11.06.14 (Day 171)
Yet again, what was once home has been taken over. I am literally sick and tired of trying to talk to these people. They can have it.
The joke will be over soon; the playground closed. They won’t know what they had until it’s gone. I tried.
For my own part, I’ve been looking after myself today. I’ve collected my sick note renewal (the one that says “Alcohol Dependency Syndrome”) from the doctor, taken it to the Job Centre and had them fax it to DWP in Canterbury. No doubt it will deliberately be lost, as has happened before. I’ve kept a copy in any case. So ESA should continue.
More importantly (in the eyes of the system), I went to CRI and “re-engaged”. Utter bollocks but alas I need them and the other agencies who claim to be helping me insist that I be engaged with CRI. I achieved a lot but I’ve still got a long way to go and a short time to get there. 171 days so far: how many more?
171 days on the road: put out here for simply being unwell. And the fact that I’m receiving treatment goes against me. Such a wonderful system.
The base is fairly quiet today: I’m not sure why. Perhaps some of our occasional, casual visitors sense that the end may be nigh. With all that I’ve put in today, hopefully that will be the case for me. I doubt it.
My young charge is out for the evening, probably staying with her current foster carer overnight. She’s very much in the balance over who she wants to be with: her current carer or me. Both have their own benefits for her but as I’ve pointed out, she can’t have the best of both worlds. She has to make a choice.
Two ghosts have been in touch. One to say that she misses me, still loves me but can’t live with me; the other to say that she never wants to hear from me again. I can live with both situations. And I do. They’ll be back; they always are.
Then there’s the mothership, with whom I’ve rebuilt a bridge and who visits my coffee shop at church every Tuesday. She’s been kind enough to offer to cover the cost of my travel at the end of the month when I meet my children and make a return visit to Bexley for an evening. That aside though, she’s said that all of this ongoing business is making her ill (welcome to my world), so I’ve suggested – reluctantly – that she might wish to completely disown me for a while to reduce the stress. I’m much better than I was but I don’t want to send my own beloved mum to an early grave. Once gone, soon forgotten, like so many others.
My potential foster thing didn’t leave. Whether that’s an indication of loyalty or laziness, I know not. There are a few of them in the living room, while I sit alone and write alone in my own room. If any of them wish to see me, they can. Otherwise the status quo suits me. There are things which I need to speak to all assembled through there about but that applies to the world at large too: oh for a very large soap box.
I simply don’t have the time, nor the energy to say all that I’d like to say to all that I need to. That’s why I simply say “Read the fucking blog!”
So as the resident Fagin, I’ve been reviewing the situation. Hopefully it will change soon and I can be away from the constant noise.
By way of a distraction, I’ve been playing with numbers; specifically today’s date: 11.06.14…
11: 1+1 = 2;
06: 6 / 2 = 3;
14: 3 x 14 = 42
Although I yearn for change, some things remain constant.