It's the end of another day in 'Sanitation-Land', I work, we'll get back to this point later, as a self-employed Cleaner, and since it's Monday, I'm having my me-evening. This may sound luxoroius to the unitiated. Well, my day consisted of driving from client a to b with a sick pup in the backseat, caughing her heart out and looking at me with begging eyes, and I cant do anything because the darn thing is viral. She picked it up in the park, I only brought them there last week to give them something special, and didn't I succeed?
Next we have her mum, looking at me as if I'm some kind of idiot having forced upon her this plastic collar...'It's only a scratch on my paw Mum' yes but you eat it, and it becomes yellow and stinky and red and inflamed and Mummy has to clean it sitting on a wet towel with pup runnign around caughing her heart out and you refusing to have your paw cleaned and me wretching having to clear the gunk...so no thanks, collar stays on.
So in back-seat, caughing pup and collar-mum who thinks I'm an idiot. I talk with them in the car, stopping every now and then to put another great idea to 'my' (we'll get to that point too) novel on my dictaphone - which by the way is the voicerecorder on my mob.
Eventually get to the client who forgot I was coming today.Her mum who lives there laughs at everything, she even laughs when she speaks, so does the builder who's been there for over a year, everybody laughs, constantly, and it get's to my nerves because it's not a jolly happy genuine one but rather a 'i don't know what to say now so i am just going to laugh in between' and there's lots of laughing. 'Luckily' am sent to make some beds...big beds, it takes me an hour. Meanwhile I am plotting, and this is my only survival to not end up in a coo-coo-home through my mundane job, I am grateful that I am earning an income but when my head is exploding to finish the novel, it's hard work looking in to a wc, with someone's remains. Don't get me wrong here, I rather work than bum off the income whatever-it's-called benefit, but somedays, and today it was, it's hard work.
So, my plan is to go through the 'Artists' and Writers' Handbook 2008' and mark out all the relevant publishing houses, write to my adorable mum, no she ain't blind, nor Bono's mum, she's mine and she posed with my sunglasses, blog, write on the novel,
we'll get to that too, eat something, nutrious and not what I did yesterday; I was so high on having spent my first Sabbath, and most of all doing no WORK, but writing, speeding on McVities digestive milk chocolate biscuits and beer, we'll get to the eating stuff too, in my pink pyjamas, that I forgot to cook (no, I didn't foret o cook my pyjamas, I forgot to make dinner). Something I am going to do tis eve, and eventually watch something something Befana, hang on...(walks to find out proper title and stumbles across plastic-collar on the way) 'Goodbye Bafana', another title added to 'LoveFilm' for research purposes on who to cast for the film to follow the novel. We'll get to that one too.
Then read another 2 lines, that is as much as I get before I fall asleep, not of boredom, of knackeredness, of 'Totally Forgiving Ourselves' amaaazing book, in a nutshell, choose the peace that follows in forgiving yourself rather than the punishment with not, if you want to have a life. God has already forgiven you, and paid for it, so have it on Him, we'll get to that point too later....too many points, I might end up with no food or anything, well, if it goes on, I just continue tomorrow.
So, I finish the 'Laughing Cats Mansion' and drive back to the 'Valley of Henley' again. Get out of the car with 'Wrenching Caugh' and 'Plastic-Your-An-Idiot' to take them for a walk before I dispose of them at home, only on Mondays, don't call the RSPCA, when I notice a cold wet patch on my bum. Having both my hand tied with the two I can't really check it, so I wriggle around, people passing and so on, just to realise that I, grown up woman, have leaked onto my jeans. I tell you what, a year earlier I would have gone through acrobatics in trying to hold two dogs at the same time as wriggling my jacket off to tie it around my waist to hide 'The Patch of Shame' but you see..as a woman (I can call myself that again, and believe me, life on rocket-bottom levels of oestrogen is nothing to look forward to, I now know how it feels to be an old menopausal woman on no HRT-treatment, mastodontically AWFUL!) who hit premature menopause in September but was healed only a week ago by the Lord through prayers, I today wore my patch with pride, knowing that I will have a child, old-crazy-mum probably, but a darn good one. And I will call him Samuel and raise him a godly person to represent that what a man should be...a Man and not something that has been subdued to a woman's slave (and all the Feminist groups of Universe plan to bomb my home tomorrow).
Now you see, I could blog about this too, the reasons for increased violence and disorder in our society is the lack of a man/father-figure, because we (well not I personally) but speaking on behalf of the female (some of them you might wonder if they really are of the 0-+ race) have demasculated the men of our generation, with our constant nag, screams, manipulation and so on. Anyway...so blob, collar, caugh and I walked down the street, got them sorted. Grabbed another choc-cookie and out of the door I was. Have I told you I've put on nearly 2 stones since last year. Not difficult when you weigh 49kgs and the only proof for once-upon-breast are something that looks like used PG-pyramide teabags, we'll get to that one too. So I and my newly acquired double-chin, now with another set of trousers, am not that crazy, spend over 1 hr and a half, colouring my book for the right publishers, and was tired to see that I only had reached letter 'F' when I came across 'Fitzgerald Publishing', sounds inocouous eh? You think, listen to this 'Founded 1974' that's already suspicoius, you know the 70s generation of stuff, but why even mention 1974? Anyway, it gets worse; 'Specialises in the scientific studies of insects and spiders' at this point am almost choking of laughter on my well-earnt Fosters, then, 'Titles include "Keeping Tarantulas and Insects in Captivity", "Tarantulas of the USA"...can you hear Bruce Springsteen...'Boooorn in the USA'. I am not making any point at all, apart from that of one newly found on LSD which am not, just giggling my trousers off.
So far, publishers had been quiet elusive in their descriptions, you come to 'F' gagging for it to finish, bladder exploding, freezing as a punished race in the smoking-garden, thinking of 'Caugh' and 'Collar' trying to enjoy a beer after 'Laughing Cats' in a job you don't want to be in, dying to finish off the novel, searching for the right publishers...and you come across someone quite..I'm not going to use the word 'anal' because it's against my faith, but someone so 'I have got so much time on my hands I am going to write a Spec'... I might be going off the rails her but nevertheless...
Anyway, I come home and on this point, beloved, I thought of getting a kitten and call her 'Honey' so I can shout 'Honey, I'm home when I get in', I proceed to my 'You-have-No-friends' machine to verify that the only exciting 2 messages I have are those from when I scurried , vetting my calls from debt-collecting agencies (we will get to that point too) yesterday to verify that there were my beloved parents and later my beloved and only friend.
I'm again speeding on chocolate, luckily not still in my pink pyjamas, otherwise it would truly be a case to call the coo-coo-people. 'Caugh' has in fact not caughed since I came back, God heard me then, I prayed for her healing. Collar is off and paw, nicely tucked in a plastic bag (o that sounds terrible, her paw is in a bag...on her, i mean, attached, stilll attached, o dear this sounds worse the more I go about it...her paw is simply wrapped up for when we go out again) it's fastened with one of my hairclips, kind of cute.
They are chewing away, content on raw-hide, am smokig too much, thinking about all the stuff I want to put down on my novel tonight, so it can land and breaktrough the already high pile of unread manuscripts of publishers' desks next week, with too little time on my hands and the food i havent cooked yet and it's nearly nine. But hey, the story is here, in a week it will be on publishers' desks, or so I say to maintain sanity in my loo-cleaning, my dogs adore me, true I have one soulmate-friend, who needs an address-book of 50 aquaintances when you can have one true soulmate, Rossanna, I will see if I can put a link to her site here, so talented and most of all a beautiful soul Beech Grove Studio, and above everything, my parents, mum so affectionated and kind and dad so positive and outgoing, both with a heart of pure true GOLD with so much positivity they would be able to raise the dead.
I didn't realise I had so much to say, but looking at all the points I'd like to make, and seeing I can't make them tis eve, I shall come back to it.
In the meantime, I and patch shall make it in to the kitchen, cook, eat, write (ah this is another one, I'm currently in Paradise where everything is so beautiful and there is no sin. I am writing from a poetic heart but I am a joker too by nature, now, conflict, I can't make any jokes whilst we are at Eden, because lets face it, jokes many of times come out of stuff that doesn't exist in Eden. I will soon come out of Eden, I am about to write probably the next 4 most difficult pages of my life, it will make me, and probably the reader too, cry, but then we'll get to nowaday New York for a while before we get to Judea, in a time no one knows of. Maybe that's why am avoiding it, because of the tears...
So, off we go, bickies have finished, caugh has stopped, gone in to sneezing. God is healing her, should have taken 4 days and He has heard my prayers. Thank You Lord. She is now on my lap licking the chocolate bits off my jumper, completely in the way of the keyboard with a slight weeze but oh so loving...how could I possibly get a man in between our perfect threesome?
Collar is off, instead a wag and two pair of loving eyes saying, Mum, we love you, let's eat. And off we go.
Next we have her mum, looking at me as if I'm some kind of idiot having forced upon her this plastic collar...'It's only a scratch on my paw Mum' yes but you eat it, and it becomes yellow and stinky and red and inflamed and Mummy has to clean it sitting on a wet towel with pup runnign around caughing her heart out and you refusing to have your paw cleaned and me wretching having to clear the gunk...so no thanks, collar stays on.
So in back-seat, caughing pup and collar-mum who thinks I'm an idiot. I talk with them in the car, stopping every now and then to put another great idea to 'my' (we'll get to that point too) novel on my dictaphone - which by the way is the voicerecorder on my mob.
Eventually get to the client who forgot I was coming today.Her mum who lives there laughs at everything, she even laughs when she speaks, so does the builder who's been there for over a year, everybody laughs, constantly, and it get's to my nerves because it's not a jolly happy genuine one but rather a 'i don't know what to say now so i am just going to laugh in between' and there's lots of laughing. 'Luckily' am sent to make some beds...big beds, it takes me an hour. Meanwhile I am plotting, and this is my only survival to not end up in a coo-coo-home through my mundane job, I am grateful that I am earning an income but when my head is exploding to finish the novel, it's hard work looking in to a wc, with someone's remains. Don't get me wrong here, I rather work than bum off the income whatever-it's-called benefit, but somedays, and today it was, it's hard work.
So, my plan is to go through the 'Artists' and Writers' Handbook 2008' and mark out all the relevant publishing houses, write to my adorable mum, no she ain't blind, nor Bono's mum, she's mine and she posed with my sunglasses, blog, write on the novel,
we'll get to that too, eat something, nutrious and not what I did yesterday; I was so high on having spent my first Sabbath, and most of all doing no WORK, but writing, speeding on McVities digestive milk chocolate biscuits and beer, we'll get to the eating stuff too, in my pink pyjamas, that I forgot to cook (no, I didn't foret o cook my pyjamas, I forgot to make dinner). Something I am going to do tis eve, and eventually watch something something Befana, hang on...(walks to find out proper title and stumbles across plastic-collar on the way) 'Goodbye Bafana', another title added to 'LoveFilm' for research purposes on who to cast for the film to follow the novel. We'll get to that one too.Then read another 2 lines, that is as much as I get before I fall asleep, not of boredom, of knackeredness, of 'Totally Forgiving Ourselves' amaaazing book, in a nutshell, choose the peace that follows in forgiving yourself rather than the punishment with not, if you want to have a life. God has already forgiven you, and paid for it, so have it on Him, we'll get to that point too later....too many points, I might end up with no food or anything, well, if it goes on, I just continue tomorrow.
So, I finish the 'Laughing Cats Mansion' and drive back to the 'Valley of Henley' again. Get out of the car with 'Wrenching Caugh' and 'Plastic-Your-An-Idiot' to take them for a walk before I dispose of them at home, only on Mondays, don't call the RSPCA, when I notice a cold wet patch on my bum. Having both my hand tied with the two I can't really check it, so I wriggle around, people passing and so on, just to realise that I, grown up woman, have leaked onto my jeans. I tell you what, a year earlier I would have gone through acrobatics in trying to hold two dogs at the same time as wriggling my jacket off to tie it around my waist to hide 'The Patch of Shame' but you see..as a woman (I can call myself that again, and believe me, life on rocket-bottom levels of oestrogen is nothing to look forward to, I now know how it feels to be an old menopausal woman on no HRT-treatment, mastodontically AWFUL!) who hit premature menopause in September but was healed only a week ago by the Lord through prayers, I today wore my patch with pride, knowing that I will have a child, old-crazy-mum probably, but a darn good one. And I will call him Samuel and raise him a godly person to represent that what a man should be...a Man and not something that has been subdued to a woman's slave (and all the Feminist groups of Universe plan to bomb my home tomorrow).
Now you see, I could blog about this too, the reasons for increased violence and disorder in our society is the lack of a man/father-figure, because we (well not I personally) but speaking on behalf of the female (some of them you might wonder if they really are of the 0-+ race) have demasculated the men of our generation, with our constant nag, screams, manipulation and so on. Anyway...so blob, collar, caugh and I walked down the street, got them sorted. Grabbed another choc-cookie and out of the door I was. Have I told you I've put on nearly 2 stones since last year. Not difficult when you weigh 49kgs and the only proof for once-upon-breast are something that looks like used PG-pyramide teabags, we'll get to that one too. So I and my newly acquired double-chin, now with another set of trousers, am not that crazy, spend over 1 hr and a half, colouring my book for the right publishers, and was tired to see that I only had reached letter 'F' when I came across 'Fitzgerald Publishing', sounds inocouous eh? You think, listen to this 'Founded 1974' that's already suspicoius, you know the 70s generation of stuff, but why even mention 1974? Anyway, it gets worse; 'Specialises in the scientific studies of insects and spiders' at this point am almost choking of laughter on my well-earnt Fosters, then, 'Titles include "Keeping Tarantulas and Insects in Captivity", "Tarantulas of the USA"...can you hear Bruce Springsteen...'Boooorn in the USA'. I am not making any point at all, apart from that of one newly found on LSD which am not, just giggling my trousers off.
So far, publishers had been quiet elusive in their descriptions, you come to 'F' gagging for it to finish, bladder exploding, freezing as a punished race in the smoking-garden, thinking of 'Caugh' and 'Collar' trying to enjoy a beer after 'Laughing Cats' in a job you don't want to be in, dying to finish off the novel, searching for the right publishers...and you come across someone quite..I'm not going to use the word 'anal' because it's against my faith, but someone so 'I have got so much time on my hands I am going to write a Spec'... I might be going off the rails her but nevertheless...
Anyway, I come home and on this point, beloved, I thought of getting a kitten and call her 'Honey' so I can shout 'Honey, I'm home when I get in', I proceed to my 'You-have-No-friends' machine to verify that the only exciting 2 messages I have are those from when I scurried , vetting my calls from debt-collecting agencies (we will get to that point too) yesterday to verify that there were my beloved parents and later my beloved and only friend.
I'm again speeding on chocolate, luckily not still in my pink pyjamas, otherwise it would truly be a case to call the coo-coo-people. 'Caugh' has in fact not caughed since I came back, God heard me then, I prayed for her healing. Collar is off and paw, nicely tucked in a plastic bag (o that sounds terrible, her paw is in a bag...on her, i mean, attached, stilll attached, o dear this sounds worse the more I go about it...her paw is simply wrapped up for when we go out again) it's fastened with one of my hairclips, kind of cute.
They are chewing away, content on raw-hide, am smokig too much, thinking about all the stuff I want to put down on my novel tonight, so it can land and breaktrough the already high pile of unread manuscripts of publishers' desks next week, with too little time on my hands and the food i havent cooked yet and it's nearly nine. But hey, the story is here, in a week it will be on publishers' desks, or so I say to maintain sanity in my loo-cleaning, my dogs adore me, true I have one soulmate-friend, who needs an address-book of 50 aquaintances when you can have one true soulmate, Rossanna, I will see if I can put a link to her site here, so talented and most of all a beautiful soul Beech Grove Studio, and above everything, my parents, mum so affectionated and kind and dad so positive and outgoing, both with a heart of pure true GOLD with so much positivity they would be able to raise the dead.
I didn't realise I had so much to say, but looking at all the points I'd like to make, and seeing I can't make them tis eve, I shall come back to it.
In the meantime, I and patch shall make it in to the kitchen, cook, eat, write (ah this is another one, I'm currently in Paradise where everything is so beautiful and there is no sin. I am writing from a poetic heart but I am a joker too by nature, now, conflict, I can't make any jokes whilst we are at Eden, because lets face it, jokes many of times come out of stuff that doesn't exist in Eden. I will soon come out of Eden, I am about to write probably the next 4 most difficult pages of my life, it will make me, and probably the reader too, cry, but then we'll get to nowaday New York for a while before we get to Judea, in a time no one knows of. Maybe that's why am avoiding it, because of the tears...
So, off we go, bickies have finished, caugh has stopped, gone in to sneezing. God is healing her, should have taken 4 days and He has heard my prayers. Thank You Lord. She is now on my lap licking the chocolate bits off my jumper, completely in the way of the keyboard with a slight weeze but oh so loving...how could I possibly get a man in between our perfect threesome?
Collar is off, instead a wag and two pair of loving eyes saying, Mum, we love you, let's eat. And off we go.
