Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Darling Doctor

A first time visit to a clinic/doctor that is inclined to do something about my low hormonal state, hopefully with something effective this time. Of course the perps can block the effect of most pills and supplements, and for those they cannot, why, they have me as a test/experiment subject.

Before the perps went berserk/overt in 04-2002 I was taking a methyl-testosterone medication that helped some, but kind of stalled out, as it was no help as they had me slowly slide into depression then. This was while I was taking medications for ADD that first started as highly effective and then slowly diminished in effect over a year or more. (ADD means being short on dopamine). At no time did I associate one being causal with the other, and nothing I read or heard (from doctors) suggested that. I gave up the methyl-testosterone in 2005 as they ground me down with a significant income reduction as my company supplied disability payments ran out.

Move forward to 2015 when the perps brought on a need to revisit my testosterone due to the pissing frequency problem they hit me with last year, and lo, I find that testosterone and dopamine levels are highly correlated. And too, I found my serum levels were low, and that my iron was at anemic levels. The latter got me into a colonoscopy and gastroscopy procedure, and found nothing, and no reason for iron depletion. Anyhow, I now take iron supplements, and am hoping that the perps don't block the beneficial effects. Though I suspect this is just what the whole game is about; learn how to remotely read and block beneficial medications and supplements by manipulating This Victim's symptoms.

And not forgetting that iron has magnetic qualities, and that I am constantly contained in a densified magnetic field, measured at 1500 Gauss sometime around in 2009. And given the number of shootings and other public massacres, I wonder if that too is iron related, along with the red blood color and the expiring victims.

Back to the doctor; female, blonde, attractive, under 40 and whip-smart. Not to mention charming, direct, empathetic and progress minded (no fluff-speak). A made-for-me combination of Favored Features, and all wrapped up as a doctor, that is, someone who just might help this time. Hope springs eternal, even in this highly manipulated state, along with cynicism as my constant companion.

This visit was in Kelowna, and hour's drive from here, and afforded me some extra time to visit a few favorite locations; used CD's and tools. And what is it about driving that turns me into a magnet for outrageous driving? One Fuckwit today didn't even look in my direction as he crossed in front of me, coming from a parking lot and entering the street. And the perps keep me from reacting to this affront by braking, and having our vehicles miss my inches. Yesterday, nearly the same deal; A Fuckwit crosses the thoroughfare I was driving on without looking to his right, exactly where I was coming from. Same deal; the perps have me refrain from immediately braking, missing the vehicle by 4' or so. All for covering the ground under me with the least possible delay; been there, done that, just leave me the fuck alone.

And what is it about JAR's CD albums that has me buying a copy when I already have it, at the same used CD+book store I visited today? I never forgot what albums I had, ever, until all this abuse rained down since 04-2002. That is to say I bought an unneeded CD of JAR's music twice at the same store, though different albums. And it "happens" to be the same place where I bought a used copy of her biography.

I got the dual dude convergence on me as I entered said store. The premise was that they had just opened (true), and both males were working there and headed to the door to turn the sign to "Open" when it had incorrectly said "Closed". Having strange dudes converge on me still gets my immediate attention and the perps just love to set this up, often with three or four and each pretending to be independently operating. Big joke that. But I must have some deep psychic abreactions they are still attempting to elicit and remotely detect. To the perps; go fuck yourselves and leave me alone. I have been abused enough, before all this insanity rained down on me since 04-2002 and I don't need any more.

A manufactured eye infection erupted today, all to send me to the local drop-in doctor for an RX of drops. And was this a stunt to send me to two doctors in one day, the above mentioned Favored female, and the Unfavored male (any, over 20 y.o.). Said male doctor has pulled these crotch exposures before, then backed off on a subsequent visit, and today, a half exposure, one leg out wide for crissakes.

And so I drop one medication yesterday to save on expense, and as it happens (one week later as I write this paragraph), I don't need it. And all to nail me $40 for the eye Rx.

My drive to Kelowna begat not one, but two forest fires. Both started today, and  I could see the small one on the hills opposite, facing Lake Okanagan. A day's work at most for a aerial drop tanker says this forester. The second fire wasn't too far from Kelowna, and was much bigger and lasted the whole week. I could see the plumes of smoke when I was in downtown, and a few days later, why, the Prime Minister came to visit the fire operations no less. The perps like a good blaze every so often, and even better, explosions and damage, aka war zones.

The boss lady got ancy on me over taking too long to do vine hedging. I was doing vine tending, cutting off extra long shoots, laterals, and tucking  etc. All she needed was a cosmetic hedging, no tending. I suppose it was the putative set up for her to borrow my new Bacho hand pruners, to show me how it was done. I got the pruners in the mail yesterday, and had first used them for a couple of hours. Anyhow, one can thank the perps for this stunt; they love to create these disparities in my production versus supervisor expectation. And then have the victim disparaged/upbraided etc. though all was civil.

Another set up when doing errands on the way home. I parked near downtown for 15 min. on the meter and walked through a public alley between two buildings to get to Main St. A large (220lb) blonde Fat Girl was stalking the Main St end of the alley, in a fugly dress, alternately banded in white, yellow and orange. I was at a pharmacy opposite, but as it "happened", there was lengthy instruction to deal with this test kit, and it was suggested I could park at the back for free. So..., with the Fat Girl still stalking the alley on my way by, she stretching her arm across it for crissakes, adroitly retracting it before I needed to pass by all while looking the opposite direction. She was  doing the pensive, waiting-for-a-ride act that has become de rigueur [Definition of "de rigueur"; prescribed or required by fashion, etiquette, or custom]. Sure beats the shiftless loitering vagrant males, aka "scum-inals", though not by much.

On the way to the "free" parking I was going to stop at my bank to park, but no, all the stalls were taken. I cross Main St to the parking lot, and it was very much a pay park. There were three stalls for that particular pharmacy, all taken. So.. I go to the meter box and lo, it was out of order. I park and hope, all to drive up my angst I assume. And all over getting screwed out of putting an extra quarter in the frigging meter in the first place when I knew it would likely come back to bite me. No, I am not that cheap, even in this repressed financial circumstances.

And so it "happened" that a do-rag wearing biker dude was excessively loitering in the aforementioned pharmacy; on his phone, talking to a buddy in person, etc. Like WTF; my total time in the store and doing the run to get my vehicle reparked was over 30 min. and for some reason, this do-rag dude needed to hang there too, walking around. And so when I finally finish up with filling in the forms and going over the instructions from the lady with the excessive red dyed hair, why, there was the Fat Girl standing behind me.

And the perps are getting more blatant with the Fuckwits tailing me, and/or managed "coincidences". Yesterday, having exited the doctor's office with Rx in hand, and walking at whole 50' to the adjacent mall doors, why, a Fuckwit was exiting the entrance coming straight at me. Nothing new there, these egress "exceptions". I get the Rx submitted after all the particulars are done with, say 10 minutes, and exit the LD store, then the mall. And lo, the same prior exiting Fuckwit is returning to the mall doors, this time figuring out where the entrance is. All to cross my path at the same instance in opposite directions, in the course of mall egress. Like WTF; why would ANYONE be returning to a mall 10 minutes later and timing themselves exactly to me in opposite directions in the double door set. Said Fuckwit had no shopping in hand in either direction, so screw the shopping cover story.

All the above details got blurred out and here I am a week later pondering what else "happened" this past week.

Oh yes, take the kids shopping at the grocery store at 2000h (8:00pm) when the victim goes shopping to avoid the crowds, and kids. Not only that, have the boy of six or so go shirtless in this large supermarket. He was with a parent, but somehow the parent didn't notice the kid had his hand down his shorts and was playing with his dick as they went by. But no, that wasn't enough, have the kid and parent come by me some 10 minutes later and still the kid is playing with his dick and still the parent hasn't noticed. Absolutely fucking beserk; each time I swear the perps have collectively gone off the edge, they pull another exceptional stunt such as this.

I purchased 1 lb of basil and converted it into paste with the addition of olive oil in my food processor. That was such an event for the perps that they arranged a thunderstorm outside as I began my (rare) long term food preparing activities, making basil paste. (Not a true pesto sauce as it does not have garlic or pine nuts). The paste was then put into an ice cube tray and then frozen over night. The cubes were later extracted and put into freezer boxes for winter time use. All depending of course that the perps don't pull a 9 hour power failure like they did in Summerland last week.

Anyhow, I best get this posted for the week just past.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Bobs on Bob

More high strangeness at yoga yesterday. The perps had me take a mega shit just before heading there, and what a toilet blocker it was. I gave it the bleach solution and took off as I was running late. I got there four minutes before class started, and lo, everyone was there, ready to go. Lots of new faces, and it almost looked as if class had begun as six of 12 or so were doing the same lying down butterfly pose. Image that, half the class independently (har, har) performing the same pose on their own volition while the instructor sat oblivious to it all, reading her lesson plan.

Every so often, about every four months they pull this, where instead of being the first, or almost so, I was the last to arrive. And lo, if my usual spot was vacant, and in the mind fuck world I am in, why, I didn't "see" any other locations available. And lo, if this fugly male wasn't at the mat next to me, someone new and featured it would seem, as he had a most peculiar hair-do. A two level cut with the sides being a half inch or so (with visible scalp), and the middle strip long enough to have his hair in a tight bob. I get these ridiculous male hair-dos every so often, more ridiculous than male ponytails even. And I have had at least four such male "bobs" on ambulatory gangstalk duty this past week, so why not plant one next to the victim for his yoga class to gross him out for the whole session?

And so in the vernacular that takes hold in any sustained different circumstances , all the males that wear this bob-do get called "Bob", just as the ball cap wearing ones get called "Ball Caps". Nothing original there of course, but it helps to concisely frame the category of freak to which I am being visually subjected. And too, to engage in the male-female games of "gender bender" appearance, where for example, the cute young babe wears a fedora. (There have been more than a few in the last 13 years of this abuse-athon).

And why is it at yoga with such a large class am I so often the first to exit while everyone else makes busy with their head down and their mat cleaning activity? And I am almost furthest from the door.

But all wasn't gangstalk gloom at yoga; the darling pixie instructor is always easy on the eye, and this time "happening" to wear identical black spandex shorts as my own. Her yoga wardrobe is highly variable and I don't view these occasional "clothing look alikes" as a coincidence. One example has been having gangstalkers in "just stand there" mode wearing the same shorts as me near the checkout at the grocery store.

And also at yoga, a first; after attempting for two years to do the wheel pose and not being able to push myself off the floor, I could today. That is a seeming consequence of taking iron supplements for the last four weeks, having found that I was low in iron and it likely being a life-long condition that all those compliant doctors somehow failed to mention/look for.

The normally freaky hair stylist school where I get hair cuts and leg waxes went to extra lengths to ensure a freak-stream (aka, a parade of the Unfavored) while captive in the stylist's chair. It began with a wheelchair clusterfuck at the entrance, one coming through the door with an adverse grade and my stylist "happening" to be passing by and helping out the woman in the wheel chair. The regular wheel chair receptionist woman with revolting armfuls of tattoos at the front desk couldn't help any, having just arrived from a break. (When I arrived only 60 seconds a different woman was on reception duty. It is very common for the perps to arrange reception and cashier staff while at the counter, or shortly afterward).

Then once seated with washed hair and having explained what I wanted done, a 6'6" negro (rare as hen's teeth in this town) male arrived at the next station, putzing with head models. If that wasn't freak enough, a red haired stylist student paraded behind me, as seen in the mirror, making chat with my stylist for more loiter time. The known-to-me very over-sized spa training supervisor also jumped into the freak parade, making at least six passes. Then a woman stylist student set up at the opposite adjacent station, with a chest and arms chock full of tattoos. Add in a chummy stylist student with green/blue tinted hair for more loiter time in the mirror. The hair stylist's instructor came a couple of times too, being way too frosty when I had met her at least twice as she was the receptionist then. She had a two level asymmetrical hair cut, something I find a little perturbing for some unknown reason, though not enough to be classified as a Freak or more correctly, one of the Unfavored. And she did have a substantial butt, another borderline Unfavored feature. The perps like to plant almost-Unfavored/freaks on me to test my reactions. The only "normal" looking (non-freak) was my stylist student, being one of the Favoreds with a blonde hair do.

While in the vineyard and working a row that has a sight line on the busy two way arterial rode, why, a negro male stops his truck in mid road and chooses exactly the location I see the road. Some 3' further ahead or back, and I would not of seen this particular specimen of an Unfavored demographic group. He sat in his vehicle looking straight ahead and with no apparent reason for about 20 seconds and then proceeded. Like WTF; who would be so inane to stop in mid-road (that has 8 to 15 vehicles per minute during weekday daytime), and to top it off, makes himself visible to me with a narrow sight-line (7') from 70' away). I assume this was a negro `warm up`prior to visiting the hair stylist, per above freak show.

A variety of vineyard work; weed-eating, herbicide-ing, dead plant material removal and making sure I stay out of the view of customers as they arrived.

An end of the work day irrigation repair job, as this leak got worse over the past few days. I was using a turquoise colored PVC glue, and my boss arrived to give me a belated birthday card in a turquoise envelope. We chatted for a minute, and I got back to my pipe work. And lo, if a few minutes later, the perps had me knock over the glue pot onto a rounded stone, but thankfully there was sufficient remaining to finish the job.

After work, depositing my much needed paycheck in the bank ATM with a strangely low gangstalker count, some four vehicles converged on me while I was about to start my vehicle. An ambulatory negro in a turquoise T-shirt and dark shorts was also part of the visual arrangements. I took a route to avoid all the gangstalker action, and lo, if the negro, now running on the crosswalk doesn`t cross my path while I was stopped at the traffic control light. Can we get enough turquoise going, and especially a before and after paycheck deposition.

Saturday,  at my alternate vineyard employer. (I was told before I was hired it was a 7-day per week crew, but it has turned out to be Saturdays only. Probably a good thing to have one day off a week to thwart perp harassment exploitation. The crew is mostly Punjabis, and I have worked many farm jobs with them over the past seven years. And the inevitable turbans, a much Unfavored head wear item. The four women are the most curious, as they wear long flowing garments with oversized ball caps. One even wears a scarf across her face, just below her sunglasses. I find this get up just ridiculous, but again, for reasons the perps know better than me, they like to plant this kind of nun garb around me, save the dark colors. The Sound of Music might of been one of their first such Unfavored exposes, as it began in a RC church with the maladjusted junior nun played by Julie Andrews. And why do the perps like to bring on RC clerical garb as Unfavored freak shows.

The reason maybe that I was placed in an RC church with the Duplessis Orphans during my stay in Montreal during my recall-deleted years, aged 2 to 5. My father was taking his PhD in Geology at McGill at the time, and of course, that brings in another Canadian atrocity, the clinical machinations (aka patient mind trashing) of Dr. Ewan Cameron. He had a Scottish accent at the time say the witnesses, and lo, if the perps don`t stalk me with Scottish accented gangstalkers. My ex-wife was from Scotland too, though without the accent for the most part.

And all day long, the perps harassed me when using clippers while doing bunch thinning; I could not be allowed to used them like anyone else, my fingers were directed to place the clippers above and below the intended cut location before I was allowed to cut the extra fruit bunches. This went on all day long.

Anyhow, now Sunday night, and time to get this posted.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Red Meat

The diet front, (read, imposed diet), had a major change last week. I was allowed red meat. And no less, I cooked it up. Long time followers will know that when I lived in Victoria, the Gangstalking Capital of Canada from 2003 to 2011, I would visit the First Feral Parents on Sunday evenings and have red meat (typically) for dinner. All the meals I made on my own were store rotisserie cooked chicken for lunch and dinner. That is, I bought a whole cooked chicken and had it hot for the first meal, and used it up for the next two weeks in tortillas or other combination dishes.

But for the first time since all this abuse-athon began, aka the Day the Perps Went Berserk/Overt in 04-2002, I was allowed to cook red meat, and of course, eat it. For the record, it was ground buffalo meat, and required no meat cutting on my part, another perp fixation.

It was my birthday yesterday, I am now 61 y.o. my daughter phoned to say a late card was coming, and my mother phoned too. Even my Kamloops brother got in on the act and sent a text message. Just another day abuse in Perplandia of course. Way back when they would send these telepathic messages before my birthday and tell me that they would cease operations for the day, but they never did. And I never believed they would either, from the outset.

Yoga with the darling pixie instructor again; it seems they are changing up the regular crew and I don't recognize many of them now. They put on another male of the ten or so class members, he in charge of heavy and audible breathing, like his past infrequent appearances. And back to their mirror blocking games again.

A hot weather phase now, up to 38C. Though today the atmospheric smoke haze lifted by mid-day and it got hot. All these fires, and not just locally, but in Washington State, Saskatchewan etc.

For vineyard work, it is leaf plucking, where one removes the leaves covering the grape bunches, still in the small green berry phase. The boss lady said it took 24 man hours last year, but I cannot see how I would cover the vineyard in three full working days.

On the PC sabotage front,no audio on this here PC now; it wont' play through a registered device (which ended at least 6 months ago after being a successful solution to using a single pair of headphones for the PC and the player). Now it won't play through the PC with a dedicated pair o headphones from the PC jack.

I got nailed for a 2.5 hour nap attack on a week day, though to be fair, they ran me for two days an hour short of a full night's sleep. Yesterday, the birthday greetings via phone came on at 2100h, just when I wanted to go to bed.

Hot outside again,with smoke of wildfires in the air, the perfect "dimming" tool to reduce the light but keep the heat on, some 37C today.

And work productivity strangeness again; I did 4 rows of leaf plucking in the first two hours of the day, and concluded I would get close to 16 rows done. (The rows are about the same length and not materially different in composition). Toward the end of the day I realized that I would get much less, so for the last hour I checked my progress and got two more rows done. Yet, over the day, I got a total 12 rows, or 1.6/hour. So how did I not get close to 16 rows, or 2.0/hour? I have no idea, as it seemed to me I was working at the same place, and as mentioned, there were no major work load differences between the rows. The perps like pulling these productivity misconception/sabotage stunts, and I assume they do something to me so I don't notice until the end,.

I am screaming at the assholes each time I get back from work this week, today no exception. The usual suspects; pulling items from my grasp, dithering my finger motor control, sending me to the wrong cupboard/drawer etc. It is most odd they they pull this same stunt with the same timing, i,e, returning from work), that is, when I get in the door.

More hot weather (38C) with "dimming" applied, the smoke from forest fires it seems, though the perps like to have combinations of weather, e.g. hot summer sun without the same illumination, and of course with.

I am not to wear spandex shorts in the vineyard any more, but instead, the baggy-to-the-knee kind, the Okanagan Valley standard summer wear. The spandex shorts were so comfy, and now these soggy (from sweat in the heat) cotton shorts.

The perps have started up their income tax hassle again. First a letter from the Canadian Revenue Agency (CRA), telling me I have a credit of $121. This was the "warm up" letter as it turned out. Two days later, the same CRA sent a request for documents to substantiate my deductions, something they could of done themselves as I was dealing with another branch of the Canadian government on this one. On the latter, all is legit, but I had to make an evening time trip to the local big box stationary store to get the documents scanned. Apparently, I can submit scanned documents via my tax account.

Sunday, and one at home, no major outing ambition today. Instead, I had a sharpening bee, getting a number of blades sharpened with my worn sharpening diamond stones. I haven't done any sharpening for months, and suddenly, a hectic "need" comes on. One being that I am to sharpen the boss lady's hand pruners.

Long time readers will know that the perps have a total fixation over sharpening tools, and all the better that it be with diamonds instead of sandstone or ceramic whetstones. Don't ask me why, but they do.

Tuesday, July 07, 2015

Digging Ground

Yoga; about 10 women class members and me in the second time wearing of my full leg tights, mentioned in the previous post. The perps seem to like me wearing stretchy spandex fabrics, and this is the latest pair back from the Filipino alterations shop.

A national holiday, Canada Day. I spent the afternoon in 38C heat digging a hole withing the foundation forms of a new house construction job. The soil was alluvial in origin, of unsorted sizes of rounded rock, with a 3' diameter one lodged in the middle of this well I dug. The plans changed after the excavator was there, hence hand digging. I have no complaints about doing this kind of work, even if it is hot. Much better than if were raining.

The boss man ragging me over what shorts I wear; he seems to not like my spandex ones, and suggested the baggy ones. As in total gangstalker scene, the baggy things to the knees. I'd rather wear pants.

Vineyard work is now into the leaf pulling stage, with the owner telling me how long last years crew took. All in keeping with productivity statistics, another perp theme.

Then house maintenance duties, with me up a ladder with a vacuum cleaner to take off the myriad spider webs and nests. I can't think of a better confluence of perp props; ladders and vacuum cleaners, and how they chase me all over town with these separate features on vehicles. That is, the now ubiquitous ladders on trades trucks and vans, and the "suck trucks", those drain cleaning heavy duty trucks, and of course, vacuum cleaners in vans, and wherever I may be walking.

Continued footwear (boot) fuckery; both at the shoe repair guy, and he didn't finish even one of them. Which means another day of wearing runners in the vineyard, and I expect he will stall me out until past the weekend. One pair of boots 7 yo, but worn now only two weeks has had four trips to the shoemaker, as the soles keep separating. Made in China, he says, but why cannot he glue them up and call it done? The other pair is my hiking boots, my long serving boots of three years, work every work day. New soles for them, understandably, but if the new soles are in, and he said he would fix them today, why aren't they ready?

And of course the perps take advantage of me wearing runners, having me go over on my ankles and impair my ability to spin my feet while wearing runners and various other anti-gravitic stunts they so like to pull. And I suppose it was such a special event to have me wearing runners at work that they scheduled me to go up the ladder, per above. And too, having two prior "warm up" days, one with the boots with the flapping heel, and then a day in the hiking boots that I retrieved from the shoemaker for a day. He wanted them today, so I dropped them off yesterday afternoon, and as mentioned, no word on progress. This is the same shoemaker who has sat on my knee pads for over a year and hasn't fixed them.

A two hour nap attack this evening, effectively replacing dinner, having had only a soup course. But I suppose maybe they wanted more psychic access after the yellopw-green soup.

Then sent me to a store that was closed when I know their closing time had passed.

Friday, though said dedicated to vineyard work, it turned out not to be so; making up shipping orders, driving somebody, 

No short shorts or spandex shorts allowed at work now, after two semi-unhinged broadsides from the boss man, the boss lady clarified what she would be expecting, And too, recognizing that I am in the vineyard or in the public (wine tasting) eye and crossing between these roles/venues over the day, I must wear cargo shorts.

The footwear fuckery continues; both pairs of work boots are in at the shoe repair, with one pair, hardly worn, is "acting up" with the glue in the sole failing every few days. This pair is in for the fourth time, and has been timed to coincide with the much needed re-sole of the ever dependable hiking boots. The hiking boots are three years old are worn 5x/week, all day and have "earned" their repair state. The repair guy needed the hiking boots back for  yesterday, and thereby cutting me out of having any boots to wear in the vineyard. So.. it is running shoes for now.

A hot day in these regions, and a good thing for the vines I was working on. I joined my alternate employer for a day of tucking vines in the heat. But as "usual" (since 2010), I am relatively impervious to wilting in the heat, now tested up to 40C (104F). It is one of the few positive attributes the perps have changed for me.

Eye stinging came on when a few of the Punjabi workers spoke with me for the first time. No doubt to engender a whole lot of fuckery; remove my safety glasses, remove my glasses and wipe my eyes while listening/speaking (in English). The guy opposite me (same row for tucking) who came some two hours into the work day, turned out to be Punjabi, as he could of passed for a Mexican. As the day went on, the perps inserted the notion that he could be my Kamloops brother in morph-over. He was the same height, same build and not that dark. How the perps have someone become Punjabi fluent who is of another native language is beyond conventional belief, save flat-out mind control.

On the way back I purchased employer-acceptable shorts, and dropped in at the LD store, and got messed around among navigating the heavy gangstalker patrol, in getting all the items I needed. The ambulatory gangstalk show included the usual freaks, aisle blocking, faux shoppers doing the bend over pose, and one posted at the chocolate section within 4' of where I "needed" to to obtain a particular brand. Then a three gangstalker party aisle confluence to force me to to stop heading to the checkout. One faux staff member was on his knees putzing on at the displays for the checkouts they never use, encroaching on the effective aisle width. Then the party of two in lead-ahead stalking mode suddenly stops in mid-aisle, doing the faux-dunce aisle block. It would of been natural for me to thread between these two parties and keep going, but no, a lone dude "happened" to be coming the other way and he threaded the needle, navigating between the two now stationary aisle blocking parties. The dude, in don't-look-at-me mode finally passes, and then it is my turn to navigate through in the opposite direction. Like WTF; three gangstalking parties organized to hold me up for a whole ten seconds while headed to the checkout. Perhaps it was all about the brown, that is, the brown colored top on the woman of the two member aisle blocking contingent.

A total sleep and time discombobulation; I got hit with a 3.5 hour nap attack last evening, awaking at 2200h, about the time I would go to bed on a weekend. As there were dishes to be done, and air dry laundry hanging, I devoted my efforts to cleaning up the mess. Add in some hair plucking, and I was "ready" for bed again.

But no innocent deed goes un-disrupted. So... have the victim wake up at ?? hour and have the victim "think" it is 0600h, and wander/wonder around why the sun wasn't streaming through. This also entailed looking out the E windows to see if there was cloud cover, and there wasn't. This mystery wasn't resolved, and I have no knowledge of doing/why I went back to bed to sleep some more. And so I awaken again, for the third time in less than 12 hours, and after "misreading" the time again, I was finally allowed to know I that is was 0600h. A total time/sleep jerkaround. And for what?

A hike in runners, something I never normally do, as the hiking boots are still in for repair. The shoe repair guy indicated that he would only need a day, but gosh darn, he didn't phone, or return calls. Even if they are fixed by tomorrow (Monday), that would make it five days without any work boots. All too characteristic of the Footwear Fuckery Gang, a division of the Psychopathic Confederacy. And yes, the perps have a footwear fetish, "needing" to relieve me of my regular boots every year or two, and for much longer than necessary.

Time to get this posted before it becomes a run-on personal diary. Speaking of which, the 12 year habit of a hand written diary has suddenly ended. All the more pointed and unusual events usually don't make it into this public blog, so I wonder if this isn't a form or censorship, having the victim self edit the harassment record.