Independence Day to Day

That is what is all comes down to, from a very early age everything was geared to being or becoming more independent. To your average Joe or Jane this means, getting a job, getting enough cash to move out from your parents house. To a disabled person however this independence can mean something most of the able bodied world takes for granted, like dressing yourself for example.

I am lucky I suppose my disability is by the standards of many quite mild, so I am able to function and live a “normal” life. I have a job, a handful of good friends, family and I live alone in my house where I pay full rent and have no assistance at all.

So as independent as one gets.

This year I have found I have become less mobile. Things are starting to hurt, or even worse just not work in the way of which I have become accustomed. (I’m not talking about issues that Viagra can fix here either) So where do I turn? Again the average Joe or Jane in the street seems to be under the impression that the disabled are either paralympians capable of bounding over buildings like the bionic man or so disabled that they cannot possibly function and have all the help and money to enable them to live out their days in comfort.

So in the view of the outsider, disabled people either, A don’t need more help or B have all the help they need.

Let me add my C to that list of options.

From a early age I was taught and pushed to be as independent as possible, to do things myself. This has brought me opportunities and allowed me to meet many wonderful people but it’s made me very single minded and set in my ways at at times a bastard to live with or be around. I haven’t needed help, so I have been off the radar. No huge social services file, no massive cash hand out that means I don’t have to work, no case worker I can ring up and get someone to help me.

In order for me to get assistance for anything, I have to be referred by a GP. The GP probably knows less than me about my disability and I have to wait along with everyone else to receive treatment from a guy who specialises in sporting injury. My sporting days are long gone!

Independence has for the most part been a very good thing for me. I just wish someone would have told me to ramp it back a little so that it would be easy to get support I need now. It seems the more you do, the less is offered, which when you think about it is very wrong. Only option to keep on going until you drop.

Still Happy 4th of July America from the old foe across the pond.

Lincoln Memorial July 4th 1.jpg
Lincoln Memorial July 4th 1” by J.W.Photography from AnnapolisFlickr. Licensed under Wikimedia Commons.

Poem: Canary

Every year the chillers break,
Every year us workers bake,
Yes it is a sweaty mess,
On the corporate ladder to success,
It’s hard to have blue sky thoughts,
When you are sitting in your boxer shorts,
Sweaty arms, sweaty back,
Sweaty balls, sweaty crack,
Windows you can’t open or close,
Farts from the 80’s all in your nose,
It’s like this throughout the seasons,
Wash everything for hygiene reasons,
Melting hot Summer,
Drafts in the Fall,
Frostbite in Winter,
Spring never happens at all,
Corporate patsies, uniform lines,
Swear they had it better down the mines,
You think I’m joking? Take back what I said?
We had a Canary here. It’s definitely dead.

Part of the WordPress Daily Post: Seasonal Scents

Rama-ramama-argh

I am far from being a professional writer. Some people actually like what I write, which continues to amaze me. I do favour the macabre, my stories often featuring a gruesome end for one of many of my characters. I am no good at fantasy, story wise of course give me a beautiful american, Karen Gillan a Nun’s outfit and a stick of Celery and I can fantasise all day!

Rollerblading nuns
Sex on wheels.. no?
I digress I have been challenged to write different genres, sci-fi and more recently romance. Now I class myself as a romantic kinda guy, the candles, moonlight, diamonds and poetic serenades have all played a part in my life. But writing romance for me is proving very difficult.

OK so it’s going to be published here. So I try therefore to keep it under 1000 words, otherwise no-one will read it. So that gives me a thousand words to establish at least two likeable (a stretch for me) characters who you dear reader will be championing, wondering will they, won’t they, but knowing that they will for it is a Romance after all. Believable dialog is also required along with  some kind of tension that allows me to twist and turn.

Trouble is, everything I have tried so far is cliché central. “She looked deep into his steely grey eyes and trembled” OK not quite but close. I don’t want trembling in my story, not lips or knees (I have enough trouble standing as it is) I want strong characters. It’s too easy to write about a bewildered woman who cannot exist without a man. I don’t believe these women actually exist (if they do my email is in the about section.. just saying)

I know these stories are supposed to pander to a fantasy. A fantasy where the dragons and wizards are replaced with perfect men who’s farts smell of roses and has baby soft skin with the talent for fucking, sorry “making love” that rivals Neymars skills with a football. The rose tinted quest continues.

Fiction: A Warm Welcome

Welcome to my house. It’s not much but I’ve lived here as long as I can remember, it has a nice garden Don’t you think? Come in why don’t you, I am pleased to see you. Although it has to be said I’m not sure why you are here. But the more the merrier.

I like visitors, well most of the time. They stop me getting bored, each visitor brings a thousand stories, stories which they don’t even know they are telling. I am an excellent reader of body language and behaviour, I find it very useful it helps me get what I want. Not that I want for much, everything is here. My family, refreshment and a comfy place to lay my head. Anything else is just fluff don’t ya think?

I see you walked here. I am very active. Well you have to be, I don’t want to get fat. That happened to a friend of mine. They put him on a diet his food was horrible! I like to run out in the sunshine, feel the breeze against my face. You should come along sometime, you’ll really enjoy it. Although those shoes don’t seem like running shoes to me. Maybe another day?

The others? Oh yes follow me. They are in the kitchen with all the wonderful food, Can you smell it? Isn’t it amazing? It really makes my mouth water. You can have whatever you want. I’ve already eaten but if you want to save some for me It won’t get wasted.

I’ll leave you to introduce yourself to the others, shake hands and such things. I’ve always found that a strange custom. In my experience I’ve found you can learn so much about new friends in other ways. Handshakes are boring, although I have been told that my handshaking skills are very good. People seem to like them.

You’ll have to excuse me. I am quite tired now after greeting everyone. I am going to go and lie down. Just call me though and I’ll come running. I am so very pleased you are all here. After you have had your food and I’ve had a little snooze, how about I show you the garden. It’s my favourite place in the whole wide world. As we are the best of friends maybe you can throw my favourite ball just a few times.

I might even bring it back. But only after I chewed it.

By the road in Åmotsdal (3845346438)

Birthdays: Women and Children only

If it’s your birthday today, Happy Birthday from all of us here at SudoOne. (Just me then) I hope you get all the gifts you want and a cake especially for you. Unless you are a male over the age of 18. In which case, happy birthday mate. I haven’t got you anything because I’m not your Mum. If you are lucky I might buy you a pint. Men don’t do birthdays.

The male arrangement for birthdays.

I buy a beer, pie or coffee, if birthdays are mentioned at all. If not, all the men I know carry on as if their birthday was nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I refuse to work on my birthday. But this has more to do with me disliking work than anything else. Today is a work colleagues birthday. He is way over 18. He spent £50 feeding people who aren’t his friends, some of them hate him and yet will eat the free food (I didn’t). He works on phones, spent the majority of the morning telling customers it was his birthday. Now I know you have to build a rapport with the great unwashed but when your customer wants to do what he needs to do and hang up (Sounds like I work on a Sex line) your ‘special day’ matters diddly squat and mentioning it can come across as unprofessional.

Food rituals in the workplace are bullshit too. Its a unwritten rule that you have to bring stuff for your birthday, and you are judged on the quality of food you get, catering for all allergies in the office and watching out for those arseholes who will double dip the breadsticks. You are therefore a mixture of You, Jamie Oliver and Robocop.

I like other peoples birthdays. It gives me an opportunity to show the women and children in my life how much they mean to me. Really thats a grand total of three or so gifts (Daughter, Mother and the official photographer of the New York Yankees etc) But those are people I care about and people who I know appreciate what I got them. Not some people I happen to sit in a building with. Birthdays should be banned from the workplace. Which brings me to Yaya Toure.

Yaya Toure protegiendo el balon
Yaya Toure (centre) during a previous spell at Barca. Birthday Cake (not pictured)
I know this is a ruse. Yaya even tried to point it out himself. But for those who don’t know, Toure plays for Manchester City FC and his agent is saying that he will leave because they didn’t wish him Happy Birthday. In all reality he wants to leave because he can get a big bundle of cash from Barcelona. Thats fine with me. (Man doing job wants more money for working). However he does need to sack his agent for the “Birthday” plan because Yaya now looks like a bit of a dick. I hope he stays at Man City just for all the Birthday related chants he’ll get.

My birthday is in June by the way. Hint..

Selfish

I’m selfish me. You know what you are too.
Now before you protest with “You don’t even know me” Firstly I’ve seen you. Using your webcam and a small piece of Malware that gets installed every time I write a piece you don’t like I see all muhahahaha. Secondly, everyone without doubt is selfish to a certain degree.

It’s how the human race survived this long. It’s the survival of the fittest out there, how do you stay the fittest? Well you look out for number one, make sure there is enough food on your plate. Then and only then can you help others, but it’s only those others who you feel need help, which then in turns makes you feel good. Selfish!

Modern society has made selfishness a bad thing, morally, ethically. All charity appeals hammer home the same point, “How dare you live in comfort, because these other people/dogs/cats/donkeys/etc aren’t” You selfish bastard. The $50 you spent on your 30th Alex and Ani bracelet could have got a water pump for an African village. How dare you for working hard and wanting pretty things. Capitalist scum!

So I admit I’m selfish, and it’s a pretty good thing. Keeps me feeling good, and as luck would have it, those people around me benefit too. Worse than the likes of me, who openly admits a “I’m alright Jack” attitude are those people who refuse to admit they indulge at all. These people live, by their own reckoning an entirely selfless existence.

Religon plays a part here. People do “selfless” things to get a reward from a higher power or at least to gain favour, hardly selfless. But meanwhile on earth there are quite a few religious folks I’ve met who appear to have the air of superiority. To quote one guy talking about women “I’m a Christian, so it’s my duty to let her know she’s beautiful.”

So as an atheist I go around telling beautiful women they all look like a bull dog chewing a wasp for shits and giggles. No, the ability to make a person feel good about themselves is nothing to do with religion. Nor does this superior “God squad” outlook make you less selfish than anyone else, often it just means your pleasures are more closeted than mine, which isn’t a good thing.

Embrace the selfish once in a while, it’s probably what got you to where you are today.

Interviews

“I’ll help you, I’ve had lots of interviews”

An acquaintance at work trying to be helpful, after finding out I have a job interview on Friday. Strange thing though really. Because on the face of it, advice from someone who is well practised at a certain thing has to be good if you are preparing for the same thing. But is that the case with someone who has had a load of interviews?

This of course means one of two things.

1. You are excellent at interviews, but rubbish at the actual job and therefore move around a lot.
Given that this offer of help came from someone at work this could be the true meaning. But it’s more likely to be option 2
2. You are really bad at interviews. Falling at the final hurdle on a regular basis.

This is not a criticism, I myself fall into option 2. Interviews are hard, kinda like a corporate speed date, where you are trying to impress three or maybe four suitors all at once in different ways. However in a marked difference from speed dating, the people sat opposite you are often looking for a carbon copy of their ex. Someone with the same abilities, same traits, same looks and when you look like me, unless I’m following Jesus or Russell Brand chances are I’m not going to get the job.

My Mum always says to me “Are you going to do your hair?” well I’m not going to make sure it is styled so that it looks like I have been pulled through a hedge but this is another thing that gets me about Interviews. Everyone dresses up, plays the game. We all know how to dress up, even scum of the earth who commit so many crimes they know the first names of court clerks. You can see them sat in their best whistle pleading not guilty. So whilst we are playing dress up, why don’t we pretend too? Pretend that I am in my best shirt, with a tie that cuts off circulation to my head, I in turn will pretend that you are pretty and that you don’t spit when you talk.

Interviews are these days it would seem nothing to do with the job you are applying for. Instead opting for a strained (on both sides) conversation complying to a “model” often asking you to display that you are a good team player by using the word “I” numerous times. Because no-one in your team did anything it was all you. If it wasn’t, no job for you sunshine. We don’t want your teamwork here, we want you to go all John McClane in Die Hard.

So onward and upwards, a man stepping up to the plate. Painting on a smile, crossing fingers and toes and hopefully not tongue.. yippee kai yay motherfucker indeed.

And If this piece on interviews was not enough to give me the job, please check out this piece by Miss Four Eyes who blogs much better than I, she also does it naked too.

Hoping it's gonna come true.. but theres not a lot I can do

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