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Thursday, 27 November 2008

I don't want to do it any more

Today I have officially 'had enough'. I have just received the news that the insurance against illness that I took out to cover my holiday won't pay out. I had a chest infection for two weeks but the insurers consider that I 'decided' not to go! I'm not sure what I can do about it. I know that in the grand scheme of things it's fairly insignificant, but I've struggled for so many years now and I just don't want to do it any more. The various new drugs I have to take to prolong my life are making me really down. I usually manage to overcome most things and 'get on with it', but why should I? My life is a miserable round of work. One job following the next. I can't go on holiday because I can't afford it. That's the big joke, I organise a break that I can ill afford and then - get ill. I'm tired, sick and pissed off. I just want something nice to happen to me. I don't care if I don't wake up tomorrow.

Thursday, 20 November 2008

Vile husband rattles my cage

Vile husband had the cheek to complain about working for a measly hourly rate, last night. He works for the same rate, in the same place as me, but for only one poxy day a week, the lazy git! I did point out to him that the more hours one works, the more money one makes. Not only that, but virtue of contacts of mine he's picking up computer maintenance work and STILL not contributing any cash to the support of his son. I hope all his teeth fall out except one and he gets toothache in that.
I am currently working on yet another picture of boxing hares. I'll bung it in the shop tomorrow. The potter has quit. Why did we bother meeting to decide to stay open at least until Christmas for people to jump ship like this? I am NEVER going to start another community venture. The selfish oiks can go hang. I hope he drops all his boring pots on the pavement on his way out of the shop.
Everything is getting on my wick. I'm going to sit in a corner and drink wine and smoke fags until I'm sick.

Sunday, 16 November 2008

In which I am fuming...

Following the so called 'emergency' visit to the doc, I came out with some tablets. I'm sure that could have waited another two days. 'I see before me a lady who is completely out of control' she said. I know that makes me sound rather racy, but I felt urged to enquire what exactly she meant by that. 'Your blood pressure and blood sugar are out of control' says she. to which I replied 'well I didn't know, I feel perfectly ok.' She went on, 'Are you sure you're not in denial?' So I said to me denial is a river in Egypt, and anyway, I DO NOT FEEL ILL.
So, I front up again on Friday afternoon to see someone else. Into the waiting room slithers the vile old hell hag that is my Mother in Law, who proceeds to sit next to me. She attempted to make conversation in that 'poor little old lady' freaky voice of hers. I resisted the temptation to 'bond' with that 'grow your own freak show' weirdo. THEN, just to assure my blood pressure reaches an all time high the whinging bint who has had me leaping through hoops to get the sale of a £65 painting comes in and sits on the other side. Oddly enough my blood pressure had gone down! So I imagine that in reality it's somewhere near normal.
The Doctor has progressed from my first name to calling me 'sweetheart' and speaking in the kind of baby talk soft voice you'd use for a fluffy kitten or someone away with the fairies.
So, I plod on to the chemist whereupon I espy the ginger slug who insists on coming out from behind the counter and reading the labels on the packets for me. Now I know I'm not in the first flush of youth, but I thought I still looked fairly alert. I could just about handle that, but she reached an all time low on this particular visit- She came out from her hidey hole and took out each packet of tablets and proceeded to say 'This one is for Bla Bla, this one is for ...
By this time I was quivering with rage as she had now broadcast my ailments to all and sundry. I went straight home and called her head office to relate the tale to them. They were as horrified as I about the breach of confidentiality and have apologised profusely and assured me that they will speak to her severly and ensure it doesn't happen again.
All well and good one might say, but this is a small town, I am well known in it and you can't put a genie back in the bottle!

Sunday, 9 November 2008

Flippin' 'eck, what next

I went to the doctor's surgery, albeit rather reluctantly, with a cough and came out with dangerously high blood pressure and diabetes!
I followed their instructions and duly fronted up for an ECG on Friday morning. I'm lying on the bed with electrodes stuck all over me when she asks to verify my name. 'Claire Rice' says I. 'Oh yes', she says, 'your're the painter. I've seen your name on lots of pictures'. Now, that is exactly why I don't like going to the docs. There's no anonymity in a one horse town like this!
I've been religiously stabbing myself and dripping blood everywhere to test it myself at home. Although I doubt the patronising gits at the surgery will accept my findings, since they like to treat everyone as if they have the intellect of a two year old carrot.
I didn't have any symptoms for the diabetes until I'd had the phone call to say I had it, so like vile husband I expect it came on at the end of the viral infection I've just had.
Anyhow, I've been rather thirsty, so I've drunk plenty, as advised. Red wine of course!
I imagine the viral theory won't wash with the suspicious f*****s because as soon as they see me I'll be treated with the disgust and contempt reserved for the porker!

Wednesday, 29 October 2008

Poor old worn out me

Following last week's visit to the doctor with my chest infection I went again yesterday. Since I very rarely make a visit they grab me and do all the doctoring stuff they can while they have me captive. Once again I have unbelievably high blood pressure. He threatened then and there to have me incarcerated in hospital immediately. Last time that happened was almost seventeen years ago when I was expecting my son. I was told that if I went shopping and didn't stay in the hospital that I would die. I told them that I'd rather die at Brent Cross than in there!
This time however, I've stopped drinking and will do without my occassional cig and have begun taking medication. I am making a will. All my customers will be delighted if I snuff it as my paintings will go up in value.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
than thou shall hear the surly sullen bell
give warning to the world that I am fled
and beyond I'll go
don't look for me in summer days
or in the newly fallen snow
my voice won't whisper in the breeze
this you should know
you'll find me in the shopping mall
when sales are on
I'm down the shops, I am
I haven't gone

Saturday, 25 October 2008

Vile Husband goes to work

Well now, I'm at home suffering from a chest infection and believe me when my chest gets infected it may well prove fatal given the acreage that's harbouring germs! Vile estranged husband has been dispatched to the shops to get tissues and chocolate etc.
He has started his new, one day per week, job, which, of course, I had to get for him. He is now the computer tutor at the same residential care home that I work in. He has had three of the least challenging residents in his care for one two hour session and has at last become aware of the way I have to earn my living! I wonder how long he'll last? Anyway, it'll do him good to see what I have to do on a daily basis whilst he's languishing in his comfort zone looking for a cushy job that pays lots of money and is vastly out of his reach.
The shop is having to manage without me today. I hope I sell some prints and paintings this month.
I've had to cancel my holiday to Dartmouth because of my illness. I was looking forward to painting for a week. Ho Hum. At least I won't have to drag my Mother and two teenage boys everywhere, that little delight will have to be postponed until I'm fighting fit.

Friday, 24 October 2008

Ghastly pasty faced moron

'I'm not being funny right', was how she began, 'but they even make stuff in your size now.' A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the woman to whom I'd been speaking before being interrupted. 'No, right, I used to be really big,' she continued, 'I was a size 24 before my operation and now I'm an 18', she went on, completely oblivious to the fact that she was being offensive.
Frankly, if she's a size 18, I'm on the front cover of Vogue next month. The 'she' in question is a co-worker of mine. Let me describe her for you. Pasty faced and translucent skinned with the blank dead eyes of a shark. Completely lacking in intellect or tact and revelling in the fact that 'I'm ignorant' as she's so fond of telling everyone. Pronounced 'ig-rant' of course! With her straggly red hair scraped back off her bloated face she wobbles through the corridors with her 'jodpur' thighs rubbing together with enough force to spontaneously combust. 'I've 'ad two 'usbands y'know', she delights in telling us. To think she's breeding her dead eyed offspring to that extent and polluting the gene pool with illiterate 'X' factor fodder. Of course, she drives a 'people carrier'. I would really like to congratulate the marketing genius who re-launched the doormobile as a people carrier to transport the moronic likes of her and her revolting family from their static caravan to Mcdonalds and back.

Rant over - and out!

Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Hello comment maker - I'm back

Six months have come and gone since I started work as an art tutor for physically and/or mentally handicapped adults. I was so horrified on the first day, I nearly came home, but a little thing like the mortgage and a teenage son made me stay. I've learned a thing or two about the human condition, personality overrides everything else and some people would be nice or downright awful whatever. It's really tiring trying to keep everyone entertained and happy all day. One or two of them, I could throttle on a daily basis. However, the job itself does have some real worth, even if it pays peanuts. I am currently 'not there' since I have developed a cough like someone who smokes 60 woodbine per day and am deemed not suitable to be with the residents at present. Bit of a bummer really since I pick up all my germs at work when the little blighters sneeze and cough all over me!
the other upshot of it, is, I've had to cancel my holiday. I haven't had one for years, but I'm pretty sure this episode is going to render me immobile for a week or so.
I am spending the time in a worthwhile manner and painting a portrait of Tigerboy the big fat ginger cat. I hope someone will buy it.
On my visit to the doctor I had my BP taken four times. The doctor's hands were shaking by the end of it. I'm sure I didn't help matters by laughing when the manual pressure machine's tube blew apart. I now have the dubious honour of having BP so high that I'm a walking miracle apparently! Fame at last. So, in an endeavour to re-order my life - no more fags - 1 or at the very most - 2 glasses of red wine a day.
I am so excited, albeit too late, to find that, on the first investigation of my blog comments section I actually had one in April! THERE IS SOMEONE OUT THERE (but they've gone -boohoo)

Wednesday, 5 March 2008

Vile Husband makes a moonlit visit

Last night put the tin hat on my miserable, car crash, nightmare life. Just before 3.00am I was woken by the outside buzzer at the flat. I took a moment or two to decide if I'd been dreaming but the urge to investigate was too strong to overcome. On answering the internal phone I was greeted by an incoherent message that just had to be vile husband. In order to ensure I didn't let in anyone even more peculiar than he, I opened the window in Edward's room to find out who was there and ofcourse that woke him up. It was indeed vile husband in the throes of a low blood sugar episode. I let him in and gave him lucozade. In the middle of the call to the emergency doctor the phone went dead as the battery had run out. Now, call me unreasonable if you will, but even though vile husband cruelly abandoned me over a year ago, I am obviously so deeply embedded into his phsycie (is that how you spell it) as some kind of carer/mummy figure that even in the midst of an attack he can make his way across town to me!!!! I satisfied myself with a series of questions like 'who is the PM, what day is it, and are you a selfish shitbag?' On answering to my satisfaction I packed him off back to his own flat with the promise that he'd phone me on arrival. This he did, as did the emergency doctor on restoration of the phone battery and at the exact moment I sat on the loo! If anyone out there is urgently awaiting a phone call just give them my number, because I guarantee that as soon as I sit on the loo they'll call. It works every time.

Sunday, 24 February 2008

Get a job you vile git!

Having been apart from vile husband for more than a year now, he is still having far too much control over my life. As he clearly feels that child maintenence is an optional matter, I have had to get myself yet another job to make ends meet. Even though I'd organised enough cash to see me through a year of trying to make it as a totally self supporting artist, I've had to use the money to live day to day instead. So, at the great old age of 50, I embark on yet another career change. I'm now an 'art tutor' in a residential home for adults with varying levels of special needs. I'm looking forward to starting quite soon and to leaving the world of estate agency behind. I did enjoy that but since the current housing market lull I expect I'd have been got rid of anyway!
Vile husband let his teenage son go to the bank yesterday and take out some pocket money to pay for their fish and chips and then he came round to see me and asked me to pay his gas bill as he's about to be cut off! I pointed out that if I did pay it, I would certainly be sectioned. In fact my BF has said that if I go soft and do pay she will start the sectioning process herself! As she says ' if it wasn't so pathetic, it would be funny.' I wonder if he's thought about getting a job?

Friday, 22 February 2008

prozac dreams

I stopped the car to pick up a passenger and a huge seagull flew into the back and sat on the floor. It made itself at home on a box of eggs. I passed the baby to Tam, my son's friend, and began to try to coax the seagull out of the car. Eventually, following much flapping about, it simply vanished. I went to get the eggs and inside the car found six little chicks sitting on the floor cheeping. A passing Indian woman said she'd sell me the chicks for three pounds each which made me really mad as the eggs belonged to me anyway. After telling her off I told tam to be careful with the baby. She began to pull a large peice of exercise equipment out of the car and dropped the baby. Luckily I caught it and she pulled from the car an enormous running machine which she dropped on the ground and with that, began to scream. Both her shoulders were dislocated and her arms hung loosely at her sides. She was crying and screaming about a large lump in her stomach which we thought may be a hernia from the effort with the running machine.
then I woke up

Tuesday, 1 January 2008

Pollyanna lives!

Well - 2008! Admittedly it's started a bit late for me, I just HAD to watch Pollyanna. Right at the end of last year I vowed, 'Pollyanna is dead, long live Mildred Pierce'. Well, it must have been a sign, Pollyanna lives on, even though she's fifty and in danger of looking wildly ridiculous with a sense of optimism that is simply not borne out in any way, I can't kill her off just yet! Mildred Pierce, however, will be taking over control of my professional life. No more trying to resurrect the shop, let someone else do it! I'm going all out for fame and fortune. If it doesn't work out at least I'll be able to read about it. If I fail miserably I expect there'll be a nice warm checkout station for me in the Co-op.