get told to move our fat arse.

And what more could a fat, old bitch want on her birthday than scones, cake, pikelets with jam and 3 rides in the car.

Speaking of middle age, I thought sex in the Middle Ages was Nookie in the Norty Forties, but it looks like I was wrong...

Hot

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

This young lady, Adele has a wonderful bluesy, blowsy voice.



I love it.

I'm sorry to say I was not familiar with the song, even though it's been covered by more artists than you've had hot crumpet (well, than I have, anyway), nor did I realise it was a Dylan song and there are some excellent versions of it on YouTube, but I'm also sorry to say the worst version is definitely the one done by Bob. No-one can murder a terrific Dylan song like Bob.

*waits for Flattie to untangle his knackers and deliver a withering broadside*

I'm dead meat now, aren't I?

Thank God the car was repaired today; they can put my box on a trailer behind it and tow me up to the Crem. Speaking of boxes, I still haven't finished designing mine. I'm still leaning towards flaming currency, though. After all, everything in life is some form of currency, isn't it? God knows, we seem to never stop paying, one way or another...

Mongrel fucking cars

**pulls out a fresh kitchen towel roll**

I don't like my car. It failed a WOF this morning on front brake pads, not unexpected cos it's been a bit spongy and soft for a wee while and I'm a hard braker lol. I didn't mention the rough CV joints on accelerated turning, and neither did the WOF guy so maybe they aren't bad, just annoying, but tonight the transmission shat itself. By that, I mean it stopped moving and started grinding when I was backing up at the vege shop. It didn't want to go forwards, either. Going via reverse to get to park was interesting - the grinding got louder. Starting in Park was fine, until one exited via Reverse and then everything ground and it still went nowhere. It even grinds in Neutral.

Now it's parked up at the vege shop locked in their yard, me and the dog walked home (not far but too far for me *sigh*) and I'm kicking myself that I remembered to lock the bitch up. Maybe tomorrow I could be claiming the insurance money cos some shits burnt it out, being parked in the dark, isolated area it is. My insurance still covers me for $2500 agreed value, it won't be worth the cost of a new tranny, the car's only worth $800 on a good day.

Up side?

I could have been in the 5 o'clock rush, or way over the other side of the Bridge, or somewhere on the open road - Open Road might not have been pretty.... Instead I was 300 metres from home and a 1km tow to my mechanic.

It did it BEFORE I spent $150 on it on Friday to get the new brake pads fitted.

I have the Corolla to use as necessary, but being a manual my legs aren't too good for too long.

I have so far managed to withstand the impulse to drive the Corolla down there and unlock it.

It just caps off a really, really crappy week.

Determined

**rummages for a new box**

I wonder sometimes, as a somewhat uncommitted believer in pre-birth spiritual self-determination, whether some of those self-help, spiritual awareness books might just be pulling the wool. Just a tad.

I think of it like this...

All these books leading us to Spiritual Awareness (a bargain at only $44.99 or two for $90) speak of healing the mind and soul, using the power of positive thinking to bring to us that which we would most like to have (Love, money, fame etc), paying it forward when giving back to the One, the Universe in return for the bounty It provides.

All good stuff, yes?

But, like, what if we really did choose this existence to further our spiritual learning as we reap/sow Karma with gay abandon and encounter endless unhealed pain and sickness, unanswered wants and needs, warts and all? Giving up would be the smart thing to do, yes? Cos we already chose it so we can't change it when we don't like it.

Then either we are some seriously fucked up bunnies, or I want some of the drugs those enlightened authors are on, and Mick Jagger, too. He reckoned that you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you might find you get what you need.

Right.

Maybe it's all in the drugs I am on...

Of course, if you want to delve into the whole "One" issue, you could always read 'One' by Richard Bach. He had the best drugs of all.

Oh God yes.

Wild, baby

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

When I was younger, one of my most favourite books was Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.



Now, it's a movie.



If only we could all be like Max and come home to a hot supper and a world all set to rights. Wouldn't that be cool

UPDATE: hehe look, some poor sad arsed cunt had to go an nobble the pic of the book. FFS I've just given it a bloody plug, must suck to be them lol

Update the Update 24/4: And now they've gone and put it back again *snort*

Yes, well, um

**hides the tissues**



and shopping bags for men...

Sometimes even I am rendered speechless... but this sort of made up for it

Well, well, well

**pulls back the cobwebs**

What can I say? The days are inching past with no letup nor pause and neither do the MS bits. The hands are still numb, the will is still there but the legs are still weak, the days are still too long and the nights are endless yet still I accomplish little of note.

It's sort of like being in prison, I suspect, but without the under floor heating.

These guys are in prison



and check out the chick lol

I haven't mowed the lawn lately or gardened barely at all in weeks, the last lot of the summer veg is sitting in the fridge for the second night waiting to be cooked and I need more MS-sized nana naps.

Well, a girl has to power down occasionally if she's going to keep looking her best. Eh.

Notes to self

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Occasionally, despite randomly chronicling my MSy shit in the blog, there are things I put in to do with my current state that I should be writing down for me, for future reference. Like a diary of my condition, cos I forget things and then go blank at the Doc's when he says "So how long has THIS been going on?" sort of thing.

So, I found a crude little text box generator to add a speshul Dear Diary box so I can keep track of where I'm at, where I've been and, more importantly, where I'm going and it's randomly coming to a text box near you.

If I remember.

It seems kind of fitting to introduce it on April Fools Day even if, every day, it's me that plays is the Fool :0)

Dear Diary

It's April 1st.
This is the new Dear Diary box. Get used to seeing it pop up occasionally. It will be filled to overflowing with Notes to Self.

Enjoy!

OK, that will do for now, you can go.