fodder for the masses

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Sitting, reading, sore, bitching

What I want to know, amongst many other things, is how to make the process of reading an e-book a pleasant experience. I'm finding it a bit hard to curl up with a good book, I finding it a bit hard to even maintain concentration, what with all the beeps and bleeps and general page refresh actions going on.

I'm also finding it hard to fold over a page corner so I know where I am up to. I've taken to writing the bloody number down so I can remember it, then losing the paper it was written on.

Actionscript Garage - what else would I feel the need to read? It received great reviews from all over the place, and deals with actionscript 2.0, something that I need to have a closer look at, being bought up, as I was, in a somewhat earlier Flash environment. Age will do that to you.

All this reading a result of having to sit quietly after managing to break all my previous records in the pool this morning. 3Klms of various strokes, felt good at the time, feel tight and wrecked - all over, this evening.

The swimming thing is turning into an obsession. I declared it wasn't over at zoetrope101, but I may have to issue a retraction after today's little number.

The whole problem with me and anything to do with effort, mental or physical, is the overwhelming urge to do better each and every time I do something.

This is fine for everyday shit like work because I am on a time limit to get things done - so there exists an automatic cut off point.

Trouble with anything physical - read, riding bike, swimming, - is that I just HAVE to do more than the time before, or do it quicker, or get into corners tighter, all the things that bring you undone on most propelled vehicles.

This new thing - - was going well. No need to do more. Concentration on applying small changes, more pressure on the legs, more reach on the arms...

Today, however, we broke the control factor somehow and I spent most of the morning doing lap after lap, faster, more efficiently, all the things I like to leave out of the equation when I basically want to have a simple good time.

Upside? I'm too buggered to move so we have e-books to read, as any walking about is cancelled for the rest of the day.

Downside? I really had other things to do.

Solution? There is none in sight.

Plan? What f**king plan? I don't have a plan other than to swim myself to death.



Wednesday, May 25, 2005

blinded..again

Made it through the inlaw visit, made it without bashing anyone senseless, made it without having to set fire to anyone.

I'm proud.

I'm proud and blind. Well, proud and partially blind.

Bugger the proud bit - we all know about that, what about this blindness thing? Second time I have managed to do this to myself, a byproduct of swimming too long in the local pool.

Seems that the concentration of chlorine AND salt is so heavy that times when I forget to wear goggles allows some serious shit to happen.

First time it happened I was startled, to say the least, and spent the afternoon and evening with seriously blurred, greyed out vision, along with some serious pain, along the lines of welding flash for anyone who has experienced it.

Solution, the first time, was to flush out the eyes copiously with water, eyes running, nose running, everything running. No cure. Sent Yvonne down to chemist - eye drops of the nuclear strength variety. No cure. Bed, sleep, wake in morning, dodgy vision almost gone. Cure = time.

This time, with the now required goggles actually in use, I manage to get into this public spirited thing and give the pool attendant a hand to move the pool cleaner seeing as she is on her own and I'm already in the pool, wet, and feeling helpful. (A condition that doesn't often come to me)

Trouble was, as blind as I am without my glasses on, and as good as my vision is underwater with goggles on (don't ask me why, it just goes 20/20 as soon as I get under water), the solution to the problem of moving the gear required me to be able to see above the water - goggle less, and below water. Goggle less.

Seems even with that small amount of time with my eyeballs hanging about in the water, it was enough to cause the same damage as last time.

Greyed out peripheral vision, sore, itchy, running eyes, the whole trip, all over again.

I usually learn things a little quicker than that, I usually remember things like that and take reasonable steps to prevent a recurrence.

Not this time.

Lacking the ability to read something as complex as a book, I am reduced to peering madly at the screen and pecking wildly at the keyboard, all the better to cause more pain and discomfort.

The only other thing available is cruising porn sites - at least I don't have anything to read that way - it's not like there's a story attached to any of 'em, but cruising porn sites gets boring too, well, it does if you do it as much as me. Porn sites, crack sites, the story of my life. The only adrenaline I get from that is when I'm trying to dodge inbound viri, something that should be made an Olympic sport.

What's it like being unable to focus on anything? It's not pretty I have to tell you.

Solution - probably, if there was to be only one choice and all that, wear goggles.

I wanted a corrected pair of goggles made, all the better for being able to see pussy above water, and even handier, to be able to see the clock so I don't have to lamely ask some poor bugger in the lane next to me to read me the time.

Priced the required stuff - they want $200.00 to make lenses for goggles, and they only make them out of glass.

Do I want to see talent so badly I'm willing to spend $200.00? Not at the moment, but let me tell you, it's under active consideration. - anything to avoid the sand in the eyes scenario.



Sunday, May 15, 2005

meanwhile another week.

Monday, the weekend over, in my case it also means the external work is over as well - weekends being the time when I actually do some physical effort with the cleaning contracts, all the better to stay out of the way of people.

In my life the way we like things to happen is to work when no one else does and take days off when the plebeians are at work. Saves having to deal with too many people at once.

Staying out of the way of people turned out to be easier than normal - Yvonne and kids spent the weekend in Noosa with the grandparents who have flown into Cairns from New Zealand, stayed there a week and made their way down to meet the kids and Yvonne who had driven up, stay a few nights there and then come back here with them.

Made the weekend a 'human free' place - just me and the cat. Just the way both of us like it. Does anyone else crave solitude? And, if they do, what do they do about it?

Nothing quite like a week with the inlaws in residence to help a bloke find shitloads of things that need doing - preferably all at once, and all involving not being anywhere near this place.

Swimming features as something to kill off the mornings. The buggy will need a run sometime. The bike will need a run as well. So will I.

Must be about time to get in and have a look at the new brothel that the ex is currently in the process of getting up and running. All these things and more should keep me well out of the way.

This is a good time now for the new head pills to boot in, as they have, all the better to remain a calm and unabusive human being. It does appear that the Prothiaden is actually alive and well and working somewhere under the bonnet if the weekend is anything to go by - a very 'calm' and ordered weekend. But was it the fact that I was alone that made it that way? Alone I always feel better anyway, and I hope it wasn't just that. Hopefully it was the new medication, hopefully I will remain in a reasonable state all week.

If I don't manage that then we should see some social blunder from me - as there usually is - and the inlaws will depart vowing never to return, blah, blah.

Roll on the end of the week.



Monday, May 09, 2005

and another thing..

Just when you think it's safe to get back in the water (literally in my case), along comes another drama to get in the way.

Beloved ex, Sam, wife of the odd Dwayne, and Mother of Dylan, has announced today that she is over Dwayne, possibly because she has just discovered that he has been entertaining himself with a young stripper that he found somewhere, and she - the stripper - has decided that pregnancy is a good option.

Naturally, as you can imagine, Sam (short for Carol) is reasonably unhappy with this situation. She appears to be more unhappy having sold off her last brothel, a good little money earner close to the city, to spend some more time with man and boy. This was not a good decision now, for it seems she may well have to start another one, with all the attendant drama, to get her income back to a reasonable level.

Rest assured, a reasonable income to Sam is rather more than any of us would expect or need, but she does have that compulsive shopping thing to keep up - I can be blamed for that, but that's another story.

We are advised, by serial text messages, our prefered communication method, that Dwayne will henceforth become persona non grata and should be avoided at all costs. This should be no problem for me. I am seldom available anyway. Dwayne must be feeling the heat by now, enough heat to melt the average human I should imagine. I almost feel for him.

Meanwhile, Averil, ex boss from years prior, a cab owner who I drove for one time when I was back in New Zealand for a sabbatical, has commenced her chemotherapy.

I visited Averil this last time back in New Zealand, to find that she has cancer in her left shoulder, her spine, and some involvement in her lungs. Averil has lead a hectic life, one child ending up at the Olympics, one child ending up at the base of a church tower after jumping off, two other children almost normal. A husband who for all intent was a serial philanderer, but who also managed to drop dead on the very day he opened his (last) business - this some time after the marriage.

Averil battled through all manner of adversity, including nearly dying when a stomach stapling operation went badly wrong and she developed massive infection.

We were a formidible team, her and I, she was radio operator at the same cab company that her car was assigned to, and in those days there was a graveyard shift, dog watch, where one car was assigned the entire city. That car was often me, and the operator was often Averil. Just Averil, the radio, and me in car 67 cruising the streets of Christchurch, good times, good memories. Memories strong enough to cause me to do the same thing here for years - slightly different circumstances, bigger city, no dog watch, but still the feeling of being at one with the city in the middle of the night.

Her chemotherapy is to consist of 2 weeks on, one week off for a period of 12 weeks. This will be followed, as soon as she is able to stand it, by another course for the same period. We maintain contact by texting, as with Sam, but this time intercountry rather than intracountry.

With all this going on the only thing I have managed to do is attend the swimmimg pool, as you do, swim up and down until my legs turn to jelly and come home again to see if the news has changed.

It hasn't.



Tuesday, May 03, 2005

pilled up and looking for water

Finally swapped mad pills. Dose of new one still too low to tell what it feels like. Dosage increasing in increments this week and next. Should be running at serious concentrations by the time the in laws get here sometime next week, maybe the week after - an event that I had forgotten, ignored, refused to believe could be happening. And now it is.

Time for an established event list that keeps me out of the house and amused for the maximum amount of time over the day. Time to get back to the 'pre New Zealand' routine, the one I said was just up until I left for New Zealand. That one.

Swimming, indoor, heated, with staff that are worth looking at any time of the day - in particular the young South African lady with a voice that sounds eerily like Patsy's, causing goose bumps to pop out all over, or was that the water temperature?

Biking not an option in the gale like Southerlies roaring around here these last two mornings, if the wind doesn't get you the intermittent rain will.

Buggying also out - I have a bad history with big winds, and have the permanent damage to testify to the fact.

So, it's swimming, and, when this current run of hideous weather is over, biking, buggying, getting a life, staying away from home. Keeping out of the way, avoiding the homilies, avoiding the lot of it if possible.

Shouldn't be too much of a drama this visit anyway.

Apparently they are in Cairns, due down here later, for a week and then home. Normally we get one week here, one week down at the Gold Coast, and back here for another week. It's the stuff suicides are made of. Dutiful daughter kowtowing, terrified I might disrupt the false sense of family bliss that is the preferred scenario.

This time, with the shorter visitation and the new head pills, coupled with a healthy amount of exercise and just plain staying away from home, should see us get through it with style.

Daughter won't notice, so terrified is she of getting on the wrong side of a parent, that I could be engaging in wild sexual activity with the entire pool staff, come home, confess, and she would merely trot out the only observation she will be able to make for the week - 'that's nice dear'.

You need the Zoetrope key for this one. Go here to get it.

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Sunday, May 01, 2005

and now, the pill..

Insular. Comfortable. Independent.

The things that I am when I am off my mad pills. Trouble is, they tell me, I get so insular that I forget to have anything to do with anyone else at all.

Seems I've always been like that. And obsessive. And I don't really care. The distress seems to be other peoples, I don't feel it. In fact the less I have to do with other people the less I feel stress of any kind.

A lack of ability to lose weight has been the catalyst for, not a cessation, but a change of medication. To change the stuff we have to be weaned, toddler like, off the original. To get weaned of the original means we have to contend with a collection of malaise, headaches, stomach upset, sleep drama.

Sometimes the change has not been for the better, as in the two famous cases where I was to change to a new, improved, late model designer thing, possibly a relative of Prozac. The effect was not pretty. Felt like some hideous creature was doing the thinking for me. Lasted a day on that trial and went back to what I knew.

This, the latest, is in fact a very old type, more like I am comfortable with now. We begin it this evening and gradually increase the dosage until we become human again.

I think it's all relative.

I think, I know, I can remain off anything. I have proved it. Seems that the rest of the population prefer me pilled up rather than 'au naturel' as it were. I remain unsure just how much I have to do to stay on the side of the population, especially, as I have mentioned, when I have no real need for the fools.

Shows the persuasive argument that wonderful lady doctor of mine must have tendered to even get me to try it. A sign, I think, of a good doctor.

This week we will be remedicated, reinvented, and hopefully rejuvenated with this new brew. If that fails we will find ourselves back on the old ones, albeit at a reduced rate so that I can look out form behind them occasionally to see what the real world is up to.

Hopefully it will all be sanctioned by some serious weight loss.

Meantime - chapter one deals with personal growth.
Pass: propagandafactory
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