My OCD Is Pissing Me Off.!

Last night I went to bed at 11.15pm, after ensuring Bear was settled for the night and had everything he needed and wanted. He was very tired, his sinuses were completely blocked and he had a throbbing headache. I finally managed to sleep around 2am, completely exhausted after spending almost three hours crying and thinking about what I would do if he didn’t wake up. In April, a good friend of ours, a man named Ruud, only two years older than Bear died from Covid a fortnight after having a positive test result. He didn’t even have symptoms until the last three days and was admitted to hospital two days before he died.

This and the fact that Bear was completely fine yesterday evening, but by the time he went to bed he was really ill kept my mind actively presenting all manner of horrific pictures of having to tell his parents he had died, having to tell his children, having to organise his funeral and having to live without him. Needless to say I did not sleep easy and was awake at 5.10am straining to hear any tiny little sound from a sleeping man two floors below me. At 5.15am I slipped out of bed and downstairs to the basement to check on him. I needed to know if he was okay. When I heard him softly snoring I wept with relief.

Unable to go back to sleep I sat with the dog and read until 8.30am and then went upstairs and got dressed and started the day. At 10am I went down to see how Bear was doing and if he wanted coffee. He seemed a little brighter but was still stuffed up and croaky voiced, although he assured me he had no throat issues. I have insisted he comes upstairs to eat. We have a long dining table and if we sit at each end, there is a two metre space between us, plus it is the only time I will see him and know how he is doing. I made coffee, breakfast and freshly squeezed orange juice, any help I can give him to fight off this virus is worth the work.

After breakfast he went back downstairs and I got on with the housework. I did it all yesterday but I need to keep busy or I’ll fall apart. I’ve baked chocolate peanut butter oat bars and an American cheesecake and had dinner prepared well before time. This evening I’m watching the Ravens/Vikings game while Bear watches F1 downstairs. We’re keeping in touch via Messenger. My OCD is having a field day. If it’s not showing me horrendous images of my beloved in death it’s telling me I will die if any of those COVID germs gets to me and then shows me all the occasions on which I had kissed Bear before his positive test result. It encourages me to sanitise myself, the house, the dog and everything Bear has been within ten feet of. I am already using masks, gloves and hand sanitiser and wiping down everything before I touch it.

I have to keep telling myself not to go there. That I have to be stronger, for Bear, he has enough to deal with without me going full-retard (pardon the expression) because I’ve lost control of my mental health. I am not looking forward to another night alone.

Bear has COVID.!

This evening Bear tested positive for COVID. After spending the past 21 months protecting not only me but everyone else around him, wearing masks and gloves, using hand sanitiser and hygiene wipes, distancing and adhering to all the rules and regulations and willingly getting both vaccinations to ensure the safety of others, one utterly selfish piece of shit who refused to get vaccinated for whatever pathetic excuse they told themselves was acceptable, caught COVID and spread it around their workplace. Now Bear, to keep me safe, has self-isolated in the basement where he intends to spend the next 7-10 days alone. It’s his birthday on Tuesday. 😢

I tested negative but it makes no difference. I too am alone. I am upset. I am angry and I am already stressed. I can’t hug him, I can’t kiss him and I can’t snuggle into him to sleep at night as I normally would. I can speak to him only over Messenger because of the callous attitude of one person who, even though they work in healthcare, decided their right to refuse was more important than the health of others. 😡 I am worried for him and I am scared, for myself, for his family and for his children. He is in his mid-fifties and a little overweight… a friend of ours of the same age died from COVID in April.

Roller Blinds, Bathroom Woes, The Knee Specialist & Someone Bought MY House.!!!!

Over the past few weeks, Bear made contact with a roller blind specialist and told him about our external door blinds that have been making weird grinding noises and occasionally refusing to roll down. Said roller blind specialist came out to have a look, played with the buttons, watched the blinds go down and then back up and pronounced them to be completely useless and so outdated they couldn’t be repaired. These things are so old, they don’t even make the spare parts anymore. So getting them repaired is now a no go. Replacing them is also a no-go as I refuse to pay out for something we’re not going to be using for long. If the new owners want them, they can buy them.

Bear has again made an executive decision about the bathroom and I have washed my hands of the whole thing. After the support for the shower basin was installed and deemed to be an acceptable alternative, we discovered the shower basin had a long rent in the fiberglass underneath and decided to replace it. So Bear went to the DIY store and bought a new shower basin and a tin of white waterproof paint for the bathroom ceiling, which he’d been planning to sand over and re-paint. The ceiling is plasterboard and covered in black and yellow mould from not having an exhaust fan in the bathroom, because the ‘professional builder’ who put the shower in also put the ceiling up after removing the old, plastic cladding and decided not to bother re-instating the fan that was in there previously, leaving it hanging uselessly from the exhaust pipe as he casually installed the new ceiling. We didn’t realise until it was too late. So of course the bathroom absorbed the damp and everything went mouldy.

So Bear sanded it down and found the mould was only on the surface and hadn’t penetrated the plasterboard and decided that was good enough and painted over it. Only after he’d painted it did he let me know that the white paint he’d bought wasn’t white after all, but anthracite.! He’d picked up the wrong colour and rather than take it back and get white, he decided to use it anyway. Our tiny little bathroom now looks even smaller with it’s dark grey ceiling. This is not the end of the bathroom owes. Whilst Bear was at the DIY store he was inspired to finish the bathroom in a completely different way than we’d agreed to. Instead of re-tiling the walls around the shower basin he’s decided to use stick on wall panelling instead. Waterproof panelling granted, but still… the panelling is thinner than the tiles, so he’s now decided to plaster around the shower basin so he has the right depth to glue the wall panels on, and the wall panelling he’s chosen is dark grey to match the ceiling.!

On Tuesday I had an appointment with the sadistic knee doctors at the hospital after having an X-ray on my right knee to see what damage the calcium build-up has caused. The specialist was very charming and knowledgeable and looked around 16, if he was a day. He didn’t prod and poke me, didn’t manhandle my knee, didn’t even ask to look at it. He sat me down, showed me the calcium build-up in my kneecap which is lodged on the far edge of my kneecap, not even close to my tendons, so cannot be the cause of all the pain and discomfort I’ve been experiencing over the past year, and asked me what happens when I have these twinges. When I told him, he asked if I had a family history of neurological issues. Suddenly, everything clicked.! My father’s hands have shaken for more than 30 years and my grandfather’s left leg used to give him gip with random nerve spasms.

Eureka.! I have inherited neurological issues which have added to the hip and lower back problems I’ve had since I was pregnant with my eldest son. Quickest diagnosis ever.! I came home on Tuesday with a neurology appointment for December 2nd.

On Wednesday morning, Bear was browsing through the estate agents websites looking at houses when he shows me his iPad screen and says “your house has sold”. The actual FUCK.?!! Who the..? What the..? How.?!! WHY.?!! Nooooooooooooooooooooo.! *wails* My house.!! Upon further investigating (I made Bear call them and ask about it), some ass-hat phoned up on Tuesday afternoon, asked if it was still on the books and made an offer then and there. No viewing, no questions, just made an offer and waited while they called the mortgage people and got an acceptance. I was gutted.! I still am gutted. My perfect house is now someone else’s and I hate them. I hope they’re really miserable there. No, no I don’t. They’d better damn well be the happiest they’ve ever been in their whole lives in that house, as I would have been. Only then will I accept my loss. Bear showed me other houses, but I’m not interested anymore. When he’s finally finished that damned monstrosity of a bathroom and got this hellhole of a house valued and we have some idea of what we can get for it, then I’ll re-start looking for a new house. Until then I shall mope like a dumped girlfriend and listen to sad songs about houses and complain bitterly about being beaten to the best damn house EVER.!! 😦

Okay, I won’t… you know I won’t. There’s too much else to do to waste time wallowing in self pity. That house better have had a twin sister though and it better be available.! 😀

A Bear In The Bathroom, The Bacterial Infection & I Want That House

You learn something new every day and the past two weeks has taught me that Bear doing DIY is a bad idea. A VERY bad idea. Bear is not the DIY type and his attempts to repair the shower as cheaply, quickly and as hands-off as possible are really starting to piss me off.! He finally pulled the shower basin out after nine years of it leaking down into the downstairs toilet to find two supports still standing, half a breezeblock and two full cans worth of expanding foam, under which were the other two supports.

Nine years ago a ‘professional builder’ was paid a small fortune to install that shower. 😠

So Bear began by chipping the foam out to see what was under it. Once the foam was removed we discovered the breezeblock was balanced on top of the water pipes. The only support worth a damn for the shower that four people had been using for nine years was balanced on the water pipes that are about the only things holding the downstairs toilet ceiling up. The concrete floor under the shower is as thin as the water pipes embedded in it and crumbling. So Bear decided to build a support for the new shower basin by placing three house bricks at each corner and two at the corner with the plughole and then placing a piece of fibreboard on them with a brace of four supports in the centre, leaving the water pipes accessible.

Once that problem was solved, he set about carefully chipping out the concrete to lower the u-bend and plug for the shower so it fit better underneath the basin. Since then he’s been desperately trying not to continue the job. He’s gone no further and we’ve been washing our hair and doing full body washes at the kitchen sink. The children came for the weekend and had to forego showering until they got back home. And today marks two weeks since he started and the shower basin is still in the back bedroom, waiting to be re-installed. I knew I should have done the job myself.

Adding to the bathroom woes, I caught a stomach bug somehow and have been spending a lot of my days on the toilet. I have no idea what I got it from as I have eaten and drank the same thing as Bear and he’s fine and I haven’t been around anyone else. I’m starting to suspect the dog who loves to jump all over me for kisses and cuddles. He’s gotten very affectionate lately and it’s really irritating. I don’t mind cuddles, but when he forces his way onto me and starts lunging to lick my face it’s a bit much. He’s caught me a few times on my teeth and gums, so it’s likely I got a bug from him.

In the process of finding a way out of this house, I went through the websites of a few local estate agents and found THE house. MY house. The PERFECT house for us. A big, characterful house built in 1906, with an extension that houses a garage and a conservatory, with a garden that is half terraced and 12 metres by 10 metres.! There are four big bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge loft space and a large basement. I’m completely in love with this house and have already told Bear I want it. It’s been on the market for 18 months because it’s on a main road, although from what I can tell, it’s not all that busy, not that it matters as the living space is all in the back. I’m taking a wander over there tomorrow to see what it’s like around that area during the day.

Bear says not to get my hopes up as we may not be able to afford it, but I think it’s a little too late for that.! I have to wait for the realtors to come and see around our house and value it, so we can see how much more we’ll get for it than we paid and how much we can then afford to pay for another. I’m keeping fingers crossed that we’ll get a decent price, despite my bathroom doubts.

Slowly, A Professional Job, Dodging The Sadist & The Male Nurse

Back in late August I discovered a penpal app. called Slowly through a BDSM site on here. The poster was talking about a Dom she had as a penpal and the emotional support he was to her when she was going through issues with her own Dom. I’d never heard of Slowly but recalled the joy of writing snail mail letters to my grandmother when I was in my teens, so went in search of it. It’s basically digital snail mail, depending on how far away your penpal is depends on how long it takes for mail to reach them, anything from 30 minutes to 3 days.! You make an account, design a limited avatar, write a bio and make a list of interests. The app. can match you with other people who have the same interests or you can browse through the list of users yourself. I prefer to do the latter as the auto-match function will pair you with someone who might only have one common interest, whereas I’d rather make contact with someone who has seven or eight or more.

For the most part I’ve found that people are friendly, chatty and literate. There have been the usual pervs/scam artists/sexual predators as you’d find anywhere where people are connected, but there are settings to report and block them and block the area of the world they’re from if you so wish. So far I’ve blocked fifteen men and one woman for non-consensual sexual contact and reported a man for trying to scam me. Idiot.! On the plus side I’ve found a Staten Island cop with the best sense of humour, a man in Toronto, Canada who writes the most beautiful poetry and an erotic fiction writer in Tennessee who I’m helping understand what eroticism really is, as well as a Nigerian who loves Eminem (and no, he’s not a Prince :D), a Spanish musician and a lovely woman in New York who needs a big hug and I wish I could be there to give it to her.

Life has suddenly blossomed with these connections. The potential for long-lasting friendship depends entirely on me and how I respond. Obviously I knew there were other lonely people out there who needed a friend or someone to just listen to them but until Slowly there was no way to reach out and touch them and offer that support and friendship. Now instead of sitting and watching Bear exist online, I can exist online myself for a while sharing my story and thoughts and ideas with others. The only issue I have with this app. is how darned long it takes to receive each letter. 😀

Bear started work on the bathroom today, cutting through the rubber sealant and pulling out the shower basin to find a half ton of expanding foam underneath, under which was buried two of the four supports for the shower basin, which explains why the damn thing was sloping to the left and all the grouting around the tiles was cracking and allowing water to seep through into the downstairs toilet. A professional job in this city is obviously to use as much expanding foam as possible. Thankfully the only major damage was the wooden supports beside the shower that connect to the floating toilet. Easily replaced and secured.

I also had an appointment with my gleefully sadistic GP about the calcium build-up in my right knee. It’s been rapidly becoming a bigger pain in my rear by the month and after a few near misses on the stairs, I am about ready for it to be cut out so I can get back to walking like a real girl and not waddling like a constipated duck. Said GP, after prodding, poking and manhandling my knee decided this was no ordinary calcium build-up and didn’t offer to stab me as is his wont, but has referred me to the sadistic knee specialists at the hospital for them to poke and prod and manhandle me instead. Okay, I don’t know if they’re actually sadistic, but I’m assuming they are because they specialise in an area of human physiology that would involve sticking needles in people on a daily basis. I’m only assuming that they enjoy it.

Someone else who would likely enjoy sticking needles in people is Bear, who has recently passed his Nursing degree, finally and is now an RN (Registered Nurse). The lads and I have been ribbing him about wearing a sexy white dress and glasses on his nose and using his stethoscope for completely inappropriate uses. 😀 You have to take the opportunities when they present themselves. I’m so proud of him though, it’s been a tough four years and he’s been so stressed and strung out about passing this as it means he’ll get a pay rise and we can finally afford to get the hell out of this house and into something bigger, somewhere quieter which is all we’ve wanted for the past nine years.

Finally, Getting Somewhere

To my surprise, Bear arranged for a builder to come round and take a look at the bathroom and downstairs toilet to see what work needed doing. He’s also contacted a couple of other builders too. Yesterday, the builder came and said it was basic work and he could do it at the end of October. We await his quote. Also yesterday Bear started and finished painting our bedroom white, which we really should have done a damn sight earlier, as it looks bigger and much better now. Typical.! He’s vetoed doing the kids’ rooms as a good wipe down has dealt with many of the marks and scrapes on the walls. I’m inclined to agree, begrudgingly as it seems he’s just looking to get out of doing anything too strenuous. Something I was expecting.

Meanwhile, I cleaned the hob. Not your straightforward ‘give it a quick wipe over’ job as I’d expected. I had to scrub the little metal cups that hold the gas burners and try to get the spillage that had been baked into the moulding around the igniters out. No mean feat I can tell you. The hob is probably around 23 years old and it wasn’t in the best condition when we moved in nine years ago. The oven’s a little younger as it’s a fan, but even that’s been here 20 years. I’m looking forward to a more modern kitchen when we move.

We’ve decided to try and fix the roller blinds on the outside kitchen window and patio door rather than pull them out. They’ve been here for decades too and the kitchen window blind is cantankerous as all hell, but they’re a good safety measure and great when it gets too hot in the summer, so fixing them would be a good boost to the house price when we sell. Today Bear is cutting the wisteria down. It hasn’t bloomed very much over the past seven years and it likes to invade the house through the bathroom and our bedroom windows, bringing with it birds, bees and all manner of weird and wonderful insect life. The problem is if it flies and buzzes in this house, it’s immediately terminated as I hate flying, buzzy things that quite often bite too. Plus the neighbours get arsey when the wisteria dares to grow over on their side of the dividing fence and bitch like hell about it, so it’s coming down.

By now the neighbours have probably guessed that we’re gearing up to move, but I’m damned if I’m saying anything until the ‘For Sale’ boards go up and I’ve told Bear that if they enquire I’ll assure them that I’ll be letting the new people know what noisy obnoxious bastards they are, so they don’t suffer that shock the way we did three days after we moved in. Bear says it’s mean, but he knows me so well he laughed about it. Of course I wouldn’t tell the new people that. Our neighbours aren’t actually as bad as they have been in the past. Since their eldest daughter moved out last month, there have been no more weekly screaming matches and the partying until 5am three times a year has finally been reduced to once a year until 2.30am instead. Still a pain in the ass, but by no means as infuriating as previous years have been. The guy next door is still an obnoxious asshole, but if you ignore him, it’s all good.

Food Delivery, Time Together & Home Repairs

I do love when I announce that it’s Bear’s turn to cook because after the past three weeks of cooking, baking and cleaning I’ve had quite enough. He looks totally bewildered and reaches for Google to find a local restaurant that does food delivery.

Den Dorstige Tijger and Hop the Builder, two new American IPA’s.

Yesterday we went out together for the first time in 17 months. We biked into town and had a couple of beers at our favourite bar, sat outside obviously because people are disease ridden.! Bear spent a fair amount of the time on his iPhone despite this being the first time we’ve been out together because… Bear, while I surveyed the view (raining) and wondered what the heck I was going to make for dinner, while not really giving a damn. Watching Bear scroll through his FB and Twitter feeds made the decision for me. He could make dinner. He was a little taken aback but then took up the challenge, trying to think what to make. I vetoed his usual choices of spinach pasta and shop bought chips, which left him floundering. The thing is, he’s a pretty good cook when he bothers to make the effort, which is rare although he has to follow a recipe. He can’t cook when he has to figure things out as he goes, as he hates that uncertainty and the self-doubt that rears it’s ugly head on those occasions. He was going to go grocery shopping (which he insists on doing) but we got back just before 6pm and he still had to walk the dog, so he made the executive decision to pay for food delivery.! So we had Thai, which was delicious and again he’s gotten out of cooking. :[

He did manage to leave the bloody Internet alone long enough for us to agree on a strategy re: the house move though. I’ll make a list of things that need doing around the house and he’ll either do them within the next three months or find someone professional who can. I’ll make a list of things I want in a new house and he’ll look at it and tick the things he agrees with and (maybe) add an item or two. He’ll start adding himself to the mailing lists of local estate agents and looking through reasonably priced properties to get some idea of what’s on offer in our price range. For him, this is quite a compromise. Usually it takes him years to get anything done. Meanwhile, I’ll do everything that needs doing that I’m not stupid enough to believe he’ll get around to doing. First thing Monday, I’m starting the re-painting.

Barred!, DIY Excuses & Chewable Dog Toys

The boy child is now barred from the kitchen when I’m in it after an incident that could have caused severe injuries, to me mostly. Being the intelligent lad that he is, he thought it would be a clever idea to sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor behind me, while I’m stood at the stove cooking dinner. We were both very lucky that I looked before I took a step towards the sink with a heavy saucepan full of boiling water and pasta, or we’d both have ended up in A&E. As it was, I quite incredulously asked him if he had to sit there while I was cooking.? To which he responded that he did because he was playing ball with the dog.! Bear looked at him in much the same way I was and told him to get out of the kitchen. He’s 15, he may not make 16 at the rate he’s going. He was then told to stay out of the kitchen if I was in it, regardless of what I was doing, as he’s a hazard to my health.

Bear and I went to the DIY store today to look for a connector for our garden hose, so we can empty the pool without washing out the fruit garden. I also wanted to look at paint for the bedrooms I want to get a start on re-doing next week and bathroom tiles, so we can make a start on getting the repairs we’ve needed since it was finished 9 years ago, organised. Trying to get Bear to do anything is like trying to get blood out of a stone, so trying to get him to look at paint when he’s not even bothering to think about the re-painting until next week, after the kids go back to their mother is just next to impossible. Bathroom tiles too.! “We’ll come back next week to have a look.” Why do we need to come back next week to have a look when we’re both here now.?! What he’s hoping is that he can come back to have a look next week but not actually have to do anything… boy, is he ever going to be shocked.

If he doesn’t get his ass in gear and get the painting at least started before the end of next week, he’ll find I’ll have it finished by the time he gets home from work on day one.! I am not fucking around with this. It’s taken me nine years to get him to even consider moving out of this hellhole and now the mortgage advisor and a few local estate agents have also told him now’s a good time to make the move, he’s damned well going to make it.! We’ve hated this neighbourhood since three days after we moved in, so I’m not hanging around any longer than I absolutely have to.

After we left the DIY store, we went to our local Pets Place, to get the dog a squeaky toy. He used to have one when he was a young pup but he ate it and we didn’t replace it because he seemed to prefer his cheesy bone. This morning the old lady next door had visitors who had a young puppy with them. They were squeaking a toy for it and driving our dog nuts.! So Bear decided he should again have one of his own. We have to buy Kong toys because our little fur baby is a major chewer and he’ll eat his way through anything not made from industrial strength rubber in a few minutes. We eventually found a cool toy for him. It’s a huge red Kong Jumbler, it has handles on both sides so you can play tug with it, it squeaks and it has a tennis ball inside to keep him interested and best of all it can’t be chewed through.! Awesome.

We also got him an Orka Flyer, it’s basically a frisbee which, once he learns how to play with it, he’ll love. He’s always racing around, jumping up to catch his ball, so a frisbee should prove to be more fun.

Martian Slavery, Expecting Too Much & The Food Stalker

Sometimes I wonder just how dumb the human race has to become before evolution pulls the plug on us all.? We’ve been devolving for quite some time now and even I’m amazed at the depths of utter stupidity some humans can realise. It’s almost like there’s a competition. “Dumbest motherfucker on the planet gets their name in the Guinness Book of Records” and hopefully sterilised, for free. Martian slavery is apparently the latest ‘conspiracy theory’. NASA have been abducting babies and sending them on a 20 year journey to Mars, so they can be enslaved when they get there. They’ve been doing this for decades apparently and now the jig is up!! No. Seriously. This is a thing… NASA even had to deny that they had been doing this. It’s not even a facepalm moment, it’s a ‘are you really that fucking stupid.?’ moment. Robert David Steele needs to be barred from watching re-runs of The X-Files.

Yesterday, the wireless headphones Bear bought me arrived. After spending two and a half weeks being subjected to the girl child’s high-pitched, staccato cackle I was this close ‘-‘ to a complete meltdown. Irritated beyond comprehension by the lack of Bear’s control over his bloody annoying daughter, both were in the firing line of my damned-near volcanic temper. I’d been wearing my headphones and turning Spotify up louder and louder until my eardrums were vibrating, yet still that high-pitched yowl was getting through and causing my nerves to twang painfully when to top it all off, one side of the headphones stopped working as the cable was frayed and the wires inside had broken. Eventually I went upstairs with a throbbing headache to get some peace… to no avail. The boy child was hovering, as he does whenever there might be something to see or hear and my appearance in my bedroom at 7pm is somewhat unusual, especially since I shut the door and kept the light switched off.

Of course he thinks he’s being all nonchalant, just going to the bathroom and back to his room, when actually he’s prowling, pausing outside my bedroom door to try to hear something. Bear came up to find out why I’d been gone for more than 40 minutes and got an earful, which of course the boy child was happily listening in on and reporting back to his sister downstairs via WhatsApp. He’s going to be the next recipient of my wrath if he’s not very careful. Bear being Bear, immediately goes downstairs to look up new headphones for me, making them wireless so I can move around the house and snug fitting to ensure the girl child’s ‘murdering-a-cat’ cackle can’t get through. Of course he’s not going to tell his precious child to shut the hell up or go and sit in her room and cackle rather than doing it in the living room. That would be expecting too much.

Every other weekend, when Bear’s two youngest stay over, the boy child spends all day and night in his room. A typical teenage boy he only appears when there’s the potential for food. So much so that the potential for food seems to be whenever he hears me in the kitchen. Suddenly he’ll be behind me, craning his neck over my shoulder to see what I’m doing while pretending he’s only there to get a drink. He’s starting to piss me off.! These past two weeks Bear and the kids have been glued to the Olympics… all day, every day. They’ve only moved when I’ve provided food. Now I’m a sports fan, but I’m not their level of sports fan. So, being bored out of my mind on a daily basis, I’ve baked pretty much everything you can bake with blackberries, raspberries, blackcurrants and cherries in it. When I made muffins, the boy child ‘needed a drink’ just as I was mixing the batter, and then reported back that I was making cake.

When I made fruit bars, he had to come and wash his hands at the kitchen sink, and was then heard to announce that I was making more cake. When I made blackberry jam, I had to boil it for 10 minutes without the lid on. Suddenly there he was, stood at the fridge door, on tiptoe, craning his neck so far off his shoulders to see over my shoulder and into the saucepan I was stood in front of. He’s vehemently denied that he’s damned nosey, but every time I’m baking something he’ll suddenly appear. I may ban him from the kitchen whenever I’m in it. He’s developed a habit of leaving his bedroom door ajar so he can listen in on whatever’s going on elsewhere in the house. His bedroom is just across the hall from the bathroom and I really don’t like that he’s listening in on people using the bathroom instead of shutting his door and minding his own business.

It’s bothered me for quite some time and when I brought it up he strenuously denied that he listened when people were in the bathroom, so I asked why his earbuds were only ever partially in his ears and not in them properly if he’s listening to music or the audio version of the latest book he’s reading or listening to a Podcast as he says he is.? He said so he can hear if he’s called for dinner. I called him for dinner that night. I stood at the living room door and said his name. I didn’t raise my voice, if anything I lowered it a little just to see if he’d hear. He did, and if he could hear me, he could hear the rest of us using the bathroom. Now whenever I go upstairs, I close his door, loudly.!

Writing My Autobiography & My New Niece

Quite a few years ago, I started writing the story of my life from the age of six, when my parents separated. It was hard going and emotional, and renewed my need for answers. As of this date I have only gotten as far as my mid-twenties. I have even more questions that need answers and the original answers I was seeking still have not been forthcoming. I have been in contact with both my parents, neither of which remember much of anything beyond the last ten years, or so they say. My mother has told so many lies over the years, she can barely remember what it is she’s lied about, so convinced by her own lies that even I had to point out the massive differences in the stories she has told me. Now I am convinced that no matter who I ask and how I ask, I will never get the answers I am looking for. I have a very good memory for the shit that’s been done to me and the people who did it. Unfortunately, they don’t.!

Perhaps when it’s all in print and they are faced with my truth of what they did to me, it might jog a memory or two. Perhaps. Probably not. Although the way I’m going, they’ll probably all be dead by the time I get to the point of printing. It’s taken nearly eight years to get this far. The only person my autobiography may hurt is my younger sister. She thinks her parents are the sun and the moon, while I have a very different recollection. All in all it’s been very therapeutic and I’ve managed to sort through a lot of ill feelings, and place a few more where they should have been all along. They say people are, at their very essence, good. That has not been my experience.

I wrote, back in my 2020 Personal Review that my sister was pregnant. Well, she had a little girl on June 23rd. A full week late but healthy and perfect after a 28 hour labour and a forceps delivery. Olivia Rose looks a lot like her mother and has the family nose.. hahaha.! That thing is never going to be gotten rid of. Even my youngest son’s children have it.! Genetics can be a bitch. 😀


claytoonz

Nationally Syndicated Editorial Cartoonist

A Family History in Letters

Letters from the women in my family to their mothers from 1910-1980.

What I found

The art of losing

The Belfast Belter

The Life and Times of a retired Soldier, Boxer, Pilot, Husband, Father and Grandfather

Reading Between The Lies

tales of untruths

Shine My Way

My memoir. Where I cuss a lot.

CLEMENS P. SUTER

Art & Literature

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