Well, i’ve mentioned before plans are ill-advised, which considering my spreadsheet addiction is kinda funny. Still, spreadsheets have that snazzy built-in elasticity provided by formulae, which is handy, because yet again, my plans have changed. Continue reading
Tag Archives: housing
Yeah, i have been thinking of you. It’s just that when i said back in March we wanted to move, i didn’t expect it to take so long. Just deleted the fourth new post i’ve tried to write lately. They didn’t sound right. I’m not a journo, or a paid blogger, forced to churn out copy, and my blog hopefully doesn’t sound like it, but those posts did.
Anyway, back in early May, Mr Whatsit (whilst organising a possible source of moving-house funds, in the form of a forgotten part-year tax refund from 8 years ago) tried to get old paperwork out of a medical insurance company.
Here in Australia, if you don’t have medical insurance when you can afford it, (he was high up in a telecom company then, and could), you get a nasty tax penalty – which would be the whole amount of the refund. So to get his tax back, he has to prove he paid for insurance.
The company was scarily inept on the phone, (they let slip that Mr Whatsit’s ex still has the same postal address, for instance, plus other indiscretions), but they decided to be extra-careful of releasing any info, and said it had to go to legal.
Mr Whatsit was told at least 6-8 weeks, waited patiently, then was ill, so didn’t call back at 8 weeks. When he did call, at 11 weeks, was told, “Why hasn’t this been sent to you? It’s just sitting in the stack.” Nice lady put it in the post, it was here in one working day – by the end of July.
So now we can fill in some forms, and start waiting again. Which is one reason why i’ve not been into blogging. What’s the point? Absolutely nothing is happening.
In case you’re not clued up, it’s the bleak midwinter, southern hemispheric-ally speaking. That is, in the Land of Oz, it’s cold and drear… oh, but the sun is shining today.
And i’m tired of whining about being sick, so can only imagine how you lot feel. The flu is finally starting to let go a bit, but after one major relapse with it, i’m not going to tempt Fate, and say i’m over it.
Unfortunately, Mr Whatsit’s become very ill, and may need spinal surgery – nothing to do with the flu, except that coughing and sneezing may have set the whole thing off.
His doctor is being a prick, refusing to give us a referral back to Mr Whatsit’s neurosurgeon, (who operated where the pain is, so should be consulted), and saying we should wait for A FUCKING YEAR to get into a clinic in pain management up in Newcastle.
He doesn’t need freaking management from some hippy with Certificate II & III in Chronic Pain Management in a year, he needs to see his neurosurgeon NOW, or (without unfortunately, any exaggeration whatsoever), he’ll be on morphine in a week or so and in a fucking wheelchair before fucking Christmas!
Ahem – Mr Whatsit has had around 8 major spinal operations – amateurs do not get near him. Just touching him wrong could cripple him – his spine is fucked. So we go back to doc, (and the government pays his fucking fee again) and this time, tell him to sign a freaking referral – no more asking nicely – or we will find someone else who will.
I’ve tried to get into some other subjects – fashion, for one – but nothing worked. I nearly got a blog post out of the latest no-eyebrows look, (as seen in Balenciaga & Givenchy collections) but it went blah.
Yes, they look like the Vulcan/Klingon crosses on Star Trek, or maybe emos with Neanderthal tendencies, but I am lacking patience – trying to do a light, funny post on the idiocies of fashion victims wasn’t a good move.
Promoting death for fashion designers who make women look fugly probably isn’t legal. When it comes down to it, though i can still reach Zen, it’s been a rough winter.
So that’s why, though i can happily lock in for hours on my novel or dip for a few minutes in the happy splashfest of Twitter, writing a blog has been so hard.
Sorry, nothing left to be amusing with.
This blog’s never been particularly about my life on a day-to-day level, so it feels weird to be putting this here, but i am honest in these posts. (Hard to tell with the mad parts, but i am.)
But i guess you need to know why i’m not writing.
I’m too fucking worried.
In other news, i may have found the funniest thing ever. Srsly. Extreme sheeps and the men who love them. (That’s a video link, which i don’t do usually, but it’s only just over 2 mins long.) The wonder of what happens when men are left alone with sheep.
Totally safe for ewe to put onscreen at work, and worth watching all the way to the end. I just love it – humans – so amazing.
(I didn’t actually find it – @Froosh posted it on Twitter.)
Oh – and i’m completely undrugged…. which is shocking and accounts for part of my inability to show tolerance and kindness. I did sneak around Twitter doing good deeds and helping people this week. Nothing like a bit of voluntary work to help you forget your own problems.
How does one sneak? I was looking for things, and spotted people I wasn’t following who weren’t following me, asking questions or having problems, and helped them. I know, i know – it’s some kind of weird compulsion. White_wave even said
That was so sweet. Sprung! Yes, we have become co-Tweeple.
Well, i’m drug-free except the prescription ones that keep me alive – the mould in the house doesn’t agree with my heart, apparently, along with putting my body into a permanent state of extreme allergic reaction.
Straight sucks. How do people live like this?
The voices outside-my-head say we can endure.
So, we endure.
EDIT : some good news, the latest scans today (28th July 09) show Mr Whatsit’s spine is crap, but where he has the artificial disk (a piece of metal nestling rather close to his spinal cord) is apparently all fine. This is an incredible relief, as if it went wrong, a fused neck would be a good outcome, and a bad one was quadriplegia. He may still need surgery, but having been through 4 fusions and a disk replacement, pfft – this is something we can deal with.
NOTE: in case anyone thinks my drugfree state is me coming off some hard drugs, it’s not – i just have no painkillers – otherwise known as marijuana. Without it i have to rely on pharmaceutical painkillers – which don’t actually work half as well and are poisonous to my body – for my own rather fucked up back.
It’s Tuesday, if i had any sense, this would be Belgium, and i’d be sipping good coffee and eating lots of fattening things, but exercising heaps, you know, in that ‘omg, i’m in a new country, i better look around’ way. Somehow, i would not really put on weight or get spotty, despite living mostly on chocolate and coffee, because overseas, it doesn’t really count. What happens in Belgium…
Unless you’re that Aussie woman who got arrested for theft of a bar-runner towel thingie in Thailand. Her friends claimed they played a joke on her and put it in her handbag. Oops, they all said, *gigglesnort* we were drunk and silly. Perhaps they meant cretinous. She nearly got five years.
“Let me just tuck something into your bag so it looks like
you stole it! Ha! Hahahaha hahaha!”
How fucking unfunny are drunks, seriously?
I’ve been researching moving. Holy mofo – it’s expensive. It would cost about $2,000 to hire removalists. I could probably cut that to $1,000-$1,500 if i abandon most of my stuff. Doesn’t make any difference, i can’t get that kind of money together with the petrol money for two cars (to go 500 miles/800km) and the deposit on the storage unit at the other end.
If we try to hire a trailer, same problem – 3 day trailer hire and round trip to Gold Coast with some of gear, costs too much in petrol to save that money in one hit. (Mr Whatsit can do the journey there and back in about three days with one day in the middle to rest up.)
His ute can do it one way on a tank and a half , (ute is two-seater cab with open cargo back end) – with a trailer, triple that, at least. Nine tanks of petrol (9*$150)? Argh. No way can we raise that kind of money. So we’re back to about three trips in the ute, nice and gradual, with it possibly taking over 2 months. Bugger. I want to be gone, now.
Some time later…
Now it’s Wednesday. Have paid bills, done washing up, feel able to write without real guilt. Instead, i’m here feeling i should be blogging. Fuck’s sake. I’m gone again.
WTF? It’s Thursday. I’ve been writing my book. Are you all alive still? Good. Um, yeah, well i’m writing, and i’m all locked away inside my head. I’ve dropped into Twitter but I’m elsewhere. And elsewhen, come to think about it.
Yep, it’s going well, but i’m in the first 10 pages, bit soon to get all “it’s going to be a rite-de-passage, yanno, and her struggles with identity are gonna… blah blah blah.”
I’m bound to come out from inside my head soon, but right now, i have nothing to say. (Though i’ll naturally answer mail and Tweets.)
If you’re looking for something to read –
check out the Index tab above.
One car registration paid, the money to do the other one is in transit between accounts, and soon, after the water and phone bills, i can start saving petrol money for the invasion of Queensland. And snacks-on-the-way-money. I will take a thermos of hot coffee, too.
I am so glad i don’t smoke tobacco any more, i don’t have to make sure i have enough ciggies rolled for the journey. About twelve hours drive if i don’t get lost. You can do it in ten according to a website, Mr Whatsit does it in less time at night – but I may take longer.
Yes, as it’s an invasion, i’ll be taking the tank. Doesn’t move fast, but pootles along once she gets going, though a trifle anxiety provoking at more than about 120kph. (Tries to remember what that is in miles, fails, looks it up. Aha, that’s about 75mph.)
On the bright side, I’m going somewhere i used to live, so i don’t have the panic of driving into unfamiliar suburbia without a map, though i did leave there over four years ago, and i’m a bit vague about which freeway exit to take. I’ll have to check. Plenty of time yet, *touches wood* we still have to give a month’s notice.
It will be nice to be warm again – i came back to Australia because i didn’t want to live in the UK’s chill, and being in central coastal NSW does not agree with me. Last night it was 5°C on the front verandah, and it’s not winter yet. It’s lovely and sunny today, which means although it’s officially 20°C if you sit outside in the sun, you get up to about 30°C (70-80’s F and then the overnight temp will drop to 40°F) so you really feel it in your bones after sunset.
With any luck the tank will be easier to start up there. She doesn’t like the cold either. Reg, the Mechanic of Doom, couldn’t get a choke cable to fit, and bodged one up that doesn’t really work so cold weather’s a bitch. Parking’s easy enough with the tank, it doesn’t mind being left on the street, and you can just park on top of anyone who takes your space. Or on their car.
It does get chilly at night in South East Queensland, but i lived in the UK for over a decade, i can deal with snow if i have to, and it doesn’t snow on the Gold Coast. In summer, it’s cooler than Brisbane, the capital, which isn’t actually on the coast, though its edges sprawl that far now.
Me being from Western Australia, i get to skip the usual border rivalries – WA is too far away for most people to care. When in my home, you notice that they tend to call the rest of Australia “the Eastern States”.
Not that people from WA have chips on their shoulders about being from the biggest state – like Texans are in the USA. Oh no, we’re totally chilled about the way the rest of Australia sucks away our wealth and uses it to prop up places like New South Wales.
My fondness for weapons of war is purely coincidental.
In other news: the invasion planning begins. A storage unit will be rented, trips will be made towing worldly goods bit by bit, and we’ll be able to take some time when we get there to regroup and save some money on rent while we look for a new place.
What did we do without Google Earth and sites like realestate.com.au? I remember looking for houses to rent back in the dim dark days of newspaper adverts and having to phone the agent to get any real detail. Now, i can see the house is on the highway, backs onto an industrial estate, or is on a a flood plain, and what sort of an area it looks like from the air. In some places, i can even see the street view with Google’s StreetView.
The future rocks!
Except for Twitter changing their format. Now, when i type directly to someone, an @reply, nobody sees it except those already following the person. Which takes the whole random connection beauty of Twitter away.
I am annoyed. It’s trending on Twitter as #fixreplies – and i hope they change it back. It was optional, i want it back that way.
I’ve decided to invade Queensland. Screw New South Wales, the humidity, and the pollution… wait, i’m looking at my Dashboard here on the blog, and so I’m distracted. Someone found me by looking for “waffle possum” – my post must have been a shock.
Someone else discovered that “funny budgie” meant a pic of a cute one just before he exploded. It’s the way of the web. You go looking for something, and end up lost on a site somewhere else. Quite likely, you end up slightly shocked.
It was a mistake to look at my stats again. With the giant peak at 162 when i got my mention for the social media post, (2 posts ago i think) my viewing figures are fluctuating wildly – lows of 12-14 – 25ish as an average.
Twenty-five a day’s pretty good seeing the blog’s still new (nearly 2 months old), and i’m not really doing much to promote it, or trying to be fashionable. I blog about what i feel like. I hang out on Twitter and be myself. Well, heavily censored, obviously. I’m twitchy about lawsuits. In real life i’m more bitchy about celebs.
Anyway, my Beloved Visitor numbers are climbing nicely overall, if you ignore the spike. I get a steady click through from Twitter from people coming here. People find me through Google. *waves to today’s random visitor* Then there is the one person a week, on average, who found this site while looking for nipples.
Many more found this blog while looking for masturbation. Yes, i talk about masturbation quite often. Orgasm is good for us, mind, body, and soul. I think denial leads to crankiness of the kind that evening primrose and chocolate won’t fix. We’re talking deep-seated crankiness.
Enough about sex, we’re talking about my blog, *sets ego to stun* and how people get here. The point is – if one looks at my blog stats since i started here back in mid-March – i get hits from pretty much every time i comment on someone else’s blog.
Do you blog? If so, you know what happens with comments. Nobody leaves enough of the damn things. I’m really bad at commenting, i quite often formulate careful replies, only to realise i’m way off-topic, and to post would be the worst kind of blog-hijacking.
Like putting an ad for yourself in someone else’s comments. Which you do by commenting, but I’m uneasy about leaving blog links other than the one at the top of the comment form. To me – someone saying, oh yes, i did a blog on that, here’s a link to it – well, it’s pushy. I know it’s fashionable to be pushy, but it’s really not my style.
Blogs that i laughed over so much that i forgot to post comments on in the last couple of days include TheBloggess – who now has a sex column – which is just fabulous. She tackles clown porn, as only she can. Another was a new discovery she recommended, Tree Lobsters. It’s incredibly good.
Oh – and there’s something about a new blog that was recommended on Twitter. Something deeply disturbing.
As i said at the beginning, I have decided to move to Queensland. Deciding this has been sapping, actually. However realising that the black stuff i’m cleaning out of the computers is a mix of pollution and coal dust (there is a power station a couple of miles away, and mines there), decided me.
I’m breathing this shit. We’re in the path of the southerly winds from Sydney, and probably on a windy day, it’s more polluted here than it is in the CBD. I said to Mr Whatsit, i want to move away from here, and we both said Queensland? He’s from there, it’s going home for him. I’ve lived there for years at a time, i like the place.
In other news:
I’ve seen too many really ugly butt cracks, and i can’t take it any more. Besides, the local shopping centre isn’t the place to display your arse cleavage.
The temptation to pour a drink down them is overwhelming.
On the house rental search, I’ve seen two places in the last three days that i could live in, one was even under my budget. I can only assume that there aren’t any people left around here who can afford even cheap rentals, so prices are down. Yeehah, witness the revenge of the long-term-poor-without-debt. Oh, and praise be to Shadow Cat! I can afford to move.
To top it off, we even discovered a local area where there aren’t potholes in the roads. It was like driving into some magical fairyland, both of us saying, can you believe this? Anyone who’s driven into Budgewoi knows, the roads are freaking awful.
Suddenly, the urge to move is so strong. We’d both been burying it deep, as we didn’t think we could afford anything even ‘as good’ as the current place. It has to wait until after mid-May, when the last of three major bills are due. Still, at least we know there are some affordable places that look watertight – there weren’t last year. (This house leaks.)
I’m about to go do some sums, see if there’s any way we can manage moving before May. The owner is bound to try to put the rent up at Christmas, (has done for last 2 years), so want to be able to say “In your dreams!” *sounds of mocking laughter* Then i was going to run her over with the tank, but that’s still in the shop. A pacemaker exploded in the tracks – bloody pensioners, they’re the bane of my existence.
However, the agent, poor petal, does their best despite the cheapskate owner, so i won’t say that. (Obviously, i’m using ‘poor petal’ as a synonym for ‘selfish pig’.) *Runs over owner then backs up for round 2.*
In real life, I’ll bite my tongue (sometimes, discretion is the better part of valour – which means, i’m not stupid – though i’m full of freaking clichés). We’ve been brilliant tenants, and i want a good reference.
Passive-aggressive? Moi? (link is to a new favourite site, passive aggressive notes. For when you think you’re crazy – it’s nice to be reassured that you’re only halfway there.)
Actually, i edge into ultra-violence too frequently, lol.
Oh well *sighs* i knew having both cars with nearly the same registration date was a really bad idea. However, one step closer to moving – electricity bill out of the way, and joy, it was less than i was budgeting for by over a third. *does happy dance*
I get so annoyed when people say,” oh, i can’t budget”, like it’s optional – or “i don’t have enough money to live on, so no point trying to manage it.” Even the poor must budget. Or they will end up poorer – it’s guaranteed. Sticking your head up your arse and hoping for the best doesn’t work.
A friend of mine asked me to do a budget for her, and when i predicted she’d be five grand in debt inside a year, she actually said, I don’t want to talk about it any more, and went into debt for $12,000 instead. Her life is a constant struggle to survive, but she won’t fix any of her financial problems.
If that’s you? You need to grow up, learn to budget, face up to your debts, (organise a payment plan or declare bankruptcy if you need to), and live within your means. Frankly, if a percentage point (or less) of interest rise will break your budget, you can’t afford your current lifestyle.
Still, i doubt me saying it will make one blind bit of difference – instant gratification is all most people seem to care about. Others promote going into debt as a way to make money – lol – yes, that’s worked so well, hasn’t it? It gave us the World Financial Crisis, (or Greedy People FAIL, whatever you want to call it).
That’s what it is – all the people who thought they could get something for nothing – a house they couldn’t afford with a loan they couldn’t afford from a bank who couldn’t actually afford to loan it, because they – like everyone else in the chain – were running on so much debt that any sane person (or a crazy person with basic arithmetic skills), might have gone a bit pale, at the least.
For years, it’s been obvious to anyone who wasn’t blinded with avarice that this was on its way – and i’m not an expert financially, (maybe i am, i can do a budget, and keep bookwork).
This is capitalism, kiddies – the poor get poorer, the rich get richer. And all the while, they promote the idea that if you’re not rich like them, it’s because you didn’t work hard enough. Enjoy.
P.S. as you can imagine, in this context, ‘kiddies’ is a synonym for
‘greed-soaked servants of the machine.’
This rant brought to you by the Queen of Darkness,
your friendly local despot and supreme being
Vote me for dictator – you know you want to.
I just read this over – hmm, maybe i am the Antichrist after all, lol.
Feck, that cheered me up.
*skips off to find chocolate and achieve my kind of Nirvana*
BTW – TwitterGrader is currently lying- i have 169 followers on Twitter.
Strange searches you folk use… “argh kill me” brought you to my site, eh? I’m not sure whether to be flattered. *walks too close to a child and watches as it self-combusts* oops.
Seriously, your last chance? If i can’t make you laugh, you’re doomed? Jeez, that’s a heavy responsibility. Had you considered therapy instead? I mean, yes, i make jokes, but what happens if you don’t happen to think say, that three is funny? (Mel Brooks says so.)
I can barely work my own blog, and you come here hoping for redemption? Or are you hoping for a quick end? *hones the Gleaming Instruments of Death* I’ve got some time this morning?
That’s it, people are coming here to die... like elephants. I thought you were laughing, but there’s a pile of virtual bones just outside, where the web-vultures have been through your carcasses. I had no idea! It must be the dangerous mould in the house, it’s in the blog. It’s toxic, you know – try living with it.
Maybe that’s a way to get the owner of the house back for the mould – i could just send a link, say casually, hey, have a laugh on me. And then i could gloat, as they come in, look around, and drop dead.
Welcome, I’d say, in my best Queen of Darkness voice, (don’t you have one?), to the Blog of Doom! *sound of cackling* I’d add, that this is what happens, when you don’t look after your tenants, despite them being nice people who always pay their rent on time.
Queen of Darkness? Oh – another nickname like Sheila Bastard. It’s one i gave myself – quite by accident. I was saying that so many who profess to be on the side of Light are bitter bigots.
If that’s Light, i said, I’m the Queen of Darkness. Next thing i knew, the boys in the band were calling me Your Majesty and, when they wanted to be annoying, Queenie. *shudders* So i wrote a song about it.
Anyway, if this blog kills you, I can’t take any responsibility – it’s the landlord and the owner’s fault, you see. Oh – and that’s not me admitting to being the Antichrist there. Just in case someone tries to pin that on me. I am not the Antichrist. *phoomph sound as a budgie who gave me a dirty look explodes*
Well, i may be the Antichrist, (all unwitting over my own Fate), but the world domination thing is purely for my own pleasure, it’s not because Dad told me to. Honest.
Hmm – but of course, the Antichrist would lie to you. Are you still alive? Well there’s your proof. *brushes the ashes of the budgie under the couch*
I’ve been looking at rental houses – oh joy. Yeah, it’s quite funny, in a freaky kind of Lifestyle channel trainwreck decorators way.
My ex is an architect, i worked with him for 15 years, i’m interested in architecture, planning, project management, and interiors, but i’d think twice about designing my own house. I’d get the professional, the ex, to do a design. He’s excellent at the ‘tell me what you want, i’ll design a place to suit’ brief.
However, i’m obviously way too cautious, lol. God may be in the details when it comes to architecture, but i think he often runs out of money and has to bodge the build. Why else would you have a 6 bedroom, 4 bathroom house, 3 living areas, kitchen, pool, and oops… no parking. Not even a concrete pad.
Or the house in a very hilly area, the house on one hilltop, and out across the back lawn, which is a valley, you climb down, then up, to the very back of the garden… where the clothesline is. lmfao.
The people one sees making awful mistakes (like the couple on the Sara Beeney renovation show who ended up with a 4 feet long garage), seem to be the norm. I saw a beauty where they’d obviously decided to put new cupboards in the kitchen, then realised they would block a window, so they put the cupboards up higher – so high, you needed a stepladder to get at any of them.
Charge into a project, sure nobody can tell you anything, and yes, you will end up with rooms like this.
Note how the cupboards can’t open next to the stove, (and it’s got a faulty door, which is hanging open to take up even more space), and it’s going to get very warm if you’re standing at the sink with the oven on. Oops, don’t knock a pot with your elbow. Your fridge will need to be slimline.Very slimline.
We’re not fussy, seriously, the current place has mould, and leaks when it rains. But that kitchen’s a mistake, not a workspace. It’s the decorating equivalent of the dickhead on Idol who won’t believe anyone when they say, but you’re no singer. This is no kitchen.
Or how about this – many landlords hoard furniture, then try to rent a place more expensively as ‘furnished’. Well, call me crazy, but this looks more like him getting cheap storage at the tenant’s expense.
You’re not hallucinating – the giant red couch is IN the kitchen. There’s another pic where it shows how the arm of the couch is handy for when you lose your balance while washing up – it’s right there – and looking as grubby as a couch within a few feet of a kitchen sink and a stove can.
This is a classic “Furnished spacious 2 bedroom unit” – well, it was spacious.
Turn sideways as you enter the room, watch your knees.
Another one – the bunks are breeding -and yes, being rented furnished, you have to store these somehow, lol.
In the same three bedroom apartment, a kitchen that’s quite tacky, and the tiling’s awful….
But wait… what’s that in the floor, near the sink?
You guessed it, for when you want to hose out the kitchen! It’s a drain hole in the middle of the floor. Classy. This place is not a bottom of the market place.
then, to set it all off, they try to impress with the bathroom…
Yes, i think it shows up quite nicely – i haven’t distorted that pic at all – but someone did, lol. It’s been stretched to make it look less pokey.
My absolute hate at the moment are the words “owner has use of garage” – like people who rent don’t need to put tools or cars anywhere. The dreaded tatty furniture stockpiling continues.
All pics are from realestate.com.au which is actually a good site – because if you see them in this kind of detail, you don’t waste your time and theirs doing a viewing.
A couple of years ago, we were flooded, thigh-high downstairs. I’d noted to a bunch of people, including stupid doctors who didn’t deserve the title five medical professionals, that my extreme allergy problems and other weird symptoms started right after those floods. The medical professionals all just nodded, said yes, you’re definitely ill, and drew no conclusions.
A total of 3 general practitioner doctors (the first two reached a point where they just said, sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, can I give you more pills for the symptoms?), and at least no.3 is still trying. The 2 specialists were likewise stumped (rafts of tests showed nothing wrong with my heart or my eyes). I was about to hit another specialist, this time for allergy testing (I’ve been waiting since last August for the appointment, which they promise to let me know4 weeks in advance, but haven’t yet).
I was sure (despite the battery of tests for everything from cancer to MS to diabetes to congestive heart failure), that i had SOMETHING. Either that or it was all psychosomatic, and I had, at last, gone completely nuts – either way, lol, it was crushing me.
I have disabilities – my spine and knees haven’t forgiven me for all the car accidents, and I also have Post Viral Syndrome from 15 years ago -right after my last car accident i got a doozy of a sore throat, and tried to keep working. It was so bad, i even went to the doc, something i rarely did in those days. Let me be a warning to you – don’t soldier on.
On a practical level, the PVS means my immune system works overtime (I don’t get colds badly most of the time, but when i get one, it means my immune system’s been trashed, and i’m in trouble), and i tend to get overtired- i’ve learned to live with it, but then the floods hit.
We cleaned up at the time, and our prompt action stopped the carpets from going mouldy and there from being much visible mould.
I’d been working hard to get healthier, but despite losing over 20kg (45lbs) and giving up smoking cigarettes, i was still sick as a bloody dog. I was even thinking pity i don’t like tobacco, seeing giving up has done bugger all for my health. (Yeah, after 16 months the nicotine still speaks to me, lol, but i don’t listen to that bitch-mistress any more.)
I was thinking I’d rewash the worst places for the mould, and went to look up online the best way. I use a wash of lemon oil (10 drops) and 200ml vinegar (about a cup) in half a bucket of water, which works well and doesn’t set off my allergies the way Exit Mould does. Then I saw this piece on mould (mold), and then this .pdf file on Flooding, how you always get massive amounts of mould after only 2 days of floods (we had 4).
A woman and her family in the piece on mould had all my symptoms, and my partner’s – symptoms that look like asthma, heart problems, allergies, sinus, lungs, and so on. OMIGOD, i have a mould sensitivity, and so does the man in the house. Continue reading