Rambling. Its what I do.

Diary of a Crazy White Chick. Part One.

It’s Monday, which doesn’t matter to me like it does to everyone else. I work from home, and so all my days mesh into each other so that sleeping in is a luxury, and so is being able to work late into the night simply because it suits me. The landmark day of the week, when I realise what day it is, is when the garden service comes around with the buzzing mowers and my dogs running from window to window trying their best to look intimidating, and some burly man in an overall hums past.

On come the earphones and my playlist begins.

Lyra, my female Pitt Bull being the most likely to eat someone before realizing there was no point, is the first to stick her nose as far through the opening in the window as she can. She occasionally looks over her shoulder at me to check if I am annoyed yet. Then, my male, Jack, lays on the carpet at my feet and looks at her and looks at me, and looks at her, and looks at me… waiting to see if he is in trouble just for being in the vicinity of his crazy female counterpart.

Marley, my cat- I believe was a wealthy gay man in a previous life sits on my desk and looks at me like somehow it’s my fault that there is so much noise interrupting his blissful nap on my boyfriend’s pillow. My boyfriend, who is allergic to cats. It’s all a plan.

On occasion, Lyra will bark in time to the beat of whatever song I am listening to – which I find amusing because it becomes less annoying that way.

Coffee, cigarettes, full ashtray and a desk that looks more like a crime scene / medical lab. Books on various aspects of psychology stacked high to hold up my Wi-Fi modem thingamabob. Syringes for the pain meds that my dog has to have because she broke her toe in one of her ‘secure the perimeter frantic checks’. My diabetic sugar testing kit which I bought as part of a paranoid notion that I may be diabetic. I wasn’t. But it was fun poking holes in my boyfriend. Yes. I am a closet sadist.

A hammer, a machete, a cleaver and a few small poking type objects. Police issue pepper spray and some kitchen knives. Just in case. Just as well I work from home. I don’t know if having all of that at arm’s length in a corporate environment would wash well.

Highlight of my week. A neighbour that I have been having an ongoing war with got arrested, along with his idiot son and spent the entire weekend in jail. This particular neighbour had some sort of mental break down, and started wearing the same clothes every day and his beard looked like something out of a spoof Amish film.

For months we had been silently pissing each other off, you know- accidentally on purpose. He would steal my garbage, hoping to find drugs to prove his theory that I am a stupid drug addict. And I would throw all my cigarette butts into his prized garden.

He would tell the neighbors that I was racist and claim that I said some hectic things, and I would end up at the neighbors having to apologize for something I didn’t do. Anyone who has known me longer than 24 hours knows that I am more likely to smack someone in the mouth for being derogatory racially, than to ever condone that sort of narrow bull shit.

So I would write a formal letter of complaint to the body corporate reporting that he was walking around naked in front of my house and that he threatened to shoot all the cats in the neighboring houses with a cross bow. All of which was true. I handed him a copy personally.

Then with his little melt down his two just as degenerate sons came to stay with him. One of whom has tried to kill him with a baseball bat about two months previously, landing him in hospital and 106 stitches. I saw the blood spatter on the wall and remember thinking how badly I wished I was there when it happened. The other son seemed less volatile, but I steered clear because rotten apples don’t fall far from the tree. One of the reasons I am not having children. The poor little shits will be doomed before they even open their eyes.

Anyway – back to the highlight. So this disgruntled and obnoxious man and his two offspring have a little party at their place- where they invited a few friends. Much drinking and then much arguing led to father and a son pulling a gun on now unwelcome visitor.

Police called, and father and baseball bat savvy son arrested. They only made bail two and a half days later. That tickled me pink because the one man in the place who complains that he surrounded by addicts and stupidity – get arrested. A man who hung the old South African flag above his house – the one that was changed when apartheid was abolished. This coming from a man who was caught checking out his other neighbor with binoculars.

The same man, who stood and stared at my house until I would come out and stare at him. I have a temper, and he knows that. So who knows what he was hoping for, but I reminded him that I may have been clean for nearly 5 years – but I still know how to behave like a stupid drug addict. I reminded him that once upon a time because I realised he was a walking testicle – he had invited me into his house – and that I made a mental note of where everything was. His baseball bats. His kitchen knives. His television. His antiques. Things a stupid drug addict would sell. I also told him I knew he had a muscle degeneration problem and that he is particularly stiff and find it’s hard to move as he wakes up – which would make him an easy target.

Wanker. I don’t understand bullies. Or bullies that enjoy making others suffer in any way. I do understand fear though – and that bullies are capable of feeling it too.

For the record. I didn’t do any of those things. He landed himself in jail, which was good enough for me. I am sure his mental son and him bonded fabulously over who was the bigger testicle.

The irony – and the point of this almost pointless blog – is that I am learning that we are all a special kind of crazy. For a long time I believed that I had ‘I AM COOKED IN TH HEAD’ scrolling across my forehead like one of those LED boards that advertises specials on tampons in a supermarket.

I see now though, that I am MILD compared to so many. I accepted it – and behaved accordingly. Now I just believe that I am eccentric, abrasive and I happen to hallucinate like a mother fucker because of my temporal lobe epilepsy. Those hallucinations mess with my synesthesia – so I walk around think I smell cat piss all day or bleach or like something is burning. But it’s all good… it becomes familiar and not so alarming when you just learn to either ignore it – or be selective about asking someone else if they happen to by any chance smell the same found smells that I can. My personal favourite is black cats turning into Ravens and flying away. The first time I saw that… I was sitting in my bedroom and I looked out the window at a beautiful black cat on top of the parking covers. And then it in one fluid movement – morphed and few away.

That was also the same night I believed I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes and we all had to leave the house for a few hours because I sprayed so much insect spray we were all chocking. Incidentally, I have held the can the wrong way around before – and let me tell you – DOOM insect spray works just as well as pepper spray. It burns like all hell, and your throat closes up instantly. I know this to be fact. From experience. Yep.

Now I don’t buy doom for bugs.

And then we all knew that I needed a bit of brain adjustment. And so began a different kind of crazy. The kind where no one actually knows what is wrong so they guess and your reality becomes the suicidal version of Alice in Wonder Land. But I won’t lead you down that rabbit hole. Perhaps another day.

I attempted to play Minecraft with James today. Firstly, the music is enough to send you into a coma. The kind where you drool and your eyes roll back in your head. Second, the look up look down look around things at the same time as moving forwards or backwards is…. Not conducive to me being totally right brained. And thirdly, the cows and pigs are square. And the squid. It all reminds me of a Dire Straits music video… but 10 points to the girlfriend for trying. Right? I am better at Diablo. All have to do is swing a weapon and push all the buttons and although I have NO idea what’s going on, I kill shit and get points.

Bed time.

Or series time. I haven’t decided yet. But either way. I’m out.

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5 thoughts on “Rambling. Its what I do.

  1. What a joy to work from home. Your disputes with your neighbor sounds like an after-dark sitcom. Definitely something I’d tune in to watch – despite hating most television programs. But you’re right, we are all our kind of special crazy. I happened to learn that quite recently.

    Like

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