Tag Archives: mould

Rumours of my demise are greatly exaggerated

Just discovered 2 unpublished posts from last year, put aside to edit later – what can i say, 2013 was a complete bitch of a year.

Among other financial disasters, the washing machine died then the “new” (read 16 yr old, but new to us) Tank blew an engine, so we went into debt to pay for a new one. The landlord decided fixing the house wasn’t worth their while and kicked us out because we kept asking them to fix the leaks. Nice thing to happen to two broke disabled people in the middle of a NSW winter.

On the bright side, i’m now in Queensland. Only took me from 2009 to now. Bit like my novels, my Invasion of Queensland was delayed. Some other sucker is renting our old mould-ridden House of Doom and Mr Whatsit and I are on the sunny Gold Coast.

I would like at this point to thank friends (ones i had no clue i had – S you are a star and a half) and family (Mum of course and oh Ruby) for loaning $ and subsidising the move – without your help we would not have made it. Or we might have, but probably hitch-hiking and without any of our worldly goods.

Even the Mother in Claw helped, and gave us a spare bedroom when we first moved. That she then tried to kill both of us via inhaled cigarette smoke, well, Mr is off the asthma inhaler since we got out of her place, so let’s just try to forget the horror.

Being warm without having to pay for it with a 15 degree temperature drop the next day is the best bit. It is 28 C (82F) today, 28 tomorrow, unlike NSW’s 24 C (75F) today, 45 (113F) tomorrow, 21 (69F) the next.

Anyhoo, so i’m here, not really queer, and back in the groove, after a few months where i was so sick (various reasons including stress, actual illness, and being crippled in the first place, as moving did my back in) so i didn’t even log onto Twitter much.

The poor Thing, my trilogy only part-published, is much-neglected, but i’m back working on it. Publication date? Oh, don’t mock me. Soon. Presuming soon can be “before the end of 2014”?

Meanwhile, I figured if i don’t post something, people might think i’m dead, and there are some i don’t want to give that satisfaction to.

So, much love to everyone, and if you want me, ping me on here or Twitter – i’ll be neck-deep in The Thing parts 2 and 3. I was very pleased to see that Part 1 The Birthday Dragon is still at number 5 on the Smashwords best rated Sci Fi listings (number 7 on the Fantasy list) – and at number 16 on the whole site, which is a freaking achievement.

You don’t need to even have read Sci Fi or Fantasy, some of the people who’ve most enjoyed the book had never read the genres before. There are Reviews and you can read 20% of the book for free. Then it’s only $2.99 to buy the rest.

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copyright 2014 https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

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i hate it when i’m blonde…

i am much too literal-minded to be allowed out by myself. Or more to the point, on the net. I have been embarrassing myself online for about 11 years now. Real life, much longer. Now i’m a bit of a brainbox at times, but i can be so dizzy. You think i can spot satire the first time round? I miss jokes, quite often.

Anyone in my Twitter list will know this already, i’ve probably had to say, oh, sorry, *blonde moment* after something i tweeted to you. Well, i can spot them sometimes, but other times – d’oh! Straight over my head. Or under it – i may have been thinking lofty thoughts.

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Literature was compulsory in my university course (and the main reason the course remains incomplete), in fact, I had to do a double major, Literature and Creative Writing.

I love writing, i loved Creative Writing. I am happy to read anything from high- to low-brow under my own steam. i once had to admit in Lit 101 that my current outside reading consisted of rereading “100 Years of Solitude” (highbrow) and also the latest Jackie Collins (considered tres trashy) – i didn’t have to admit it, i could have lied.

But i don’t care – in my opinion, people like Wilbur Smith (blockbuster bestsellers set mostly in africa) can happily hold their heads up as a writer who helps literally millions to enjoy books – unlike people like Thomas Pynchon, *hiss spit snarl* who only writes to annoy people who read ‘high’ literature.

Least that was my opinion after i read “The Crying of Lot 49”. *sounds of screaming* Not worth the paper it’s written on – it’s a trick. I threw it across the room, then picked it up, read it again in case i missed something, because i do miss things. Nup, i checked with friends, it’s supposed to be like that. I threw it at the wall again and then gave it to someone i hated.

However, that’s unusual, i can read almost anything and enjoy it. If i switch off the Editor Inside, i can even read an early Harry Potter book without getting too tetchy over how much it sounds like Enid Blyton and J R R Tolkien.

I could never understand why – despite loving books – I hated Literature as a study – but Thomas Pynchon showed me *reluctant gratitude* .  I detested the endless evisceration of texts, with not even a passing focus on whether it was a thing to be enjoyed.

Spoiler Alert “Crying of Lot 49”, the book ends where it starts, without the big final scene to let you know what is going to happen after the first page. So you are left hanging, saying what? Brilliant, but i hated it.

It’s designed for “modern literature” nuts who love to dissect texts – cos if you do, you disappear up your own profundity. And yes, that’s a euphemism – after the last few posts i’m trying to be less on the adult content.

Then was the denial that the author ‘meant’ anything by their words, or could hope to communicate in a clear way with anyone, really, and narrative (the story) was dead, along with –  in the end – the author themselves.

A text was produced by a culture, not a person. Literature included anything – street signs, movies, adverts, and so on. It was a series of signs one could not possibly hope to decode, so one shouldn’t try. You get a picture in your head when i say cat, i get a pic too – and they’re probably different cats.

So trying to communicate is stupid – just a bunch of people railing at each other in words (signs) they don’t actually understand to mean the same thing. Wow – you now don’t have to do Literature 101.

You should give me all your money, i have saved your brain from being strangled by your own intestines. Despite the above, we continued to take sentences apart. I had to bite down the urge to scream “Oh sod off!” a lot.

I was also doing it in my mid-twenties, having been out in the real world of working in shops, and it was hard to deal with sudden poverty and a bunch of what were – for the first year at least – mostly high school kids.

I was done with nearly all the Creative Writing Units, (at 2.5 yrs into a 3 yr degree), and left. I’d done two years of Lit, and i couldn’t stand it any more. The idea of the Lit-heavy course i had next semester was enough to get me walking.

It was years before i realised part of my problem with Literature – I miss the literary allusions unless they’re the kind where someone’s compared to some mythical character i know about. “He was as a strong as Hercules” yes, i get that. Other things? Not so much…

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spoiler alert – do not read this if you’re afraid of learning plot details of Billy Budd by Herman Melville. However, you need no familiarity with it to be able to understand this post,  i’m a great believer in not making you read something else so that i make sense.

I hadn’t read Billy Budd until the morning of the tutorial, when i realised from the common room chatter that it was this week, not next week, the book had to be read by. So i skimmed a borrowed copy at record speed.

Books in Oz were expensive then, too, (though they’re no better now), especially the scholarly ones. I often tried to do without books, because i was so poor i literally couldn’t afford to eat.

This was back in 1984 or so and my memory of the plot was full of holes, so i checked this. Billy Budd was a young sailor, real pretty boy, goody two shoes, gets beaten by sadistic sailor in charge, who mistakenly believes Billy dislikes him.

Unfortunately captain is twit and believes the nasty sailor about Billy, but the captain is ever-so honourable, blah blah blah. Billy Budd (whilst looking noble) hits bad sailor once, bad sailor dead, captain hangs Billy.

But hey, don’t worry, because the sailors knew the truth even if the officers didn’t. Yes, and they wrote  a song. And ha ha! Take that, evil Establishment! Yes, i thought, as i finished, but he’s dead, so They won, but don’t mind me.

I sat there, waiting for the discussion, hoping i wouldn’t get asked as i was still quite vague over much of the story (i usually volunteered). I managed to cover my surprise as the tutor asked how we’d all dealt with the homosexual allusions in the text.

Huh? I thought. These allusions were laid on so thick (in ripe, creamy spurts, that lay in sticky streams  on the deck – or something like that) everyone had been groaning at the tweeness of it all and begging for the book to end.

Even the gay guys were thinking he’d gone over the top. Everyone laughed. I laughed along with them.

Now, it was by the guy who wrote “Moby Dick” – about Captain Ahab and his search for Moby Dick, the Great White Whale –  and apparently, that’s not just about whaling and bad ship management either! I don’t remember much of that, other than i was also  glad when it was over.

I’ve read all the classics, i just didn’t get what they were alluding to. Though Dickens still rocks, and is easily decodable. I grew into Shakespeare. And others. Completely wasted on the young, at least they were on me.

Other people began talking glibly about the aforementioned homosexual allusions, metaphors, etc, as i casually flipped through the book in uber-fast skim mode, and spotted rather a lot of unrequited homo-code – the above spurting on the deck was when Billy Budd’s porridge was spilled.

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All these years later, i still can’t think of Lit without shuddering. Not from the content, though it was bad enough – Billy Budd wasn’t the worst thing they made me do, i had to watch freaking Ingmar freaking Bergman! – but from “How i could have missed it?” Over and over.

So this whole post is a longwinded way of saying – don’t be surprised if you get a tweet (or a post on your blog) from me, saying “ahem, you’ve done that wrong/are being insane” – because i’ve taken you literally. I’ll apologise in advance, though i’ll do so afterwards too.

I know i’m not alone – enough people do it to me at times. The literal-minded are everywhere – and they don’t just have blonde hair. And our thanks to those of you who are kind enough to point out in private that it was a joke or that we missed the point- we appreciate your collusion in hiding our blushes and the extent of our blondeness.

If i out you as blonde in public it may be because i’m busy being blonde. I quite often compound the blonde moments of others by taking their moment of silliness seriously while the speaker is already realising their mistake, and everyone is laughing,  “Whoa, lol, are they having a blonde moment or what?”

And i carefully explain why that last post of theirs was demented. Yes, they say through gritted teeth, i’d just realised. *blonde moment*

D’oh!

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


You never write…

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.)

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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

@stinginthetail OMG You are NOT the Antichrist! You are the first person to offer me honest-to-god roadside help that isn’t more exploitation!
3:55 PM Jul 26th
from web in reply to stinginthetail

That was so sweet. Sprung! Yes, we have become co-Tweeple.

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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.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Waffle waffle snarl, snarl waffle snarl

The lake is more than 180 degrees of blue, today slightly tipped with tiny whitecaps as the wind picks up. It’s very exposed, the southerly winds (from Antarctica) come belting in, and the veranda on that side is unusable most of the year. The house perches with about ten others, on a slight point on the lakeshore, with grass and some small groves of pretty native trees between it and the water.

Storms blow rain through the gaps in the old windows and walls, which leak, and the resultant mould is killing me. However, on a sunny day like today – with the sky a pale blue, the water deep sapphire, the trees swaying in the wind, and the only sounds birds calling – it’s hard to remember why i have to leave. Then my throat tickles, i cough and cough, start to choke, and i remember.

Can’t quite move out yet, nearly time, saving madly, living even more frugally than usual, and counting the days until i can get some boxes and start packing. Losing myself  – in the net, detective novels (thank you Stephanie Plum and Elvis Cole), and my blog. And the view. Big glass doors stop the wind, if not all the water.

I can stare out at the lake for hours. Pelicans scud past, hunting in the shallows, or mobbing the tiny fishing boats, less than a man’s height long, that net the lakes. Black swans spend the night, then take off, showing their white-tipped wings, honking from red beaks, the clatter of their wingbeats exactly like a civilised group of applauding spectators at the cricket.

I used to live in London, and now i live in a place where every day, the lorikeets dance in the trees, rainbows with wings, squawking and trilling, proclaiming their ownership of the big trees.

lorikeets in Lamington National Park -

lorikeets in Lamington National Park

The wind blows, peppering the roof with gumnuts, sounding like hail out of a blue sky. Raucous corellas fly past, soaring and swooping, large white masters of the sky, then become tumbling, swaggering midget clowns on the ground and in the branches.

The noise of their squawking can be so bad that sometimes i shoo them off, when a mob of maybe a hundred descends on the veranda, back yard, and more of them in the front. Most will take off, but there are always some who stay. Bright birds, you can see them thinking that however scary i am, i don’t appear to be armed, and humans often bring them food.

They dig holes in the lawn, leaving little pits six inches deep, happily chewing on roots, and it’s lucky we’re not lawn-proud, as this naturally kills the lawn in patches. Lawn’s a loose term for what’s happening in the yard, anyway – this is coastal wetland, we have seasonal ponds that mean the outdoor clothesline is inaccessible for several months of the year.

Long beak Corella pic by Ian Michael Thomas

Long beak Corella pic by Ian Michael Thomas

The scum couple who bought the place a few doors up have cut down three trees to improve their view. They’ve hacked at the roots of others, and they may die.

The trees were important parts of the lakeside habitat, home to birds and insects, and providing food for both. Now they’re gone.

Scum couple didn’t even worry about the fact that they weren’t on their land. Maybe thirty feet (10m) behind their property line. But now they get a less-obstructed view of the water directly behind their house. Just like on the lifestyle shows. More than 180° water views aren’t enough? Fucktards.

The guy knew he was doing something wrong, he ran inside when my partner went out in to our yard. We’d heard the noise for some time, it sounded like a basketball being bounced on concrete, but it never occurred to us that someone would cut down trees. I’ve put in a report to the council about the vandalism, i feel it’s the least i can do. The most involves kidnapping, the Gleaming Instruments of Death, and peeling people alive.

The trees here are my friends, like the birds, and the big bull possum that whumps down onto the flat metal roof, scaring the unwary. Sounds like a cannonball covered in fur. He occasionally skids right over the front of the roof, onto the front veranda, and nearly landed on my partner one night, while he was out having a smoke. The possum landed with his characteristic thump. They looked at each other. The possum grunted, so did my partner, and the possum went casually down the stairs and off hunting. Brushtail Possum from Wiki Commons Images

Personally, castration is too good for people who cut down park trees. I’m thinking penectomy – more cruel,  because it leaves them with the urges, but not the wherewithal. *smiles sweetly*

Sheesh, i did mention that i was the Queen of Darkness, don’t act surprised when i get a bit sadistic.

As i wind this up, the masked plovers are circling, annoyed about some incursion into their territory. They have massive spurs on their wings, and i’ve seen one attack a car when his chicks were threatened. A car.

fabulous pic by Kell (with more on the link) from The Nature of Robertson

fabulous pic of plover by Kell (note spikes on wings) from The Nature of Robertson

The plovers have quietened, it’s a happy dog dancing past, most of them are very well-behaved.

Outside, the light’s starting to fade, the tide tugging at the lake, down where it empties into the sea.

In other news, I nearly got killed three times by demented women at the supermarket this morning – well, out in the carpark, not in the supermarket. Two tried to ram my car, one tried while i was on foot.

Yes, it’s school holidays, and the mothers of the neighbourhood are hitting the anti-depressants – and possibly the vodka – before ten a.m.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


what do you mean, you left out the stove?

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.

oops, we left off the kitchen, quick, shove it there

oops, we left off the kitchen, quick, shove it there

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.

403788534cl1235463745Turn 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.


argh, my house is trying to kill me

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