Monday, October 12, 2015

Scrubbing Bins

I was busy scrubbing picking bins at the vineyard today, by hand brush to get rid of the residual grape skin color that should of been washed off instead of it getting worse for the last week. So, a plastic bristled brush on plastic bins, and that begat me at least three low helicopter passes, some 200' above terrain. An EC-135 came in low at first, and about five minutes later, a Bell 206 came by on the identical flight path. This particular path was parallel and above the power-line that borders the property. A third helicopter of unknown type came by 10 minutes later, and then a private biz jet came in low, about 200' above terrain, then climbed while circling, and then eventually dropped elevation to land at Penticton airport.

I got my auto aftermarket door handle painted at a body shop; strangely, the guy had it in both hands and delivers it in this mode to me while staring at me with a loopy grin for crissakes. Weird.

Another online order obstruction, this time STP where I had not purchased anything for two years. (mainly because the US-Canadian exchange rate is so widely different now than then). The order flips into shipping, and then repeats again, and I have no idea if the item was ordered twice or what. I had to enter all my financial information twice for some reason, and at first glance it looks like like only one of two order was made. All part of the FUD (Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt) games the perps like to play, especially for financial transactions.

And some concerted sinus filling and then congestion as latter part of a cold of some three weeks. It took at least 10 minutes for me to unload the R nostril which green material spewed forth, then the L sinus suddenly pressurized, and was relieved with white colored material. And not to be outdone, the R sinus got congested again, and needed more relief, still going with the green color. All this to precede my first trip to the tanning salon this winter. Apart from a vehicular following where the driver needed to tail me, and then proceed past my parked car, (the driver going back the direction he came from, looping through the same parking lot that I used), and the salon attendant, the perps left me alone for once. No family hour at the tanning salon, nor any lounging dudes loitering with scant purpose in the waiting area.

I worked this Saturday, to keep the wine-making area clean, orderly, and use the forklift to transport some heavy items to a separate building for warm overwinter storage. This particular forklift is designed for smooth concrete surfaces, but on this site it is packed gravel. Needless to say, one must be careful not to go onto soft ground as it will get stuck. Last year I had already bogged it down twice, so I had to be careful to not to get it stuck again. Which means being extra careful at the driveway shoulders and and not getting it stuck.

Yesterday, the Jo-ho's came to visit me at this rural vineyard property, driving in some 300' all to have me turn them away inside of 5 seconds. The Fat Girl shows me a copy of the Watchtower with a mosaic of human faces on it, and lo, half of them were negro (Unfavored) pictures. The E Indian male (Unfavored x2) was 20' away in a fedora, (also Unfavored) and volunteered a winery story. No thanks to that too. Three of them, or more likely, pro-perps, devoted to this task of pissing me off with negro pictures in mid day, as if I needed any more Unfavorable circumstances than I already get in this purgatory of relentless arranged adversity. The perps keep telling me that this Fat Girl was ML in morph-over, but what do I care. I just deal with the realities that present themselves, and don't wish to speculate on their telepathic pollution.

I finally succumbed to the telepathic onslaught of getting new work/hiking boots rather than spending some $150 to get them repaired. I was particularly pissed that the new soles, only three months old are worn out when I was led to believe that I would get even better longevity than the new ones that cost me $115. I cannot understand why the perps need to attack my footwear so much, especially when these boots were at the shoemaker's shop for at least three weeks, and at least two more short visits to get the soles re-glued as they were delaminating. Though, there it is clear that the perps have a research obsession over rubber (from rubber tree latex) in all it forms and blends; e.g. automotive tires, footwear, etc.

The alternate work boots, safety toed and less suited for hiking  have finally made it past four weeks duration without losing their soles. I think they were in the shoemakers for at least six weeks in aggregate over three visits this summer. Not only are the boots falling apart way too frequently but the repairs are too, not to mention the shoemaker annoying me too. He is the only one in town it seems.

A glorious sunny day, and somehow I got subverted into futzing around in the morning, and then in the afternoon, a futile exercise in attempting to repair the L rear passenger door handle that is broken, now over three weeks. This being the Camry sedan that I have owned since 2012, and paid for my perp abetting mother. It seems the perps wanted to stop me from using that seat where I store my duffel bag of clothes for work, or for groceries as it is the most convenient place to temporarily place things. I had station wagons or pickup trucks all my motoring ownership, and the sedan thing just seems so stupid. A rear tailgate beats a trunk anytime. Hence the continuing planted notions of getting a Volvo 850 wagon but as I am now relegated to a paycheck to paycheck existence, it isn't going to happen. And "happen" of course is a charged term, as there is nothing that just "happens" in this highly controlled existence of being a TI of extreme interest, and of extreme abuse in the course of their continuing nonconsensual human experimentation in situ. And vehicle colors are of extreme interest to the perps, and I believe I have made this plain over time when reporting on the vehicle trains, oncoming or ahead of me, with the carefully selected colors, often in grey-scale colors, from white, silver grey, grey and black. Often they put a red, yellow or rarely, a brown vehicle in the middle of the train, or pod, the latter indicating a two lane (or more) clustering of vehicles. Navy blue is also a key perp vehicle color, though I haven't figured out its relative status; it seems to be neutral between Unfavored (red, yellow, brown0 and Favored, silver-grey. My vehicle color is a mid-grey, and my prior vehicle from 1992 to 2006 was silver grey.

Anyhow, after suitable Youtube exposure on how to do the task, I got started on removing the rear door panel, which came to be a near hour long exercise. I had to check a few more videos to find out how exactly to remove the interior door handle bezel, and eventually succeeded even if I got faked out over a recess pocket that had no screw head at the bottom of it. And lo, when I got the panel off there really wasn't decent access to the door handle, especially worse in that the control rod linkages could not be seen from behind the door panel sheet metal. And of course, the videos didn't have a 1997 rear door example, usually it was a front door. I decided I was beat; there was no way I could reliably install the new door handle. A $210 bill at the dealership awaits, and without a steady gig at this juncture of vineyard work, this one hurts big time.

And having ordered hiking boots rather than pay the shoemaker for more putzing around, I am going to be strapped for cash it seems.

On the heath front, the perps are busy renewing the urinary urgency problem. My supplements were successful from Feb. to late September (2015), but they arranged for the key supplement to run out during a long work spell. I couldn't get to the store for a week, and lo, the assholes used this lapse to bring on this once-treated problem. The testosterone I now take doesn't seem to help, and the urologist was utterly useless back in Feb. He said, via his office assistant, "response from medication X will vary, and if symptoms persist, go see your GP". That from an urologist for crissakes. I cannot get a GP, but I mentioned this to the drop-in clinic doctor and she was just as aghast as I was. Why do I get such useless doctors all the time? (The current hormone treatment doctor a rare exception). A list of their ineptitudes, if not coordinated obstructions, could be a posting unto itself. Mainly, it all relates to dopaminergic causes, as the one sure thing I know, is that I have ADD-Inattentive subtype, as diagnosed with a SPECT brain scan in 2001. Which has been my trump card to counter the shrinks who prescribed dopamine antagonists (blocking agents), a fucking crime IMHO. Some eight of them, all somehow missed on determining my iron deficiency, as discovered and blogged about earlier this year (2015). And there sits an iron molecule in tyrosine hydroxylase, the main enzyme to break down tyrosine into dopamine precursors. Not a one of them even said a thing.

 Thanksgiving Day N of the 49 Parallel today, so I will get this wrapped up for posting soon.

And I see that the perps are sucking me down into depression-land again, what they have always done; all my successful medications going back 20 years, slowly (somehow) lose their beneficial effect. The latest is the testosterone and DHEA I am taking. I was contented, mellow and more together for most of the first month I started these meds, and now the depressogenic suck down is on. It is so consistent, it has to be the perps at it again and their dopamine depletion agenda.

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