"East" with sams hands, don,t like her much, stupid grin/clown smile. moved onto the North.
Those of us that have been medicated to control our personal demons are getting a bit suspicious.. What we suspect is this, why aren’t the “normal” people medicated to fit in with us?
It’s easier to prescribe drugs than it is to change the individual’s position in society and their own personal environment. The constant visual bombardment of duplicities supported by self-aggrandisement on multi-media platforms is enough to make any sane person weep. What it achieves is wholly negative. You are an outcast in British society if you smoke, don’t have a job, speak a foreign language as your first, are overweight, claim benefits, are old, etc etc. You can be an outcast for just about anything, anywhere. Having an inappropriate accent, not going to a public school, not having read Dickens, Chaucer and Shakespeare, or in reverse, sounding “posh”, admitting to inherited wealth and not watching soaps on the TV, (or for that matter, not knowing what they are). There is literally no end to the methodologies we use to put each other down and separate individuals into “them and us” whilst embracing “cultural diversity and empathy “workshops at every turn. It has been suggested to me that I am prescribed drugs to level me out, to enable me to function in society, to make me less Tigger versus Eyore. What I am suspicious of is that “levelling me out” is akin to allowing mediocrity to become the default position to which we all aspire.
If you are reading this and thinking “she should try exercise, tai chi, yoga, drumming, meditation, cognitive behaviour therapy and any other self improvement method from a very full list. Keep those thoughts to yourself or your own blog. I have tried them all on the grounds that apparently they would make me a “better” person, i.e fit in with other middle-class middle-aged white folk. Now I take the drugs and paint.
I understand. I know I’m a bit much. Too loud, too opinionated, too forthright blah blah blah. Even now when I am a shadow of my former self I see people having to re adjust and gather themselves when I speak to them. That’s why I rarely speak to anyone if I can help it. If I ask you a question , I want an answer, is that too much to ask? The eyes of a persecuted rabbit look back at me. Still waiting pal, hurry it along there I don’t have all day, and I don’t want the formulaic answer I want the truth so no hiding behind a script given you by Mr. Mediocrity and his “web masters”.
Clevedon 10.20am Friday Sound of pneumatic drill and building work at the dentists.
Me to receptionist. Question, “Will you be getting rid of that door?”
Sub text, oh no the beautiful gothic arched door with the huge black hinges.... I love it!
Answer, “no but it won’t open in the future unless it is used as an emergency exit for office staff”.
Sub text, who is this loud woman with her crazy socks and attitude, why is she asking about a door?
Question “so I won’t be coming thru it anymore?”.
Sub text, why would I want to come here if that door goes or isn’t the entrance, that’s the whole point of coming here, if that door goes do I go as well? I love that door.
Answer “the entrance will be in the basement area which provides better access for our disabled patients”
Sub text, I don’t have time for this; I have paper to file and a screen to stare at. I will hit her with the disabled access thing, which will shut her up.
Question. “Is it listed?”
Sub text. Don’t get rid of the door. Surely something as beautiful as that door must have some legislation attached to it. You can’t put a modern door on a Victorian gothic mansion, it would be a hanging offence. Maybe if I’m nice they will let me buy it. I can’t afford it. I can’t lift it. I have nowhere that needs a door like that. I could make a place that needs a door like that. I have no money so what am I talking about. I love everything about that door, I love its hinges and its handle and its black studded face. I love the stained glass behind it and the tiled floor at its feet, don’t hurt it. What do you mean an emergency exit? Office staff? This is the dentist? What are all these new signs in here, it looks like a corporation has taken over, what are they selling in here? There’s a sign above the desk about cosmetic treatments, is there no escape from this shit. I’m going to have to re think my entire position about this dentist. Oh god I think too much why can’t my brain just shut up for 5 minutes. There are magazines over there, cross the room and pick one up. I haven’t brought my glasses and I can’t read Country Life, I just cant. Why are these places always heated so that you can’t breathe? Over compensating for the fact that the big heavy door won’t shut I expect.
Answer. “I’m sure all the regulations have been adhered to and the proper planning procedures addressed.”
Sub text. OMG, she’s come back at me with a planning permission threat, what are they like these Clevedonites? All this fuss about a door, it lets all the cold air in anyway, horrid thing, it doesn’t shut properly.
Question. “Hmmm yeah?”
Sub text she thinks I’m going to check their planning permission, does she really think I care about that. I better shut up, sulk, not sure I want to come here if that door goes, where is the nice receptionist, next time I come I will book for one of her days, she will tell me the truth.
The answer to my question is “ no you will not be walking through that stunning gothic arched oak front door with the huge black hinges ever again, you will forced like every other minion to find your way to a wide, double glazed self opening travesty of a door with a big blue button on the side and you will weep and wonder why you bother to come here. You need time to grieve because somehow in your self obsessed way you have made a connexion between the loss of a door and all the other losses currently closing in on you. You have taken this too personally.
In the end, everything is personal.
Queen of the North. i like her, she can stay, she may even get a frame. look, no hands!!