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Angelus's Journal


Angelus's Journal

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1 entry this month
 

the story, so far...

23:38 May 31 2017
Times Read: 358


I’ve been finding it hard to concentrate of late – as this expected medical is on my backbrain, all the time.

Grant you, I’ve had gardening to distract me a little, what with all the sunny weather we’ve had of late. And, I do find weeding therapeutic – it’s just the getting up afterward that’s a bit of a bugger.

And, I’ve also been making my dvd’s, compilations of stuff relevant to my interests, that may also be of interest to a few I know. And as my collection of shows and films is quite as vast as it is, the discovery of terabyte drives has saved me a lotta room.

Yet, all the while the medical is there, looming.

I’m glad I contacted Simon. His initial reassurance had been just what I’d needed at the time and, he left me ‘things to do’.

For a start, I contacted my G.P., to ask her to write a letter for me to present, on the day, to clarify how much worse I am now, since the initial fun and games I had with those sods – that had left me positively suicidal, at one point.

Well, my doctor did supply the note I wanted. Then, the other morning a letter arrived for me from the Royal Liverpool Hospital. I had stared at it awhile; then made myself a coffee, still padding around in my robe.

Finally I’d picked it up, opened it and then been quite irked I’d left it so long. The letter had been a report by the last fellow I’d seen at the Royal, who had assured me that I don’t have cancer of the pancreas – in all probability.

The report had been quite comprehensive, so I’m hoping that with it and my doctors letter, they might actually believe me… when I goto this medical.

Saying that it’s hard to concentrate is one thing – but, my new story did become an irritant, at one point – I develop the scenario and the cast, then often my stories write themselves and, this time… it had written something that irritated goodstyle.

A scene, near the end… had written itself as a scene from ‘Ghost in the Shell’ the anime, turned major feature film.

Well, I’d been flummoxed… but recently found an answer… the character, the main protagonist is asked if he likes anime… all within context, but it did have me smiling.

And although the pattern of each day is different, I do try and make the best of each one – yet, I am rather freakin, thinkin about another medical, so soon after the hassles of the first...

I am so thankful Simon will be there; that it will be recorded [so 'they' can't lie again] and 'coz of my spine, it'll be a proper doctor and not 'a medical practitioner.'


And through all my gloom, there is sunlight - like the caramel and card from Austria and, a pleasantly strange Saturday.

I’d contacted Karl, “Are you still okay for soil getting?”
Confused by me, he’d though I’d meant going to the woods to dig for it, forgetting the prior arrangement, to go to Azda, to buy some.

Well, at Azda I’d got my soil, then disc for my hobbies and a few films to watch, then as we’d seen no ice-cream van in the complex, the sunny Saturday, I had suggested Eastham Ferry [country park].

Karl and his young lady had considered it a good idea and, I’m glad they had. And grant you, I’d nearly got us lost getting there, but the visit was worth it.

Laurie and Karl had bubblegum ice-cream and had liked it. I’d had two scoops of vanilla and one of coffee and really liked it; although I had made the point that four scoops would have been too much for the tubs, whereas three had been ‘just enough’.

And, that was a bit like the day, ‘just enough’ to ensure I’d be ready for the next darker moment…

And after Monday, I almost wish I’d not written that last sentence.

I’d seen to the housework with Dad then come the afternoon gone to see my doctor, as arranged. I’d gone after going to Azda, so carrying my bad had been a bugger. But, I’d been shopping for things Dad wanted and needed. So, I’d arrived at the doctor’s feeling totally shattered.

I’d told the receptionist why I was there and who I was there to see. Then she had told me that my appointment had been with another doctor, on the twelfth. I’d been tired and, had wanted what I believed was true – and still do; an appointment as arranged.

As I disagreed with the receptionist she had disappeared, then brought in her superior who had told me I was being loud and argumentative… and, I’d been getting more and more frustrated and irritated and manic.

When I’d left the practice I’d been given an appointment for 14:30 on Wednesday and walked home angered. Then as I’d come to the lights at Bridle Road I’d had a woman stopped at red stop before me – a blonde so intent on her mobile phone that she had been unaware of much around her. Angered already, I’d shouted at her…
“What’s it to do with you?” She’d shouted at me.
With knuckles white I’d told her, “My own personal safety.”

Then the argument over as the lights changed, I continued homeward and ended up in a very similar argument, with a young man… and, the only thing that stopped me going even more over the top was a reminder to myself that I was ‘severely ill’…

Well, come 14:27 on Wednesday I’d stood breathless before reception, waited awhile and got to see my doctor – who had listened as I’d needed. When she had made effort to explain the Monday I’d told her ‘no need’ and almost meant it. At least they had accepted it had been their error – human error – but, it had not helped, at the time.

Now, I’d been feeling more rational and able to handle the idiocies of ‘man’…

And speaking of ‘idiocies’…

On the Friday I got a letter sitting on the doormat I recognized, as being from the dole and tentatively I’d picked it up, sliced it open… then read: your appointment has been postponed and, not given an alternate date.

Now, considering how damn anxious ‘they’ get me feelin, this is pretty irritating, to say the very least…

I have stuff on Dailymtion and Youtube and stories on vampirerave.Com, but overall I do what I can to avoid ‘social media’, in all of its varied forms. But, sometimes even I can still b surprised by the times I live in, Now. I’d been reading a chat column as I’d been working on a laptop and read about 20 odd dead in Manchester and couldn't believe it so googled the news using that as the tag - and, that's when I learned of the probable suicide bomber at the Ariana Grande concert. The news hat the youngest of those killed was just eight was repugnant. Those killers aren’t soldiers, or martyrs… children-killers or child murderers I’ll accept – but not soldier, or martyr…


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