Tuesday, 26 September 2017

Work Coach.

I'm having one hell of a battle with the evil symptoms of chronic fatigue.  I'm asleep when I need to be awake.  I'm awake when I really should be sleeping.  It feels like I have permanent jet-lag.  And yet, despite the times I've actually managed to find the energy to see a doctor, there has been no obvious cause as to why I feel awful all the time.

After yet, after another one of my erratic sleeps, I can barely get out of bed as the ensuing panic attack is terrifying.

2017 has been a year filled with one anxiety-heightened incident, followed by another anxiety-heightened incident.  I'm still staring out at planks.  My apartment has had no significant light since early May.  The faulty fire alarms were changed and the new fire alarms are actually acting worse than the previous fire alarms.  This means, not only am I being overwhelmed by claustrophobia, I'm now paranoid that the changed fire alarms will go off at any moment.

During some brief moments where the chronic fatigue was a little less pronounced, I managed to gather the energy to lodge a formal complaint about the scaffolding and planks that are starting to haunt me.  That was back on September 6.  I have not got a reply back.  As for the new smoke alarms, evidently somebody is supposed to come and check out the latest fire alarm farce this coming Wednesday.

But wait, that's not all.  Yes, 2017 has been a major shit storm.  Way back in early February, I got a questionnaire from our government's benefit department.  Yep, time to fill in another long-winded questionnaire that,  just like all the other long-winded questionnaires, dredged up the pain of the past.  A past dominated by workplace bullying that nearly destroyed all that was precious in my life.

Then came the nervous wait to see if I still qualified for the benefits that I wish I didn't need.  Month after worrying month passed by.  The post through the door was enough to send me into a state of panic. Then, in mid-July, a letter arrived, in the dreaded brown envelope.  I had to go to face-to face assessment.  An assessment, just like all those questionnaires, that would dredge up the painful past.

Friday, August 4, the day of my face-to-face assessment, with a healthcare professional.  This would be 90 minutes of emotional torture.  I told the man about some of the incidents of workplace bullying that has caused me to have a total breakdown.  A total breakdown that cost me my marriage, my home, my life savings, my health, physical and mental and very nearly, the remaining shattered remnants of my dignity.

I told the man that the idea of being forced to go back to some sort of paid work terrified me.  He briefly looked through the 43 pages of medical evidence I had brought along.  The meeting ended and the next worrying wait began.

About three weeks later, the next brown envelope came through my letterbox.  It was an appointment to see a "work coach".  Based on my face-to-face assessment, the benefits department had determined that I was capable of getting back to paid work.  I nearly fainted with the anxiety this caused.

On August 30, I headed off to my meeting with the work coach at the job centre in Stoke on Trent. Much to my surprise, I felt quite calm about going to the meeting.  The reason being is that I knew that my attending such a meeting was more of a cruel joke than anything else.

You see and yes, I know, hard to believe, but I'm 64 and only a few months away from retirement age.  Aha, a certain Beatles song will now start going through your head.

I arrived at the job centre.  I encountered a group of folks looking rather disoriented as they waved cans of extra strong cider in front of me.  Yep and that was just the office staff.  Okay, in case someone from the benefits department reads this, I'm kidding.

Right then, I walked into the building.  A confusing set-up where there was no obvious reception.  I saw a lady standing by the stairs.  I asked her where the reception was and she rather boringly pointed up the stairs.  I went up the stairs and there was still no obvious reception desk.  I saw a guy sitting at a desk that I guessed might be some sort of reception desk.  I guessed correctly.  I told him I had to see a work coach named, Louise.  He pointed to me to go up the stairs.  When I went up the next flight of stairs, I saw loads of desks.  Mostly empty desks.  Way off in the distance, beyond the mostly empty desks, was a desk with a sign that stated the name, "Louise".  Yeah, finally, I had arrived at the destination.

After Louise finished chatting to two other people in a very open environment where I could hear every word, she finally summoned me.  Upon realising my age, she noted that I was there because of what was most likely a computer generated letter based on my face-to-face assessment.  What's required of me is that I come in and tell her how I'm doing.  No pressure to go find a job so close to retirement age.

I mean, can you imagine.  I go work for a company for about six months and then I get a gold watch upon retirement.

Yes, it's been harrowing but, thankfully, although my benefit money has been reduced, I'm still getting benefits.  To make this even more bizarre, I'm going to seek some legal advice because it now transpires that I probably didn't need to go through all this stressful crap.  I did some research when I had my money reduced and discovered, that based on my age, I could actually get what's called, "pension credit."  Pension credit pays more than what I'm getting.

How the hell I managed to type this much, what with this ridiculous chronic fatigue, is beyond me.  You might well have scrolled through this and checked out the best bits.

And yes indeed, I'm switching off the comments section.  I want to get to your blog and do something weird like leave a comment on yours.  Unless you've switched off your comments section.

I also want to thank Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar for taking over while I'm this exhausted.  Planks a lot, Penny!


Tuesday, 29 August 2017

Is That The Planks I Get.

Hi there, yes it's me, Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar.  My human dad, Gary, has been a bit too preoccupawed with worrying about situations that may never happen.  I've told him to stop the negative speculation and focus on the realistic, pawsitive pawsibilities that may well come of his needless worry.

Although and I understand why he's struggling with an overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia in our apartment.

Luckily, the faulty fire alarm has not gone off while I've been here.  That would make my ears flap like you wouldn't believe! The faulty fire alarm still needs to be checked out.
This is the view outside the bedroom window.  A pawculiar, pawplexing  pawnorama of planks. Gary, a bit of a plank himself, took the above photo whilst lying on the bed.  This pawticular, pawculiar, pawplexing pawnorama of planks has been on view for over five months.

It all began when some workers had to fix our ceiling back then.  It now turns out that the entire roof of the apartment building needs fixing.  Thus, management has had the scaffolding left up.  They didn't think it made any sense to bring it down only to have it put back up again. But after over five months...well...that's now bordering on totally ridiculous!
The view from the bedroom window.  Beyond the scaffolding, beyond the planks and beyond the trees, you can see St. Lukes church in this here town named Leek.
Looking out of the living room window.  The orange building with the light coloured roof is the last place my human dad worked.  It's where the torment of workplace bullying ended for him.






Above, you see a whole series of photos and the scenery obscured by scaffolding.  A number of trees were cut back and the view in the distance has become more obvious.  A shame that my human dad has a clearer view and a reminder of the place where the bullying ended because his doctor signed him off too sick to work. 

Then again, I'll get him to focus on all those pawsitive pawsibilities that are going to happen.

I'm sorry that Gary hasn't been commenting on blogs much lately.  I'll take over commenting while he revels in the irony of what happened a few days ago.  Hey, the latest farcical situation he finds himself him will make for one heck of a blog pawst.  So, that's a pawsitive thing....

Planks a lot
Is what we got
Silly scaffold ruins the view
What can you do
You wait and wait
Aint that great
Maybe some day
It'll go away

Monday, 21 August 2017

An Alarming Situation.

I'm trying to not get alarmed but an alarming situation in my apartment is causing me a huge amount of stress.

I have a faulty alarm system in my apartment.  It went off several times over the space of two weeks. I had some guy check out the alarm and I thought it had been fixed.  However, it's acting up again.

This is the routine.  The alarm goes off.  Red and blue flashing lights with the noise at the level of an air raid shelter, emanates around my apartment.  My intercom rings and a care worker asks me if I'm okay.  At least, I think that's what they say.  Two minutes later, the doorbell rings.  The care worker notes that there is no evidence of smoke, of cooking, of anything that would trigger the alarm. She gets the alarm switched off and files a report.

It's a good thing that Penny the Jack Russell dog and modest internet superstar has not been here during any of the times the alarm has gone off.  I can imagine how frightening it would be to her.

I have a lot of issues with this place.  I'm making plans to get the hell out of here.  Penny has a partial post done in regards to another farcical situation here.

I shall quickly post this before the alarm goes off again.......Haven't even checked for tipos, um, typos......

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

Reliving The Pain, Yet Again.

Here I go again.  Or, here I not go again.  

This is getting frustrating.  I've been trying to get the blogging momentum back.  Now, once more, I'm having hassles from the British government in regards to my benefits entitlement.  Benefits I wish I didn't need but are my financial lifeline. 

After a total breakdown from nearly nine years of systematic workplace bullying, physical, financial and psychological, my doctor signed me off work.  

This meant I needed assistance from the government.  Assistance that makes me feel like a criminal every time I have to go to a face-to-face assessment to justify my case as to why I should still be entitled to help.  Such meetings force me to dredge up a painful past full of horrific memories I'd rather not choose to relive.  

I went to such an assessment last Friday, August 4.  The assessment played on my mind from the day, about a month ago, when I got the appointment notice through my letterbox.  I now have to wait a few weeks to find out if I still have my benefits.

It's really difficult to concentrate on writing when I have such worries.  I'm angry that the bullying, from over twenty years ago, still impacts my life.  Bullying that cost me my marriage, my home and very nearly the final remnants of my self-respect as the drinking that ensued almost cost me my life.    

I shall be shutting off the comments section again.  I need time to reflect upon this latest saga and do my utmost to embrace the positive possibilities that may still come out of this worrying situation.  

Distractions can come in mighty handy.  A distraction such as the video below.
I've been watching this show.  The inspiration, the laughter, the profound moments, demonstrate the joy that can be found in life.

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Eye Don't Believe It.

Just when eye thought my blogging momentum was returning, eye find eye am having a bit of a problem with focusing my vision.

It's quite difficult typing this post when my computer screen looks more like an aquarium.  This situation, which is happening in my right eye, should be sorted out within the next few hours.  

You see, well you see, eye'm kinda' vain and eye hate wearing my glasses.  Eye was removing my contact lenses and part of the right contact lens decided to break off.   It's floating aimlessly about at the bottom part of my right eye.  The minor injuries unit at the local hospital can flush the contact fragment out. 

Oh and wearing my glasses makes it even weirder.  

Thus and eye don't believe it, eye'm switching off the comments on this post.  Hopefully eye will return shortly.

Here's a photo of my right eye from a few years ago.  Eye took the photo myself.  

Did eye ever mention that eye attended school with a pupil named Iris.....

Saturday, 15 July 2017

Mark Oh Polo!

You might be familiar with Polo.  A bizarre game where a bunch of posh folks ride around on horses. These Polo Pony prancers hit a wooden or white plastic ball with some kinda' weird mallet.  Apparently, you're supposed to hit said ball with said mallet into, ideally, the opposition's goal. What the Chukka, I say.  I've read that a Chukka is a period of play in Polo. 
You might be familiar with Water Polo.  A bizarre game where a bunch of wet folks try to throw a ball into a goal.  The players chase around a rubber or a nylon ball.  The balls get bigger in size as you get older.  The balls start at size one all the way up to size five for adult men who like to play with the biggest balls while frolicking in the water. 
What you might not realise is that in Water Polo the players are riding around on Seahorses. 

Polo
Oh no
What the Chukka
Who gives a Fukka
Water Polo
Big balls, hello!
Riding on a Seahorse
Underwater intercourse
Polo is a car
Not a car by Jaguar
Polo is a mint
Strong enough to make you squint
Polo is a shirt
Goes rather well with my skirt
Polo is an aftershave
Splash some on before I rave. 

Saturday, 8 July 2017

Musical "Cymbalism".

I've never been in a LOVER'S triangle.

However, finally, at long last, I've become a SEX cymbal.
That calls for a drum roll.