I dont know what to do
The contractors appear to have been trying to cover what they did to me for the last three or four years by suddenly lavishing attention on my neighbor. They started turning up at his door without warning and requesting permission to enter on all sorts of excuses. They must have asked him to say something to me because he normally will not even look in my direction and the other day he pulled up alongside me and told the story of all the attention he was getting and how wonderful and normal it was. He may have just felt safe to talk because I was out there with some of the neighbor women. It was a pleasant change to have him so communicative.
It may have been legit behavior by the contractors. If everybody here had been treated to the same thing I had for years rather than just a lame copy of it for a few weeks since the contractors realized I have been keeping online records. Years and years of special treatment. They seem to have even mowed the lawns of one of the guys they normally leave alone so they can say it happens and wasn’t special treatment.
The heat has drained my energy until I am only rarely showering and only eating crackers for many meals. It is a strange thing to have a weakened heart. It doesn’t feel like a crisis but if you try to over-come the languid feeling by forcing yourself to do more the body just calmly falls asleep. Waking from that place is a terrifying thing because your brain has been turned down by lack of oxygen. It is not so much the nightmares. It is the overwhelming creeping horror that lingers in the sub-conscious. In the normal business of the day it had been put aside and buried. The sense of loss of my value as a person and an artist. It is destroying me without being on my mind all day. Then there is the realization that there is a massive corruption that sees the social housing industry needing the poor to be helpless and disposable. I didnt consider myself poor when I was on the edge of being a known artist. I promised myself they would never force me into the socialist tyranny that public housing represents. Now I am poor and worse than poor I am devalued to the point where they will drive me to my death. They will leave my life’s work on the roadside like they did the squalid remains of other tenants who died here. I am finding it very hard to face this on top of the already overwhelming pain and illness I deal with all day.
I cant seem to work. It was always difficult to overcome all this illness but it is like a black hole now. Opening my emotional and creative core is just going to make me scream. Looking at the partially finished work all around me and sliding the visions back into the shadows is a horror of its own. My life is passing and my skills and abilities are once again declining. There have been no ink drawings since the place was filled from the water heater bursting. The desks that were set up as places to work were used to pile dry paper. I am loathe to put things back into the room that was flooded so everything is still piles of belongings with slender pathways between them.
My spirits were very substantially lifted when I came across a small spreading tree that was surrounded by a cloud of flying cicadas. They were all over the trunk and right across the area but this tree had particularly high numbers hovering about it. This time of year and in this heat there was a massive hatch of the Razor Grinder Cicadas. There were so many about this tree that the last of the small hawks who had been circling and snatching cicadas as fast as they could now just looked a little overfed and disinterested. The whole of the Bateau Bay sporting complex was inundated in the swelling tidal scream of millions of these beasts.
Some blame for the change in eating and cooking habits has to do with the electricity bill. It was far too high (almost $500) for me to continue as I was but I am finding it difficult to eat anyway. Crackers and tomato rather than bacon and eggs. I have begun to drop substantial weight which at this stage is a relief because the damage to my organs and the insulin and lack of exercise had me bloated like a soggy scone anyway.
There is a small air conditioning unit in the back room but there is no way it is going to be used. The last time it went on the bill ran to $600+ and it was only in use a couple hours over a few days. I think. All this is very confusing and each time I try to get a grip on some course of action I end up with a fresh cup of coffee in front of the television totally unconscious of the fact that I was doing something else. That is scary as well. These people will use my confusion and illness
Back some a carer picked me up and drove me right across the coast to Gosford where the tribunal sits in a room in the old Gateway Center. We arrived a little early so we would have time to confer with the lawyer. I mean early for our session. The tribunal had been open for hours. The sheriff wouldn’t let us in to the waiting room for almost forty five minutes. Because he also didn’t know when he would let us in we all had to sit on the floor in the hallway of the building. That is something I cannot do without being wracked with pain and by the time we got into the waiting room I was actually gray from the pain. Right alongside chairs and a secure space we were forced onto a hard floor where there was no security at all! I dont know what happened when we went into the tribunal. It seemed that my lawyer hadnt signed her name somewhere so it was adjourned over Christmas while she did that and some discovery thing went on. They asked me about my criminal record but I dont understand why that counts as anything here. I think we were given the papers held by Family and Community Services although I didn’t get any. I just sat with my back as straight as I could so my head didn’t pull me forward and make me sleep. A bucket of iced cola from Macdonalds on the way home brightened me up a little but for the next few days I was sleeping most of the time. My body has developed the disconcerting and disgusting habit of perspiring the chemicals out as soon as I sleep. It comes out as a sour smelling flood that leaves my clothes wet and means even if I just slipped into a snooze I have to change out of soggy things as soon as I wake. The only upside there is the number of tshirts I have that I enjoy wearing has risen to a level allowing for access to fresh dry ones all day long. I bought a lot from the American Sports Fan website (Fanatics) and they arrived just in time
So I know my body is begging for oxygen and my damaged heart cannot supply it. I went online and saw devices for testing blood oxygen levels for twenty bucks and tubes of “recreational” oxygen for the same. I was looking in American sites though. When I looked in Australian sites I saw these massive oxygen machines that cost thousands and had to be obtained through years of attending some specialist. I am trying to get some form of oxygen in time for the next tribunal or lawyer visit and to help me through big stores such as when I get art supplies. I am looking at anyplace there might be a bottle of the stuff I can buy or rent.
Once again I will come back and edit this another time. Sorry there is no new art. Was I babbling? This procession of ideas passes through my mind all day long as I try to make some sense and to lessen the horror and loss of where I have ended up. There simply isnt a solution that sees me as safe
So now I research euthanasia and suicide and discover the least painful and fastest way is a shotgun under the chin. I just received more than two hundred spam pharmaceutical emails from AOL.COM. FYI