I think our internet is going to be shut off on Monday. I notified our ISP that we’d take care of it next Friday. They seem not to have noticed my notice. I’ve heard that song before.
Our landlord wants us to pay for two plumbing invoices. They have, after 25 years, realised I don’t pay enough rent to justify the ad claim they used to make about, “Well maintained by Jordan and Geisel”. I received the notice weeks ago. Tried to get help from ODSP. Seems that’s not in the cards. I’ll try to speak to Hamilton Housing Help on Monday, if I’m able to speak to anyone.
I spent the last few dollars we had on pretty unexceptional foodstuffs that still cost more than makes any sense to my aging brain. I have not been excoriated for my poor choices, but there was no real agreement or assent, either. Tomorrow is another day, however.
I haven’t been able to make myself go to the food bank since… ummm… October? That is a conversation topic that ended in stalemate.
Dawn and I are both in different stages of deep depression, and are communicating extremely poorly. We’re not fighting. That would probably be better, at least for her. Dawn needs more aggressive communication to pull her through times like these, I suspect (I may be full of shit in that assessment. Take it for what it is). We have spent almost the entire day in separate rooms, quietly. Our interactions are kind but prickly.
I swept and mopped the entire apartment yesterday.
Today, the ants are back. I’ll pick up ant traps next Friday. One more week of murdering innocent creatures and scratching phantom itches all day long.
Washed about two thirds of the fabric in the apartment yesterday, as well. Had to stop when the loonies and twonies from the corner convenience would no longer be recognised by the laundry machines. Good times.
Oh, and our landlord is now cheerfully shilling for the local cable company. Endorsement logo on the huge poster in the laundry room. I still have a huge crack in my load-bearing wall, and our complex’s antique plumbing needs repair about once every other month, on average. But hey, at least EIWO are making money, so that’s nice.
I should go wash the dirty dishes on the counter. Soon. Probably after I finish this post.
I’ve been dealing with mild but persistent headaches and constipation. And of course, I’m broke, so, no meds for that, either. Don’t bother sharing home remedies; my wife is a certified kitchen witch. If she says we’re out of ingredients, that’s my cross to bear.
Becky and Stevie seem to be well. So we’re still good cat parents, at least. Becky disagrees. It’s dinner time. BRB.
I can’t seem to write fiction anymore, even though it’s almost all I can talk about. I may finally have to admit defeat and put my novel away, perhaps for good. Brooding over it daily as I scan social media feeds has gotten me nowhere, and it’s affecting my relationship with Dawn now.
Dawn now has effective pain meds (for now). Not the nice kind. And they do lose effectiveness over time.
I suspect this will be my last personal post for a while. It’s getting difficult to be charming to my friends about how shitty my life has become. The jokes stopped being funny about two years ago… around the time I quit the Anvil.
Let me be clear:
I am NOT telling you this to invite advice. You probably have no real idea what is really happening here, anyway. Save your favourite pep talk for your impressionable children. Thank you.
I am not asking for help.
I might not even accept it, if offered nicely. We’re at that stage.
I’m lonely, miserable, and broken-hearted about… everything, it seems.
Many of my oldest friends are living lives so diffrent from mine, and simply cannot fathom how I could let my life turn out like this. I for one have run out of strength, words, and patience. I’ve started quietly retreating from the most belicose, presumptuous ones, to avoid the pointless bickering and back-handed corrective lecturing. Patronisation is taught from father to son. I don’t have one of those. Haven’t since 1980. Thank you.
I’m writing this on the only fully-functional piece of digital technology I have left: my Samsung tablet. It’s getting on in years and I can’t really use it in a professional capacity, but it’s nicer than an iPod, and prettier to look at than a thumb drive.
A good chunk of my unfinished novel is stuck on my dead desktop. I was planning on picking up an external hard drive enclosure to get my data drive back to work on the craptop, but that will have to wait. Rent, hydro and internet/phone, plus the plumber’s bill and the legal fee for getting back on ODSP.
I also need a newish sofa, a new pair of running shoes, paint for the apartment (presuming no eviction proceedings), and maybe, JUST maybe, some medication for my wife. I think I may have to accept that I can’t afford medication for myself any more. The prescriptions are wrong, my diagnosis is wrong, my ‘doctor’ is an arrogant idiot, and the only thing that makes me feel good these days is watching other people feel good in my presence.
I suspect it’s a mistake to post this directly to Facebook, where my more ableist friends might feel beholden to take it upon themselves to try gaslighting me into accepting the error of my ways, and stop making excuses like ‘my back hurts’ or ‘I’m feeling suicidal, and need to stay away from institutionalised apathy and indifference’, which has been in plentiful supply, recently.
There are Nazi rallies in Europe, America, and here in Canada. But please, keep posting those innocuous memes and fake news articles written by Nazis to make progressive lefties like me look like the stupid ones.
We have been told we have eleven years left to clean up the entire planet, before environmental calamity becomes deadly, inevitable, and unavoidable. So of course, our idiot leaders are buying oil pipelines and ripping out electric car charging infrastructure. But hey! Buck-a-Beer, amirite?
A trans woman was denied a visa and sent back to El Sakvador, where she was myrdered.
A little immigrant girl died of dehydration in an ICE detainment camp because it’s impossible to reunite these children, who are kept in cages built for animals (don’t get me started on that), with their deported refugee families, because Make Murica White Again, right? And YES, Canada IS just as bad. Don’t make me use Google-Fu on your ass.
Priests and nuns are being exposed as rapists, but the Pope now says criticising the Holy C is the work of Satan worshippers. Politicians are brazenly flouting the indecency laws they enacted to jail Black and Hispanic men, and then crying foul to the press. And Mueller can’t share his homework yet, because the President is a potential fucking flight risk!
The most powerful man in the world… sits in Moscow. Figure that out.
But me? I’m an undiagnosed Bipolar/anxiety/adhd/narcissism (WTAF!?) patient (Fuckyouverymuch, Dr. Todd) with a bad back, bad knees, and fallen arches, who can’t so much as afford to pay for his legal cannabis prescription, because welfare bums don’t deserve weed, and think of the children, you filthy degenerate! I’m functionally-celibate, nominally bisexual, theoretically polyamorous, legitimately monogamous (for now at least; ask me again next year), effectively both physically and psychologically disabled, out of shape, slightly impotent (the little traitor still works… just not under pressure. Haven’t shared an orgasm with another living being in at least a couple of years IIRC. You’re Welcome! curtsies), living under the constant thrwat of starvation, eviction, and double-suicide, and addicted to LGBTQ-friendly internet pornography (I abhor straight sex porn, because of the openly-toxic abuse of the women involved; choking, gagging, and forcefully restraining are NOT GAWDAMN SEXY, YOU FUCKING MUTANTS!!), and flirting innocuously with young internet cosplay artists (of all gender types, as it so happens), some of whom quietly request and accept tips for coffee money, in exchange for lewd photo sets and access to private webcam sites where they entertain budding incels and creepy old geezers like me, to cover their crippling tuition fees and cosplay expenses. No, I’m not a client. I couldn’t afford to be, even if I were so inclined. Instead, I’m just wasting their valuable time with idle banter and polite compliments about their actual art. I don’t judge them. If I were twenty years younger, I’d be one of them. My oldest friends probably still remember how pretty and promiscuous I was in my twenties. Imagine if I’d had 25 MB/s of bandwidth in 1994! Man, that would have been something. The best I can manage now is to encourage their efforts and try not to weep openly at their beauty.
Well, I could go on and on. I’m nowhere near out of material, Believe me! But it’s coming round 10 pm, Dawn went to sleep without eating her dinner (can’t blame her, really), and I’m too tired to rant at a tiny toych screen any longer tonight. Time to go read some very ecchi manga and lull my manic brainmeats to sleep.
The weather is supposed to be kinda fucked up this weekend, so please drive carefully, or better yet, get rid of that fucking piece of shit and order in. Let someone in an electric vehicle do the driving. And Elon… hurry up with the fucking soace programme. Some of us are getting too old to wait much longer.