In Which We Descend Into The 11th Circle of Hell

The System. You cant beat it. Even if you join it you cant beat it because you dont want to get your ass sued. And even if you make it to the top of the system and cant be sued then you still have to work within legislation which those in REAL power wrote so they would get re-elected and not so it would actually work for the benefit of those whom it covers.

The System: 1. Panda: Nil.

And normally I would be kicking and screaming all the way to the District Court yelling as loud as I could to anyone that would listed about how completely FUCKED it is to allow two people for whom there are "grave concerns" about their wellbeing and ability to cope at home TO ACTUALLY GO HOME and about HOW can one make a determination about someone's mental incapacity when it is acceptable for that person to REFUSE a psych assessment and therefore an application for Guardianship is denied because there isnt enough evidence AND how is it even ethical to do so when that person is the CARER for someone who has been deemed to have a mental incapacity but no, HE doesnt need a Guardian either because this woman over here, THE ONE WHOM WE CANT ASSESS BECAUSE SHE REFUSES BUT WE'RE HEAPS CONCERNED SHE'S NOT QUITE RIGHT IN THE HEAD, HEY, she's going to be his carer.

Normally. But now I have a Small, Somewhat Burrito-Shaped Item who kinda needs his mamma to be around and not be climbing the walls with frustration and RAGE at this system that gives carte blanch to old people to go home and die.

So my parents are at home. My mother hates me and has even gone so far as to make the statement to the Board that I "never did anything to get them help" [A-HEM], the social worker, who while very nice and I'm sure the best thing mum could have at this point, is very naive about how my mother operates and is in for a rude shock, my father is oblivious to the whole thing, and my brother... Well, my brother is about to get the following email. I hate him like poison.


Dear Fuckhead,

Today you said some things that I have to address, if only to get them out of my brain so I can get on with my life and not keep dwelling on how angry I am.

You based your allegation about my suitability for our father's Medical Power of Attorney on what exactly? My behaviour at the hospital the night my parents were admitted, you claimed. What behaviour was that exactly?

• Was it the fact that I stayed at the hospital until midnight in Emergency with my 6 month old son?
  
• Was it the fact that I made sure someone was with him once our mother had been taken to hospital so that he was not left to fend for himself alone for a whole weekend because the doctor wouldnt do anything for him?
  
• Was it the fact that I called an ambulance in the first place so that our father was not at home choking to death?
• Was it the fact that I made sure that the hospital had as much information as I could give them about their medical status and history?
• Was it that I made sure the doctors were aware that the growth on his face needed to be looked at? Lucky I did, hey, since it was cancerous.
• Was it the fact that I had to request an ACAT Assessment be done for them to make sure that they werent just sent home?

What other decisions have I made that havent been in his interests? Was it being the person who pushed and pushed to get a diagnosis for him? If I hadnt insisted upon a referral to a specialist, there would STILL be no diagnosis. If I hadnt taken him to all his appointments for the majority of my pregnancy he would not have gone.

Your transparent attempt at maligning me fooled no-one today. If you want to make allegations that I cannot be trusted to make medical decisions for our father they'd better be backed up by some damned good evidence next time.

Truly, you are diabolical to me. I cannot understand your need to deny our family history. What do you gain from trying to sweep decades of abuse under the carpet? Do you somehow asuage your guilt by doing this? Is it the only way you can live with the fact that you knew what was happening to our mother and you knew what was happening to me when I was a child, yet you did nothing to protect us? Even Warren had the guts, the sensitivity, to apologise to me for not being there for me when I was a child.

It makes me sick to think that you want to rewrite history and pretend that it was a mere "difficult relationship" that has now "weathered the storm". Domestic violence should NEVER be ignored in this way and I cannot believe that as someone who has been called out to surely countless DV incidents is so willing to ignore it and diminish it in his own family. Our parents have not "weathered the storm". Our mother was battered by our father since the very early days of their marriage. The ONLY reason this stopped is dad's decline from dementia. As his dementia progressed his personality changed and lucky for mum it was into a placid, doddering old man. The way you minimise the dysfunction in their relationship and our family is so reminiscent of the behaviour of the perpetrators of the sexual assault on me 5 years ago that it makes my skin crawl.

I dont know why you have such a low opinion of me. I have never known and I probably will never know. At this point I dont even care. I scratch myhead about it and wonder in an anthropological/psychological exercise kind of way, but that remains the extent of it. I doubt that even you could tell me. I know I have absolutely done the right thing with regard to ensuring the welfare of our parents and somehow I have managed to rise above my upbringing and become a decent, well-adjusted human being despite my family.

Methinks that when you have yelled at me that I am just like our mother (and you mean that in a bad way) that in reality, you are projecting your beliefs about yourself on to me. I see so much of mum's behaviour in you (particularly the denial of reality and rewriting of history to fit your agenda) that I really hope your kids have been paying attention to whats been going on here. I fear that this will be their story in 30 years.

Good luck with the Administrator role. I hope you can sort out the financial mess.

I'm done here.

My Life In The Tenth Circle of Hell

Ok. The dummy has been reinserted and I have about ten minutes before he starts screaming again because he really does want to get up now please.

In the last 6 weeks we have experienced the following at Chez Panda:

• Projectile vomiting from the Spud for TEN DAYS which left all of us drained, and him especially so.
• No sleep whatsoever for a number of nights which was definately heading towards "I'm gonna kill the baby and divorce my husband" territory.
• The return of Monkey Boy to university and thus the beginning of my life as a Stay At Home Mum Who Now Has To Deal With The Baby All On Her Own and doesnt THAT cut into your blogging time.
  
• A trip to the Sleep Clinic where we learned how to wrap the Spud like a burrito in a single bed sheet so he cant escape and will thus sleep through the night. And it worked. IT WORKED. He sleeps! He sleeps! He will not be killed! I will not be divorced!
• A phone call to the nursing home re my parents...and you know that has to be saved for a post all of its own because I cant possibly rant enough about having to go to the Guardianship Board next Thursday in the time I have left before the Small One wants out of the burrito.

It has been an interesting time.

Did I say interesting?

I meant fucked.

Except for that sleep bit.

Double Digits

Dear Spud,

I cant believe you're ten months old now. More to the point, I cant believe that we've all managed to survive the past ten months. We didn't kill you, we didn't leave you on the footpath for the recycling and we didnt kill each other. Mummy has a drinking problem and Daddy is addicted to caffeine again...but at least we're all alive.

In the past ten months you've discovered you exist seperately from everything else, you discovered your hands, you discovered your feet (and you're still pretty wrapped with them), you discovered food, which you LOVE (apart from the peas! Ugh! The peas!). You learnt to smile, flashing us your cute little dimple, and then quickly followed that with infectious belly chuckles. Now you've developed a sense of humour and think its bloody hilarious to get mamma to eat the remote control just like you.

You've always had amazing upper body strength, even from the beginning, and you figured out how to sit up at 5 months, figured out your very own style of bum shuffling (involving doing reverse donuts on the floor) to get around before you clued in about the whole crawling thing. You were SO happy the day you could crawl and get around on your own. It was like you'd been trying to figure it out your whole life, and maybe you had. Now we watch you come to grips with the whole standing up and moving your feet deal and marvel at how quickly you put it all together. Daddy still says we're not getting a leash for you but I think he doesnt know what we're in for once you are confident on your wobbly legs. We are looking into enrolling you in the circus.

You love everyone, especially little people. The squeals you come out with when you see another little person! You want to make friends with them all and I suspect that you will. You have your favourite people though, and surprisingly The Man Who Serves Us Coffee Every Shopping Day So We Can Live who you've seen every second week of your life gets the biggest smiles and even makes you go all coy because you love him so much. And no, there isnt something you should know. You've only ever not liked one person, and you cried as soon as he looked at you and said hello. I TOTALLY trust your judgement on people kiddo, because he turned out to be a total asshole.

You are so excited by life that you fight sleep with every ounce of effort you have. Sleeping merely wastes time you could be doing cool stuff like pulling chunks of plaster off the walls or squealing through the front door so the whole neighbourhood hears you. You also don't like being alone when you're sleeping and your favourite place to sleep remains in the middle of mummy and daddy's bed, preferably lying sideways so as to cause the maximum amount of discomfort for everyone except you. We love you, darling, but we heaps wish you wouldnt do that.

This has without a doubt been the hardest and most challenging ten months of my life. Its damn lucky for us that you're the coolest kid ever because that makes it a whole lot easier to deal with the challenging bits and not go completely insane. You know exactly how to press our buttons, you know what you can get away with and you know that delerium caused by sleep deprivation makes daddy VERY funny indeed. One day I hope you read this and realise three more things:

1. Mummy loves you more than she ever thought possible
2. You are the most amazing gift we could ever have
3. It is not funny to pee on mummy every time she takes your nappy off.

Love your guts, Squid-Boy,

Mamamamamama

Mission: Be Like Bree

So after one night of controlled crying (which involved more crying by the adults in the house than by the Spud and we vowed NEVER to do that again) we seem to have broken his spirit trained him to sleep fluked a freakin' miracle and he slept all night in his cot. Let me repeat that:

Slept. All. Night. In. His. Cot.

Reeling from too much sleep and not enough delerium (or perhaps just the right amount) I realised that I need to work harder at getting the relationship with Monkey Boy back on track.

Here's the best advice I could find on the matter:

from Housekeeping Monthly, 1955, The Good Wife's Guide

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time, for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good mean (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch-up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and on of your duties is to provide it.

• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
  

• Over the cooler months of the year, you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind my. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
  

• Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s’ hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

• Be happy to see him.
  

• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first. Remember his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
  

• Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
  

• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have I lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
  

• Arrange his pillow or offer to take his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
  

• Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
  

• A good wife always knows her place.

See, that's my problem right there. I'm not gay enough.

Grim Fairy Tales

It occurred to me this morning that I am living the fairy tale.

No, not the "happily* married to spunky younger man who stays home to look after his child that we actually managed to achieve with good old penis-vagina sex who is adorably cute" fairy tale.

The Goldilocks and The Three Bears one. Or - more correctly - Spudly and The Three More Nights Like This And You're Out The Bloody Window.

Once upon a time there was a little boy called Spudly who wanted to have a darn good sleep but couldn't, for reasons unknown to the scientific community.

First he tried the Big Boys Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too hard and there's too much space around me."

Then he tried the Little Baby's Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too soft and bouncy and I cant turn over."

And then he tried the Grown-Ups' Bed and said "I can sleep in this bed because its not too hard and not too soft and there's heaps of room for me to thrash around and get comfy even if I am hitting mum and dad while I do it but isnt it great that they're here too because I like having company when I wake up for those three seconds every fifteen minutes."

Just then Mamma and Pappa decided they weren't too happy about there being a Spudly sleeping in their bed who was still there, so they jumped up and ran away into the forest and never again returned to the house of the Whinging Spudly.





*Happiness level in indirect proportion to duration of sleep deprivation.

Spudly For Sale

Lala pointed out that its been six days since my last post and I could have sworn it was only about 20 minutes.

As I said to her, my life has consisted of cleaing the house and saying "Spudly! NO!" on a regular basis.

He's 9 1/2 months old and has already taken his first steps. He LOVES his little push-along truck and almost runs behind it. He even shows off a little and walks behind it with only one hand on the rail. My prediction: he'll be walking by 10 months. Holy shit.

The Cot In Own Room Experiment has been discontinued on account of its spectacular failure at getting anyone anything remotely resembling sleep, and Spudly a one-way ticket out the window at speed. We put him back in his hammock in our room and he slept soundly for about 6 hours, which was very lucky for him because his mother was a little hungover that night. Following attempts at duplicating the results of this sleep event have not worked. This kid wants a comfy spot inbetween mamma and pappa and nought else will do.

I know its because he needs the closeness right now, but goddamn I'd like my room back. I'd like to be able to go to bed and not have to whisper. I'd like to sleep more than two hours in a row. I'd like to be able to have some Grown-Up Snuggle Time without there being wailing (not mine) at a very inopportune moment.

Mamma aint particularly happy. And if mamma aint happy, aint NOBODY happy.

As retribution for weeks of no sleep, I give you Spudly in the Hottest Baby Attire of 1950, courtesy of Great Grandma:

Oh Yeh, I Have A Blog...

Seems I forgot. Sorry 'bout that.

But on the plus side I have a garden full of veggies and three rooms that are Spud-proof, which is lucky since he can now stand unsupported for 20 seconds, crawl at full-speed and is sleeping being put to bed in a COT in his OWN ROOM!

And, AND: Spudly has learnt the art of the tantrum. Food on plate equals food for him as far as he's concerned. It doesnt matter that its food he cant eat or wouldnt like. Mamma food = Spudly food, so dish up or screaming will ensue. Luckily I have learnt to deal with this behaviour before with our cat Basil. Now if I could just find that squirty bottle.

2006: A Re-Cap

So that screeching noise wasnt my IQ dropping at an alarming rate after all. It was 2006 passing me by.

I feel like I have done nothing at all for the last twelve months, and yet it went by before I had time to blink. When people ask me what I've been doing I never have an interesting answer. What the hell has filled up the last 365 days and nights?

There were some major renovations while heavily pregnant, death of a beloved kitty, something about 3 days of labour I vaguely remember, a screaming underfed baby, a happier well-fed baby, a teething baby, a husband with a shoulder reconstruction, major gardening projects, parents in the hospital, a family breakdown, a buggered knee, an anniversary holiday, a baby with separation anxiety, more gardening projects, a teething paby (part 2), and then the year is over.

This year, I'd like less of the bits that involve hospitals and screaming, and more of the bits that involve me with a glass of wine, swaying palm trees and Jack Sparrow to feed me oysters.

Happy OughtSeven, y'all.

New Digs

Opinions?

Like? not like?

Am sick, so in no position to judge. Or use pronouns.

Xmas Lovin'

With no permission given whatsoever:

12:26 PM
Lala: will do
luv u longtime
me: luv u longtime one dollar
Lala: cheap whore
for you twenty dollar
12:27 PM
me: ty
you too spensive for me
Lala: yw
someday you big spender, you afford me
12:28 PM
me: you classy lady, i make money, i come back for you
Lala: I not wait, but if you lucky, I brush my teeth that day
12:29 PM
me: okay okay, i come back soon, dont forget me preese
Lala: i don't forget you, happy christmas wench
me: messy kwesnus, slapper

Messy Kweznuz

Right. I've just spent about a lifetime's worth of my download quota trying to get my template back up and running and I have to say "Blogger 1.1 easier MY ASS".

Off to the in-laws for their Griswald version of Kweznuz (which we do not celebrate, but have it forced upon us nonetheless) so things will just have to be unkempt until I get back.

In the meantime, some cuteness for you all and whatever it is that you do at this time of year, I hope it brings you joy.

From us lot to you lot, Messy Kweznuz.

Feed Me

The site feed is back up and set to short, so now you dont have to come here every day to check for more incredibly witty posts and be constantly disappointed. Now you can be disappointed from the comfort of Bl*glines.

Apparently the New! Improved! Blogger is now out of Beta, so I suppose I will join the other lemmings users and switch over. This might result in things going a little spastic around here while I grapple with technology and labels and such and such.

Bear with me.

Can I Just Say...?

That possibly the dumbest question you could ask someone who has dealt with infertility is "So, when are you having another one?"

Apart from that whole miscarriage-endo-pco-ugly-sperm-miracle-natural-conception-thing, which YOU may have forgotten but I havent, why do we need another? We havent even broken this one yet.

The Bitch Is Back

Seems to me that it pretty much sucks to be a girl.

Not only do I have to endure 3 days of labour to have a 9 pound person pulled out of my clacker, but the promised "cure" that having said experience was supposed to provide for my menstrual disorders does indeed seem to have been a load of baloney.

And as we all know, the only reason I had the Spud was to control my endometriosis.

And now... now, despite still breastfeeding (oh, another myth exposed!) my girlie troubles, my monthy friend, my Aunt Flo, the Crimson Bitch (yes, thats the one) has made a torrential return, announcing its arrival with explodey ovary sensations and leading one to consider (after 36 hours) that perhaps things arent going as well as they should. The good people at Tampax love me, I'm sure, since I have had cause to use every single one of their products in existence in the last two days.

Things were going SO not as well as they should that a brief chat with some weirdo Canadadian stalker yelled at me that convinced me I should perhaps be having a chat to the kind folks at my nearest ER.

Yesterday all three of us spent our morning in the ER while I was jabbed, poked, prodded, drugged and bleeding. The outcome? Unpregnant, unanaemic. Most likely a fibroid, see your doctor for an ultrasound. Go home, you're not dying.

So I went home and discovered three messages on my phone from aforementioned stalker and her sidekick and now the kind folks at the hospital think I have a sister in Canada and I'm kinda worried that I'm gonna end up with a horses head in my bed.

But you know, yay, because I've so missed regular wandings.

Panda 1: Fucktards 0

And so back to our regular programming.

In our last episode we had left our heroine bemoaning the fact that The Brother can’t take a hint even when it’s spelled out in interpretive dance. Since then, our heroine wrote her mother a very long (4 pages, single spaced, 12 pt font) letter explaining in great detail why this situation was a complete clusterfuck, why she no longer wished to acknowledge her brothers existence and why she would not be partaking further in the family’s game of “why Panda is a total fuckup and we’re all saints and do what I say or I’ll scream.”

In today’s episode we discover that The Powers That Be, when apprised of the facts of the situation and having to deal with The Mother themselves (“having difficulties with her being rather…um…assertive”), are quite capable of coming to the same conclusions that our heroine has been banging on about for the last 18 months. As amazing as it may seem to our regular viewers, Someone Else has finally recognized that a woman who has almost killed herself and her husband from neglect should not be allowed to go home and continue to be the carer of said husband. The Powers That Be conclude that the best place for The Father With Alzheimer’s is in permanent nursing care, and that the best place for The Mother With Fucking Selfish Bitch Disease is either at home on her own with extensive support or in assisted living with The Father. The Powers That Be will under no circumstances allow them to leave the nursing home and enter an situation which is unsafe.

The episode closes with our heroine feeling rather smug and flicking the bird towards The Brother.

Cue swelling triumphant music.

Its Creepy Because Its True

Especially # 3, though I suspect #8 would ellicit a little more than 7 years bad luck.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Spudly!

1. In Chinese, the sound 'Spudly' means 'bite the wax tadpole'!
2. The porpoise is second to Spudly as the most intelligent animal on the planet.
3. Spudly is incapable of sleep!
4. Only 55 percent of Americans know that the sun is made of Spudly.
5. By tradition, a girl standing under Spudly cannot refuse to be kissed by anyone who claims the privilege!
6. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Spudly.
7. Wearing headphones for an hour will increase the amount of Spudly in your ear 700 times.
8. If you break Spudly, you will get seven years of bad luck!
9. The state nickname of Iowa is 'The Spudly state'.
10. A bride should wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and Spudly.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Hi, I'm Panda. And You Are...?

Now, I have nothing against lurkers. You want to read but dont feel like talking, thats fine. Maybe you feel you dont have anything to add to the conversation, maybe you're shy, maybe you cant operate a keyboard...you know, whatever. Its all cool.

But I kinda think its good manners that, if you like what you read so much that you spend 6 hours a day over several days going through my entire archives, you drop me an email and say "hey, cool blog" or "hey, I've really enjoyed reading your story" or even "hey, you're a total trainwreck, its been real."

So would the person from or near Rhodes NSW who uses uu.net as their ISP please just say hi. And please dont turn out to be my goddamn brother.

Yeh, Well You and Your Cat.

Its amazing how much people give away about themselves by attempting to defend their actions to complete strangers.

Someone seems to not have a very good grasp of the English language, judging by the continued text messaging after having received the "do not contact me again" request. Man-way-lah, bless her fired-up little heart, sent the Fucktard an email reminding him of my request. It was a short email. Polite. A couple of sentences. It required no response.

Unfortunately HeWhoShallBeIgnored felt that the appropriate thing to do was to explain himself justify his actions in many long-winded paragraphs that actually ellicited no new information other than the fact that he is incapable of proper use of commas, officious to within an inch of his life and unable to communicate in any way that does not involve some use of bullshit pseudo-legal power trip.

Seriously, in his writing as in his speech, all that is missing from his Police Prosecutor role is the "I put it to you...I put it to you."

He sent yet another email last night, again long-winded excercise in self-justification, coupled with the re-writing of history (he's the sensitive caring one and I'm the evil foul-mouthed one who's confused about what he was talking about) and a pinch of either my mother lied to him or he lied to me.

It doesnt matter of course. I'm merely writing this down so that when insanity the urge insanity strikes me and I feel like I should be getting involved in this clusterfuck again, I can come back and remind myself of how bad it really is.

And by "it doesnt matter of course" I mean it matters in that "jesustapdancinchrist where do you people get all this crap from and why am I suddenly the bad guy when I've done nothing to anyone and maybe I've always been the bad guy to you all and never realised it until now and how the hell did THAT happen" kinda way.

Its very noisy inside my head as I try to put all this to rest. My parents are in their nursing home. All their belongings that I am "holding on to" and "refusing to return" will be given back to them tomorrow by Monkey Boy. The nursing home has been made aware of the family breakdown and that HeWhoShallBeIgnored is now the only contact for anything to do with their care. Tomorrow, as the very annoying Craig David song said, I'm walking away from the troubles in my life.

And The Winner Is...

Dont be silly. You didnt think there was going to be a winner in this situation did you?

You know things are going badly when the first words you write in a text message to your brother are "You chickenshit motherfucker".

Last night was the final act in Familius Horribilus Retardum. And by final, I do mean final.

Mum and dad had their Aged Care Assessment done yesterday, a four hour procedure which was painful to say the least. At the end of it the Assessor had the same opinion of the situation that I do; my mother is suffering from some form of mental illness and my father should not be going home with her, if indeed she should even go home. For now they are being put into a nursing home for at least 12 weeks, and they will both be assessed for their future needs towards the end of that time. Good, good. Ways to get a psych assessment done were discussed and were to be followed up on.

You know I talked to my brother about this. Well, that is to say, I tried. I really really tried. But the second that I said things he didnt agree with, and I mean THE SECOND, he got abusive. The Assessor spoke to him yesterday, and because she didnt mention the psych assessment to him, Brother thinks I'm full of shit and trying to manipulate the entire situation the get them both "put away to rot". He proceeded to blame me for everything that has happened, told me it was all my responsibility to do something about it, ("How many HOURS, Panda, how many HOURS have YOU spent looking after them? Why werent YOU doing something to care for dad's welfare if you were SO concerned?") and made further insinuations that I had done absolutely nothing and he's the big fucking hero who actually cares in this scenario. He even demanded to know why I hadnt informed him of the situation. WTF??? Does he not remember this or this and countless other emails I have sent him telling him EXACTLY the situation.

He then proceeded further to bring up every possible failing (in his mind) on my part for my entire life and use it against me PLUS said that mum told him that I was holding on to her bank books and credit cards and refusing to give them back to her (she'd given them to me for safe-keeping, at HER request) and that I was trying to get control of their bank accounts. I tried talking to mum yesterday about Power of Attorney for her to prepare for the situation when she's not able to sign anything herself or cant get to somewhere to take care of stuff and she twists this to make me look like a fucking villain. AND THEN after about an hour of this bullshit, when he's hung up on us twice, he goes for the jugular...

and god knows what relevance this has to anything, says that "well maybe we are just tired of getting phone calls from mum and dad about them having to go and pick you up in a state in the middle of the night..." to which I told him how dare you bring up my teenage years and whats that got to do with anything anyway and he responded that "oh no this was only a short time before you married MonkeyBoy." Oh yes...the night that I HAD BEEN RAPED.

Lets just think about that for a minute...everything to do with the totally fucked up situation our mother had wilfully got herself and dad into is completely and totally your responsibility to have done something about and your fault that it occurred and as an example of your total failure and fuckup as a human being lets just drag out that time that you were such a total fuckup that you managed to get yourself raped and then WE HAD TO HEAR ABOUT IT.

I absolutely lost my shit at him, MonkeyBoy grabbed the phone off me and lost his shit at him, and my throat is stillhoarse from me screaming at him that I had no fucking brother anymore and never ever contact me again Its 12 hours later and I am still shaking. I dont think I have ever cried like that before, I really dont. I have never been so angry in my entire life. We got in the car and came down to the in-laws at midnight (a 90 minute drive) just to have some sane company.

He insinuated that I had something to do with mum's enormous credit card debt and then he actually demanded to know how I WANGLED being second agent for dad's Medical Power of Attorney and why he wasnt on there as third agent and why I didnt consider what would happen since I was pregnant and could be in labour, or under a general or or or... Well, fucktard, a) i wasnt even pregnant when the POA was signed, and b) you can only have two agents listed and c) you're on the other side of the fucking country and d) MUM WANTED ME AS SECOND AGENT.

He talked to me like I was one of his bloody suspects in a police interrogation. I have never heard such viciousness directed towards someone before. Even my ex was never that vicious and he was an alcoholic violent unmedicated manic-depressive. My own brother...

The only end to a text message that started as above is:

"Do not contact me again."

***The End***

Some Very Late Night Rhetorical Questions Because I Cant Sleep For Angryness

How the bloody fuck does a woman on an Aged Pension (ie Sod All income) qualify for 3 credit cards with the same institution all with a credit limit of $20,000 and then proceed to rack up a credit card debt of FORTYFIVETHOUSANDDOLLARS at EIGHTEENPERCENTINTEREST????

Why does a woman who has refused all medical attention for 18 months and brought herself and her husband to the brink of death even get the freaking OPTION of saying "No" to any medical test that will determine the true state of her health once she is in hospital???? I'm sorry, but you "WONT HAVE A CT SCAN BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU HAVENT HAD A STROKE"?????? And you're not in the Psych Ward WHY?????

And excuse me, but if you can ring BENNY HINN MINISTRIES and give them money and ask to be put on the PRAYER CHAIN why the fuck can't you ring the doctor who is THREE BLOCKS AWAY?????

And why should anyone believe you when you say you realise you did the wrong thing and you should've listened to your family and you are a stupid old woman and now you'll accept any help you can get WHEN YOU GET HOME when you come out with crap like b) above. Will accept any help...wont have a ct scan because you havent had a stroke. Am I the only person on the planet who sees righ through this ridiculous charade?????

These and other unanswerable questions circle continuously through my brain at 2am. Stupid fucking caffeine.