Rainy Days

It is three AM in the morning. The movie about first world war flyers (Aces High} is on the television. Dinner was eggs on toast followed by jam on toast with a cup of tea. Breakfast was eggs on toast as well, and lunch. It has been raining two days and the new mobility scooter cannot be used where there is water so I cannot get fresh groceries. It is due to rain for three more days and I am angry about the scooter. The movie is one I enjoy. I love the aircraft although the story is not great.

Sharp pains in my chest indicate the fragility of my heart and the lack of distance between myself and a more permanent darkness. Should I call an ambulance? I won’t call one. Insomnia and illness have limited the periods of actual sleep to a couple of hours at a time and the nature of the sofa I sleep on means it is always uncomfortable. No real rest. The fumes seem to be the thing stressing me the most. It is inevitable that the overwhelming chemical fumes will affect my heart.

The woman in the apartment by the entrance to the apartments seems to have died and they are cleaning out her apartment and painting it for the next one.

A painting I am working on seems to be burgeoning into something that has life and beauty. Precious moments!

A community worker took me to the art shop a couple of days back. It is right over in Toukley and she was concerned about the distance. Then she was concerned that the people in the art shop would report back to my enemies in Budgewoi. They have not finished with me yet and she was worried they would start affecting her life. She wouldn’t go into the store with me as there is a concern they are still trying to find a way to fake an incident. Unfortunately they the only art shop in that part of the region. My words to the community worker only upset her all the more. I told her these people would not let me alone and they held the success of any venture into art I might make in their hands while their friends seem to be those who keep sending me false letters from the Housing Department about emergency inspections and things that do not exist. I have to deal with this issue in a way that makes them think twice about harming me or my efforts any more. I have asked for help but they seem to be friends with a whole covey of corrupt and bigoted officials so my efforts, if I live long enough to make any, will be without a legal oversight or even a sliver of support. Being this ill is hard enough without being targeted by bigots. I did manage to buy a really nice blank canvas of 30 x 40 inches before they could get together via phone and decide how to harry me. I think the women in the shop are sisters and the one in the shop this time was one who refused to take part in the harassment although she stood by as the other one sabotaged the framing jobs I gave them and set me up by charging me more than twice the price we agreed to for it. This life is a horror.

A big roll of images of the scooter has finally found its way into the computer and just needs me to find the energy to process them so I can write a review. The spider web site sits untouched and needing work as do several others. Have some bills to pay for the online services. It just seems that the act of getting through the security into the sites where the bills are paid draws energy and I cannot willingly face the need to dig deeper through the bleakness to make an effort. That makes it very similar to chronic fatigue. Grief and a damaged heart muscle are two of the factors in chronic fatigue. One physical and the other bound up with mental and intellectual energy.


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