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Thursday 1st November 2007: I was all set on writing an entry tonight, but the Internet, or Geo, or whatever has been a twat, and you know, I just can’t be arsed now, it just isn’t worth the fucking effort. Tuesday 6th November 2007: I had a slight contretemps with my Daddies yesterday. It being Bonfire Night I fancied going to a fireworks display, I love the big organised displays with their fantastic aerial pyrotechnics, but Shane said no, and Dick agreed, in fact I wasn’t even allowed to look out of any of the windows in case I caught sight of something sparkly. It was sound effects only for this houseboy last night, which irritated me no end. I felt they were being over nannyish, a right pair of Mary Poppins and said so. They didn’t care. I was bluntly told that a decision had been made and I had no choice but to accept it, and without any of my lip and chutzpah. I understood where they were coming from, but it still got on my nerves, it can be really frustrating having your personal freedom of choice curtailed sometimes. Why was I denied this simple pleasure, had I ironed their lordships shirt collars the wrong way? No. What happened was that I had an episode early last Sunday morning; I’d been headachy and nervy for a few days prior to that, which can often be an indication that my brain activity is slightly out of kilter. I woke up about half six with a desperate need to pee and so got up to use the bathroom as opposed to just lying there and pissing the bed, which might have pissed off the bf’s a bit, see, who sez I have no common sense. Anyway, I did the bizz, shook the pup and turned to go back to bed, and that’s when it happened, I felt the invisible web touch my face, a foul taste in my mouth then my muscles stiffened and maybe because I was still half asleep that was enough to make me lose my balance. We have a tiered heated towel rail on the wall in the bathroom and as I went over I cracked the side of my head on it. I had the tiniest of nicks on my scalp, but I bled like a stuck pig, which heightened the irrational fear that was already sweeping over me from the episode, thank God I’d just been to the loo. Dick and Shane cared for and comforted me and it made me appreciate how lucky I was to have people there willing to do that. After considering that he’d cared for and comforted me quite enough Shane launched into interrogation mode to try and find out if the episode had a definable trigger: had I missed meds, had I been drinking more than I was letting on, had I done something I shouldn’t have done and was worrying about it? Huh! I pointed out that with him and Dick on guard chance would be a fine thing. Thus two things were decided. Definitely no firework displays, all those rapid flashes of sparkling colour were a risk even without my brain being sensitised by the episode and I was to make an appointment to see my neurologist. I pointed out that while the meds were aimed at reducing attacks they didn’t guarantee stopping them altogether and, as it was only one small episode I would prefer just to ignore it and get on with life without making a fuss and bothering the doctor. As always my views were taken into careful consideration and discussed and as a result I see the voodoo man on Friday. I’ve told the bf’s that a chaperone service will NOT be required. Oh, I’m being hailed, one of them must need help in shifting position on the couch or something. Wednesday 7th November 2007: I’m in one of my non-stop eating moods today; it’s like a compulsion. Basically I haven’t stopped stuffing my face since breakfast. I’ve had crackers and cheese, soup, crusty bread and pate, chocolate, more chocolate, a can of tuna, the lovely oily kind as opposed to the healthy in brine kind, though surely all that salt can’t be that healthy, a bowl of dairy ice-cream, a full litre of freshly squeezed orange juice, a packet of fig rolls and two bananas and it isn’t even three o clock yet. I’ll have to cordon off the bathroom when my bowel decides to unload what I’ve burdened it with today…never let it be said that I don’t share beautiful thoughts with you. I’m cooking goat for dinner this evening, not a whole one you understand, just some bits of one, I’m afraid this house is carnivorous to a man, you would never find a vegan at our dinner table, not unless they were on the menu and served with some lava beans and a nice Chianti. I’ll have to shift my bum, I’ve got sheets to bring in off the line and some ironing to catch up on plus Dick was complaining of a sore throat this morning so I’d better nip down to the chemists and stock up on Strepsils, Vicks Sinex spray, paracetamol and other such winter essentials. Shane caused ripples when he casually suggested that Dick ought to consider having a flu jab. Dick was highly indignant and asked, witheringly, why he should consider having a flu jab, was Shane perchance suggesting that he fell into the category considered by the government to be at risk from complications of flu, i.e. the elderly and the infirm and might he remind Shane that he was the elder patriarch of this domain and perhaps HE should consider having a fucking flu jab. Shane very coldly stated that having a sore throat was no excuse for rudeness and if Dick didn’t watch his manner his throat wouldn’t be the only thing that was sore, he’d only been making a suggestion out of concern, after all, Dick was more prone to cold viruses than he was. I told them that they sounded like an old married couple, sniping and niggling at each other, and it was sweet in its way. My arse dodged dual paws with the ease of an expert. Thursday 8th November 2007: None of us slept particularly well last night. One of our neighbours has a fault on his house alarm that seems to be defeating all attempts to fix it and the bloody thing was clanging away into the early hours, and then of course no sooner did we get off to sleep than it was time to get up and consequently none of us got out of bed with good grace, least of all me seeing as I had to be first out, but such is the duty of a domestic slave. Breakfast conversation between Shane and I was limited consisting less of words and more of gestures with him holding out his coffee cup and giving it a slight impatient shake to indicate that he wished it to be refilled. I was telling him that he drank too much coffee and he ought to reduce his caffeine intake (my words of wisdom naturally falling upon stony ground, Shane’s the type of man who demands that you do as he says while he does as he likes) when there was a thud from upstairs followed by a bellowed expletive followed by a bout of frenzied hacking and coughing as Dick’s sore throat protested at being abused when it was in a delicate condition. Shane and I looked at each other and pulled a face, wondering what, apart from a cold, ailed our third member, perhaps he’d trapped it in the door or something. We soon found out, or at least I did as Dick stormed the kitchen and crossly hurled a large bunch of bananas in my direction (that I just to say caught) croakily demanding to know what kind of fucking idiot had booby trapped the fucking airing cupboard with them, apparently they’d clonked him on the head when he opened it to get a fresh towel. Stung by his words I snapped that had I realised he’d actually managed to locate the airing cupboard never mind worked out how to open it without roaring for me to get him a towel like he usually did I would have taken the bananas out because fucking idiot I might be, but I wasn’t so much of a fucking idiot that I’d deliberately risk bruising perfectly good bananas on his cranium. So, asked Shane stepping into the breach, why exactly had I lodged bananas on a shelf in the airing cupboard? I explained that I was trying to encourage them to ripen, I’d bought them green, as I usually do, they last that bit longer, but this particular bunch seemed intent on remaining hard and green and I thought the heat in the airing cupboard might hasten ripening. Dick said it was still a stupid thing to do and I could have at least warned folk that I was using the airing cupboard as a banana nursery. He then huffed off back upstairs rubbing his head and muttering irately in a raspy voice. I silently hung the bananas, which despite their stint in the airing cupboard were still rock hard and emerald green, on the steel banana tree. I was upset; Dick wasn’t usually so rough with me. Shane patted my shoulder and said Dick just didn’t do being assaulted with bananas by the bunch, especially when he had a cold and hadn’t slept well and I wasn’t to take things to heart. He then told me to freshen his coffee and left the kitchen for a short while. I reckon he had a few words with Dick, but he didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Shane went to work after instructing me to nap at some point in the day; he worries in case tiredness triggers an episode for me, he knows more about the damn condition than I do he’s just about researched the arse off the internet, whereas I prefer to try and ignore it. Dick was sincerely apologetic when he came down for breakfast and we made up with a hug and kiss. He brought a present home for me this evening; some continental chocolates and I had to smile when he pointed out that one of the flavours he’d chosen was banoffi, it was disgusting actually and I made him finish it to prove he really was sorry for chucking nanas at baby. I’ve got to see the neurologist tomorrow, which I’m not looking forward to. I tried to persuade Shane that there was little point, but he remained un-persuaded, I’m going because he and Dick need peace of mind even if I don’t need or want it for myself and that’s final. It’s times like this that a nice plain vanilla relationship seems appealing. Friday November 9th 2007: I suppose it makes sense to fully view your own site occasionally and failing that to check the email account that goes with it on a daily basis. Thank you to all who took the trouble to write to me regarding page not found. The page has gone completely, I have no idea where or why and I doubt Yahoo will oblige me with an answer, not even if I address their Yahoo Answers forum (can you tell me how many fleas a dog has per square inch of its arse, oh, and also why you decided to delete my fucking page please) Looks like I’ll have to create it again from scratch, it shouldn’t take long. It probably won’t be tonight though, I’m just not in the mood. Sunday 18th November 2007: My bananas went from green to yellow then turned brown and onto black (that would make a great song title) Thanks C for the tip about the brown paper bag, I honestly hadn’t heard of that but it worked a treat, see, you live and learn; never again will the airing cupboard be crowded with bunches of skull busting bananas. I have a large brown paper bag on standby ready to slip my hard green nanas into should the need arise, by the way, brown paper bags are very difficult to come by, they’re an endangered species, you go into any supermarket and all you get to bung your messages in are plastic bags that end up clogging landfill sites across the country. I got my brown paper bag from a hardware shop, which as far as I can tell are the last bastions of the eco-friendly, humble brown paper bag. I was all for chucking out the bananas that went black, but Eileen said they were ideally ripe for making banana and chocolate cake, she showed me how, and it was delicious. I allowed the bf’s a slice each, I know, I’m all heart, generosity thy name is Gilli. My visit to the neurologist wasn’t too bad in itself. He didn’t think the episode I had warranted increasing the medication, I’m on more or less the base line and I’d like to stay there, so I was mightily relieved about that. He suggested that perhaps the trigger had been mistimed medication, it can make a difference not only if you miss a dose but even if you take a dose earlier or later than you normally would, its best to try and stick to exactly the same times each day, he also suggested that another contributory factor might be the change to daylight saving and that a lot of epileptics (I sincerely loathe that word) found the spring and autumn time change triggered extra fits. Shane, who to my extreme chagrin (which bothered Daddy not one jot) had insisted on accompanying me to the neurone man wasn’t convinced that the clocks going back was responsible, it would have happened sooner he reckoned. He was preoccupied on the way home and I knew that his mind was busy going back over the few days before I had the episode to see if he could work out a discrepancy in the pattern of my medication taking, which he himself usually monitored more stringently than a scientist monitored their experiments. Shane has supervised my medication right from the start of my agreeing to take the damn things. It’s not because he doesn’t trust me, it’s because he knows that I have a strong resistant streak about taking them and basically, well okay, he doesn’t trust me to always coldly set aside emotive resistance in favour of practical reality. In one way its good to have someone take that responsibility for you or from you, however you care to view it, it liberates you from a hell of a lot of self-agonising and its also nice that someone cares enough about your health and well being to want to remind you, or even bully you to take your pills or whatever. I like being nurtured by my Daddies, but in other ways it can be a pain in the arse and really difficult because it kind of disempowers you and kind of erodes your sense of independence which can be frustrating to say the least. However, in the lifestyle I’ve opted for personal empowerment and total independence aren’t really considerations because the fact is you’re not independent, you’re not a sole operator, you’re a part of an intricate hierarchical structure and it’s your duty to bow to the decisions made by the head of that hierarchy, even when they don’t suit you one hundred percent. By the time we got home Shane had worked out that if a discrepancy in med timing had taken place it had to have taken place on the Thursday night before I had the episode. I’d been on the computer in the study that night and he’d brought my pill and a glass of water and set them on the desk in front of me and then Penny had phoned and he’d left me to it. Interrogation then followed, complete with nipple clamps, electrodes and thumbscrews as he tortured information out of me as to whether I’d taken the pill immediately, as he’d told me to (lie detector says NOT SO) oh alright, he would never use such instruments on me, not for interrogation purposes anyway, he never mixes business with pleasure. Anyroads, I said I couldn’t remember and I couldn’t, not really, though I admitted it was a distinct possibility that I hadn’t taken it straightaway. I was in a bad mood that night because the site I was on kept crashing every few minutes and I was preoccupied in trying to work out why and it could easily have been an hour or more later before I turned my attentions away from it. Conclusion, his conclusion anyway, was that I’d obviously left the pill sitting on the desk while I fiddled on the bloody computer, I lost all track of time when I was on it. He was annoyed and he let me know it assaulting my ears with a blistering lecture about responsibility not only to self but also to him and Dick. Further trouble erupted last Sunday morning when he doled out my morning pill and asked where the new box was, as it wasn’t in the kitchen drawer and he clearly recalled telling me to order a repeat prescription earlier that week. He had, and I had, only I’d forgotten to pick it up from the surgery and get it filled. I’d fully intended to get it on Saturday morning, but I ended up going to a bi monthly Farmer’s Market with Eileen and forgot all about it. Sunday night was covered, I had one pill left, but I’d miss Monday mornings by several hours by the time I collected the prescription from the surgery and got it filled. In the event it was okay, I got an appointment with the out of hour’s emergency doctor and she wrote me a cover prescription and told me what chemists were open to fill it, problem solved. However, big Daddy was decidedly unimpressed with this boy and on that occasion my ears and ego weren’t the only things left smarting after he’d finished bawling me out for my abysmal lack of responsibility and organisation because he topped off his lecture by paddling my backside. Dick and Shane have been out on a shoot with Leo (HIM) today, they’ll be back soon with a bagful of corpses. I enjoy eating meat, but I must admit I really don’t enjoy killing it. The Daddies taught me to shoot, its fun and I can handle a 12 bore fairly efficiently, but I much prefer to shoot at inanimate targets rather than ones that bleed so I don’t go on the shoots, besides, I wouldn’t trust myself to be in a field with a loaded shotgun and HIM up ahead. I’ll probably be called upon to help clean whatever kills they’ve made. I don’t mind, I’ve gotten used to it, as long as the kill concerned is feathered and not furred I can gut and pluck game birds, but I can’t do rabbits. The first time I tried gutting and skinning a rabbit I ended up heaving my own guts up, the smell was disgusting and just the whole process of peeling the fur away from the body made me sick to my stomach, I had nightmares after it. If they’ve shot rabbit they’ll have to clean it themselves. I’d better go, they’ll be ravenous when they get in and expecting me to supply them with victuals. |
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