I posted this on Mywasteofspace yesterday and the day went from drumming to cracking and finally splitting. Things are better today though.
Old aged and poverty stricken. Life
It is exactly two years to the day when I had brain surgery. I have come to the conclusion then that I am two today and it calls for a cerebralation.
Not a squeak about that in the stars. The only thing they tell me to do is start finding ways to make money from home. Well, I made 5 pence so it is a start. I found one in the washing machine which was not one of mine but, I will tell you what, it is now. I never seem to find dirty fivers amongst the laundry heap any more but 5 pence is a mere wriggle in the life of a caterpillar so I need to get a wiggle on to get to the end of the road and onto freedom. Yes, sure, I would get a long way on 5 pence because there is no such thing as a free ride although that is not true because I do have a bus pass even though I am only two.
Ah, reached the grand old age of two and already a free-rider, the washing machine is a not freeloader though and I have yet to find an metaphor to describe 'he who has the compeetos' though. Maybe that will just do for him or perhaps the Mexican moneybags, very tightly sealed keeping it all under his high hat. If I look sad enough perhaps I can wangle a free meal tonight to cerebralate my birth into the real world with a meal ticket. I can dream so some things never alter, it is just that I have the correct wiring and my head screwed on the right way now!
Perhaps I should ask for a wage rather than a pat on the head for all I do in a day. It never seems to be productive so I guess I must work in the service industry. It is strange though to find out that even slaves get paid and fed so there is something not right here.
Yesterday was when I decided that it was the last straw to find a dirty grill pan again just before wishing to cook the steak. If it was the last straw then I seemed to have drawn the short one yet again. I live in hope then that it will be the final short straw and the next one will be long and drawn out in order to take a long drink of the nectar of life. I vowed to wash it up after use and so I did. It does not do anything for the economy though only my sense of pride. There is no pat on the head for fulfilling my sense of pride though so that isn't the answer to making compeetos from home only making the housework shorter and the straws longer.
When 'he who has the compeetos' was working I used to make quite a lot of cash and that was from dirty fivers. It is a good job they are made of material because they often went full cycle. OK they got washed but they never had a pressing. The only press they had was the day they were minted, well in their case printed.
I think my head is having post traumatic surgical drama because it is banging away like a drum here. I do not like to think about what they did to my head because vices, clamps and drills are not very appealing when your cranium is cracking. I suppose the expression 'War wounds' would cover it but why can't it forget the past and stop twinging about things.
The thing that really makes today special is the fact that it is raining. This means I cannot see a thing and cannot hang the washing out on the thin yellow line. It needs replacing because it is rather cracked and faded now - I know the feeling.
What I need to do is, upload photos, type a resume about India, vacuum the lounge and then do a sun-dance. Then I have to rate someone's photos because they rated mine and cordially thank them. There are emails to write and then more 'thank yous' for all the comments I acquired plus find out why someone is comparing my smile or comparing my niceness to someone else's. Who on earth thought that one up? Surely there are more important things to do than destroy someone's day by informing them that they are beyond comparison and have failed miserably on the nice 'n smile categories.
I bet butterflies would have more fun even though they might never see a blue sky, which would be the case for an English one. The pheasant is being very quiet today but then it is damp and he is old so maybe he is nursing his rheumatics in the wet grass. I suppose there are worse things than being bagged, tagged, criticised, complimented and cracked around the edges. Wet feathers would get my down down.
Oh, call me a liar again! The pheasant has decided to make his presence heard and the sun has come out so cross the sun-dance of the list and do something to get the next one ticked off.
I honestly cannot remember if life was as complicated before surgery and it was just the fact that I never noticed it before. These days there is so much more that I notice and it gets overwhelming, so in a sense I need to learn how to manage my racing brain. They say it takes two years to recover fully from brain surgery and I guess it has been a long learning curve. At least I have curbed the habit of opening my mouth before putting the lump of lard into gear. That was quite embarrassing at times not necessarily for me though because not much bothers me these days. Well that is all except for the fact that my brain is overworked, I am underpaid and most definitely feel a lot older than a two year old.
