Me and Diogenes

I know it should be 'Diogenes and I' and it's upsetting my OCD to just leave that title but leave it I will.

HELLO there, so here we are again then eh?  There's so much to tell including my future death festooned in monkeys, the lobster -v- shrimp costume argument, the having to lose at least half my body weight (she exaggerated) in a year and oh, I dunno, the thing I've picked to talk about today! 

...the rest will follow in due course.

So, yeah - gosh, where do I start.  Hell, I'll just jump right in.  Remember about 18 months ago when I went totally nuts and ended up on meds and seeing a shrink?  I did mention that over here didn't I?  I can't be arsed to look back over my previous posts but it was around the time I went totally mental and turned up at someone's 40th birthday party crying and in my dinner covered pyjamas and no shoes?  Yeah, if you are going to do 'break-down' you have to do it in a totally memorable way.  The thing is, the people at the party were so nice they completely ignored these minor details, welcomed me in and gave me food.  I calmed down a little bit - food always fixes me, but was gently lead to see my doctor the next day.  The upshot was that together with the meds I had to 'see someone'.  Someone who wore Hush Puppies to be precise. 

Back to the present. 

(I pulled myself out of the mire by the way......well, I thought I did.  That, it would seem, remains to be seen!)

So, I'm sitting in my litter strewn car waiting for a heavy rain shower to stop.  A piece of paper had fallen out of my bag and in my boredom I picked it up and after a cursory glance realised it was some notes I'd made at one of the 'Hush Puppy' sessions.  It was weird, I'd pretty much forgotten everything that had been discussed and I think I only attended twice before buying the bald dog and feeling much better.  The piece of paper had stuff written on it which Mr Hush Puppy had told me were his early thoughts about what I'd told him about myself and how I was feeling/behaving and he'd told me to go away and Google this stuff so we could discuss it at our next meeting.  I remember that I couldn't be fucked to do it so cancelled the next sesh  and as you know, Derek the bald dog turned up next.

I'd written one phrase at the bottom of the page.  One phrase which the Hush Puppy guy had said was very significant and I needed to look into it for discussion.

The phrase?

DIOGENESE SYNDROME

I Googled it in the car and told my housemate (The Tidiness Nazi) about it when I got home. 

Me: .....so, what do you think?  That cheeky Hush Puppy wearing bastard INSULTED ME!

Tidiness Nazi:  So he said you are on the foothills of developing some sort of squalor and self neglect syndrome?

Me: YEAH, the cheeky bastard!  Granted I can admit that some of the symptoms listed ring slightly true - the whole apathy, social withdrawal and lack of shame thing.  That's got me ALL over it but the rest can fuck right off!

T.N: It says something about poor reasoning and stupid decision making too doesn't it?

Me:  ....your point being?

T.N:  Oh, I don't know.  Shall we start with the plan to dress up and climb the Himalayas dressed as a fucking lobster despite being a lazy fucker who hates walking or doing pretty much anything?  Then there was your plan to become a worm baron with the largest worm farm in the whole of the UK?

Me:  That was an eco venture!  It's not my fault the worms turned out to be scary.....

T.N: Well, I think that the fella might have had a point.

Me:  ....how rude!


So I called my mate Bison in order to get some proper sympathy and reassurance that I wasn't permanently broken!

Me: .....so what do you think?  I've been properly insulted!

Bison (can barely talk for laughing): Ha ha ha ha ha, you've gone wrong and it's official!  You've got a 'syndrome' named after some ancient Greek bloke who went nuts and lived in a barrel!  You'd LOVE to live in a fucking barrel, go on ADMIT it!

Me (not helping my case): I will admit that after reading that bit I did get lost in thought about how snuggly and cool it would be to sit in a massive fuck off barrel on a big soft cushion with a blanket over me just listening to the conversations of other people in the street without them knowing I was there....

Bison (still laughing!!):  This is hysterical.  Some bloke told you to look into a syndrome he was concerned you had started displaying tendencies towards and you couldn't be arsed, which is one of the symptoms and now you are offended?  HAH HAHA HA HA HA HA HA....you've joked you were going to end up as a crazy old lady

Me:  ....shit. 

Bison: Just remember, I'm supporting you through the medium of laughter (starts laughing again)

So next I spoke to my cousin Bakes who, when I told her about Diogenes, pissed herself laughing too!  What the hell's wrong with 'Team Sketty'?  They're shit man! 

Me:  I should go and punch that bastard in the face for saying that I was turning into a Crazy!

Bakes:  .......(long pause)......isn't that one of the symptoms?

Me:  Shit.....


So there you go, 18 months ago some bloke decided I was on a slippery slope towards turning into the type of person who might walk around town dressed weirdly with a bald dog in a pram collecting newspaper with which I could wrap up and neatly stack my own faeces.  Well guess what Mr Stupid-Hush-Puppy-Know-It-All?  I've applied for the funding through the Cycle to Work scheme to get a bicycle with a basket on the front to put my bald dog in SO THERE!

...and on a totally unrelated note - here's a picture of the lobster (or possibly shrimp) outfit I'm getting:

In the event of my death...

I'll admit that at times I've been a bit of a hypochondriac though I usually keep the thoughts of my horrible impending death to myself.  These thoughts only come after some sort of unusual and persistent new symptom.  A new ache or twinge somewhere unexpected? Cancer.  If it's not cancer then it's obviously Necrotizing fasciitis and my insides are turning to mush. 

I've had a weird point of pain in my throat for days now.  It feels like a mouth ulcer but down my throat.  Can you get throat ulcer?  Probably not so it's clearly cancer.

....or necrotizing fasciitis and my throat is turning to mush.

Another consideration is that due to my shit digestion and my near constant burning acid reflux my insides are being eroded away.  I sat miserably wondering whether, the tumour, mush or acid burn would result in me having to have surgery which would leave me with a  gigantic gaping hole in my throat to which I'd have to put a microphone to speak.  No one would understand me and all my friends ('ALL', she says) would shy away from me 'cause they would no longer understand a bleedin' word I said.  Hell, I know they'd feel guilty but truth is, they would be repulsed by my metallic, nonsensical way of speaking.  I'd sound like a train station announcer ALL THE TIME.  I'd have to give up work as the public would be terrified of me and my giant neck hole and I'd never do stand up again as the audience would be both repulsed and clueless as to what was going on.  On reflection, I'd probably do really well on those BBC or Channel 4 'right on' comedy shows. I could be one of the 'box ticker' comedians.  Not funny but inclusive.  

Faaaaaack.

I spoke to my pal Bison tonight.  We've been 'abusive pals' for years now.  If either of us said anything nice to the other I think our friendship would implode.  I asked him whether, due to my probable impending death, he'd come to my funeral.

BISON:  [impolite pause] Erm......well, it depends on where you're having it really.

Me: You utter bastard.  We've been friends for years and you won't even commit to coming to my funeral?  You only live at the other end of the country!

BISON: Well, you have to get a ferry.....do you know how much the ferries are?  They're wicked expensive aren't they.....then again, there's excellent fossil hunting in your neck of the woods.  I could make a holiday out of it and kill two birds with one stone.  

Me: [silence]........make a holiday out of my funeral?

BISON: [on a roll] Hell, those fossils aren't going to find themselves; do you think the Tidiness Nazi would let me stay over for a bit?

Me: Yeah, it would be in my room though.  THE ROOM I'LL HAVE INEVITABLY DIED IN.  You can sleep in my bed next to the stain of me that I left behind.  There'll probably even be an imprint of my smiling face in make-up on the pillow so you can feel close to me in death.

BISON: .......yeah, I'd probably bring a sleeping bag.

Me: [incredulous] You have really thought this through haven't you?  Actually, while you're there, I'm leaving you all my crap that no one else would want.  You'll be able to lie there and take stock of all of your new and shit belongings.  Together with my collection of contact lenses, you even get my 'interesting pants' collection which has the added bonus of not just being a pile of interesting underpants, they'll also have been next to my vadge!

BISON: WA-HEY!  Can I try on your bras too?

Me: [starting to believe he wasn't taking this very seriously] You could turn up to my funeral wearing my clothes if you really want

BISON: I'll just tell everyone it's what you would have wanted.....  

So you see, I can't even get any sympathy from dear friends in the face of real potential, maybe serious disease.  Probably.  I'm glad now that he's getting some of my most crap possessions.  In case my possibly imagined terminal illness turns out to be real (hey, I'll be right one day!), here is a list of items I want recorded that I SPECIFICALLY want Bison to have:

1) The metal wind-up chicken
2) The platypus finger puppet
3) The 2 cat statues and crystal ball on a metal stand which were splattered with red wax after a candle in a glass jar exploded all over them.
4) My hippy rug which bore the brunt of the white paint which I spilled all down me and my belongings whilst trying to get the lid off carefully.
5)  The terrifying bald head which is at my flat and which is currently wearing a pink wig and swimming goggles.
6)  I know you want it but you can't have Dave the skeleton, currently zipped into a suitcase and in the loft space of my flat which I am secretly hoping will fuck with any police investigators looking into my disappearance should I disappear. Dave has been reserved for my former colleague Amy's small child who has no clue he's getting it.  
7) A small statue of a duck which has just hatched from it's egg but is mysteriously wearing a Traffic Warden's uniform.
8) The metal picture of the Beatles with googly eyes stuck over their actual eyes.
9) The godawful plate you gave me depicting 2 kittens and a puppy playing with a tremendously out of proportion shoe
10) The lollypop you gave me of Freud's head.  It is still in the plastic wrapper so it looks like he's died from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation.

On a final note.  After being told he was not a good friend, Bison tried to redeem himself by helpfully suggesting that as I am in BUPA (private health care), if there really WAS something wrong with me then I wouldn't get butchered and end up with a gaping hole in my throat.  I'd end up with a nice metallic voice thing similar to Stephen Hawking.  When I'd said I didn't want to sound like Stephen Hawking he said that, like a modern day sat-nav, they'd be able to get someone like Ozzy Osborne to voice me.

.....cheers pal.

The Fly

I tried on sunglasses today. It didn't go well; I just ended up looking like The Fly so I guess I'm going to have to stick with my old ones which makes me look like one of the Blues Brothers and that look hasn't been acceptable since the 80's.  Damn me and my stupid face...

So, talking about The Fly, the Tidiness Nazi told me the horrifying story of a fly she heard buzzing hysterically which had been caught up in a spider web at the lighthouse she works at.  I'd already had thoughts of flies in my mind from the sunglasses thing but now I was thinking about THE FLY - Brundlefly himself.

Oh, she couldn't reach the high window to save the aforementioned hysterical fly and by the time she'd found a towel to flick up he/she had fallen silent by the way.  No doubt it was victim to a spider's venom (shudder) unless it had fainted.  Can a fly faint?

Y'know, my friend Bison is a  weirdo - I made a random fly type comment a few months ago and he quickly and confidentially shared his knowledge on how one would sex a fly (for those emergency fly sexing situations no doubt).  Who the hell knows how to sex a fly and why would you share this knowledge with a girl? I KNOW now know how to sex a fly; I should stick it on my CV.  That's knowledge I could do without I tell you! I guess ol' Bison has gone past the trying to be sexy and impressing people stage.  Perhaps he thought this WOULD impress me.  Most men flex their muscles, give you 'the look' or charm you by trying to be cute.  Not Bison though, oh no.

He can sex Damsel flies too.

He also likes taking photos of insects having sex.  In fact, my pal Bison is the foremost insect pornographer of his age.

I love my friends

(mostly)

So, back to Brundlefly.  When the Tidiness Nazi told me the story of the hysterical fly it suddenly reminded me of the original 1958 version of The Fly and that horrifying scene at the end with the bloke's head on the fly's body trapped in the web.  Stuck with me for years that did.  Of course, I ended up in a Fly reverie and I got lost in thought longer than one should thinking about what it would be like to be me but on a fly's body.

Oh God.

I'd be phobic of myself for a start.  Can you imagine still having your own thoughts and looking like you facially but having the body of a fly.  At least I wouldn't have to worry about putting on make up.  I'd have no opposable thumbs for a start but hell, I'd still have the same face and it looks pale and I have dark circles around my eyes without make up.  I'd desperately want to use some concealer, mascara and a bit of lippy but then again, I'd have the fucking body of a fly so no one would care about my facial blemishes.  I guess I'd have more on my mind really....

I guess though, in an emergency, I'd be able to seek a lipstick without it's lid on and fly at high speed into the thing hoping it'd get on my lips.  Shit, I've made myself laugh now, how funny would the end of the film be if the guy who saw the fly stuck in the web shouting 'help me' did a double take 'cause the fly had not only my face but one of those crazy woman make up faces on it. Y'know the type; a diagonal smear of pink lipstick over crooked lips and 2 splashes of electric blue eye shadow over the eyes.  Then again, if I'd flown head first into lipstick I'd look ridiculous.  I'd look ridiculous any way with my tangled hair and hairy fly body.

I'd be able to fly about but this would be a small compensation for being a fucking fly.

Hey, I'd be a fly but without the huge field of vision.  I'd be screwed wouldn't I.  I also wouldn't be able to get a fish pedicure.  I'd LOVE a fish pedicure.

All joking aside though, it'd be awful to be mainly fly.  Flies don't have necks do they? Our heads are the wrong shape for a fly body and if, during the 'fly-erisation' process thing I became a neckless fly I'd be even more screwed. No great eye vision and no neck to turn around and look over my shoulder. I guess flies don't have shoulders. Anything could creep up and potentially eat the shit out of me.  I'd end up as just indigestible bits left in a web; a lone wing and a leg. No one wants THAT!

That does it.  If any scientists expect me to get into an experimental transportation device accidentally with a fly they can fuck off and that's my final word on the matter.

I'm tired.