A Muddy Sunday

1935h
It rained most of yesterday, so today's daffodil picking was rather muddy to say the least, managing to get all over my pack and onto the just-picked flowers, and even the perps doing their teleport thing by lobbing mud in front of where I was working, the slow travelling clump that arrives with accuracy to make the most mess and doesn't come off me or anyone else. And they were up to their flower meddling games again, teleporting picked flowers (which are counted as I pick them) from my hand and have them arrive at my feet, with no sensation of the flower slipping from my hand. At least 60 of these events today, maybe more, and they besieged me with them on the first picking day. I can now pick over 400 bundles (each of ten flowers) a day now, a whole $80 pay. So much for the 1,000 bundles a day nonsense everyone feeds the newbies.

And it seems that yesterday's rain timing, and having me dress in outdoor clothes and not work outside was all about having me put them back in the drawer and then wear them today, "readyiing" the clothes a day in advance it seems. Another "so what" from my experience, as I am so fed up of all these games over clothes laundering, clothes combinations, and the rest of the combinations and permutations when one adds in laundry, prior short term wear, clothes colors and fabrics, laundry detergent type and water selection and the rest of the parameters that feed whatever their obsession is over clothing.

Even if it was a Sunday, the adjacent vehicle noise and the overhead aircraft noise were as sustained as a weekday. Even a siren show, and coincidentally, two nearby daffodil pickers converged on me to make chat. It seems they need me to speak to a real person every so often, getting a direct shot of their fugliness. And the turban crowd were on the job and again, the Mr. and Mrs Punjabis-Who-Stare-At-Me wer brought on the job again, having suffered their gangstalking and posing for months last year. He wears an infernal turban, and does it up like Bin Laden, so it makes it all the worse IMHO. And at the day's end, he even asks me if I had a good day, which is totally out of character as all he did was stare before. I suppose this was to have me look at him and his turban momentarily. And more turban strutting from two others who linger around the warehouse to meet up with spouses on daffodil picking. Yesterday it was Meet-The-(Blue)-Turban outside of the warehouse door, and today, it was arranged some 5' inside from the same door. If I don't like turbans and nearly all head adornments, why in the fuck is this being arranged for me every day?

And a "bag head" on the bus when outbound; a hoodie with a rounded top that drooped back from the Fuckwit's head, making the back of his head look extended by 6" or so. I just about puked over that. And it seemed that disgusting visage was arranged by having me view a parka hooded person for multiple times, and the the bag-headed Fuckwit sat next to the parka hooded person as some kind of entre to determining why I find some headwear so utterly repugnant. And to remind readers; I never had these kinds of "reactions" to hoodies and bag-heads before, so I am being mananged in some way to have a reaction, likely planted. And one that seems to have subconcioius traumatization associations from the memory wiped years, when age 2 to 5. (Lets think, what race or beings have a head with an extended rear portion?)

2215h
Extensive sample listening of Laura Nyro from Amazon tonight while ripping CD's from WAV's to FLAC's. Sometimes I wonder if I should just copy the WAV's and be done with the compressing part, says me, now halfway through my CD collection. I won't be the first person to rip their CD's more than once.

Anyhow, time to be off to bed for an early bus to the picking fields for another round of getting closer to the color yellow.