A GYNORMOUS BABY ITCHY came trotting past in the street earlier. He was so furry and sweet I wanted to pick him up and squeeze him... no! I just remembered "he" is a "she". Yes! Baby Itchy is an all-scrabbling pink petalled-eared Big Baby GIRL! She will never father baby robbies for me. Whatever "bits" I presumed to have seen previously can only have been leftover umbilical cord.. or visions of my mind's own invention (what's new?). Itchy looks just like a sand-coloured pompom from a wooly hat crossed with a furry baby gremlin with miniaturized pink rose petals as ears. You can see the light through them. They are awfully cute.
Seeing as people said they DON'T mind my lurid drug tales, let me tell you about my lumpy blotch-ridden legs. I've an abscess on the left hand side. When the pus-bag's filled up the whole gruesome apparition's relatively numb. It even goes slightly itchy, probably from dead skin, rubbing against dead pus. I can push the pus from side to side like leg egg yolk. And I've resisted all temptations to slice open and squeeeeze as I don't want the staph (or whatever it's called) grossing all over the place.
And these veins that are going down so badly I'm reduced to pushing half of 1ml insulin syringes into these remaining broken threads and hoping that they'll bare up to the onslaught. The blood in the legs is famously slow. For example, standing still for long periods results in a pooling of blood in the lower legs. That's why the statuesque bearskinned soldier e.g. at Windsor Castle is apt to faint if he doesn't flex his toes frequently enough on guard duty. That's why when the WWII PoWs in the Burmese jungle got tropical ulcers they afflicted more often than not the legs. The blood simply does not flow quickly enough to rid them of all toxins. That's why the drug service advise against IV injecting in the legs, labelling it a "high risk" occupation. Of course, I'd already made a frequent habit of this activity by the time I received this advice. And I had precious few alternative "sites" to prong with my trusty needles by then anyhow...
One dusty morning as I woke up in the squat I used to reside in thankfully alone (what a luxury to be away from all other druggies!) and being as my arms, after years of hammering, appeared not to be playing ball that morning, I found a welcoming raised vein in my foot. So literally a minute after waking and without so much as stretching my legs I pushed the entire acidified brown "hit" into it and thought no better of it until a couple of minutes later rather than experiencing a pleasant dizzying sensation a nasty burning pain took to stabbing me in the ankle which on inspection had gone bright red with a gross archepelago of raised white bumps emanating all around. i tried running about to get things moving but it was too late. The entire hit had burned its way into the tissues of my ankle, effectively turning an IV "hit" into a "skin pop".
I nowadays have learnt to point my feet at the ceiling after such procedures, thereby "pouring" the drugs quite literally down my legs and closer to my heart. Once they do reach there, they are pumped quite vigorously to the brain through the far more effective arterial system. (Arteries have a pulse (and should never be injected into for they take blood away from the heart to the body's extremities) veins have no pulse and their blood is darker, deoxygenated.)
And there goes the anatomy lecture of the day. What relevance that really has to anything or anyone I've no idea but there you go.
I found a Sarah Vaughan CD in the Post Office bargain rack this afternoon and hence her two starring videos:
#2 Send in the Clowns
#3 Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Plus #1 by Amy Winehouse, who's always credited Sarah Vaughan a major influence on her vocal style.
#1 Love is a Losing Game (Mercury Awards 2007 live performance).
TV Licensing are after us as per usual. More of their presumptuously threatening epistles come pouring daily through our front door:
"Extra Enforcement Visits are underway... shceduled to... your address... any day now... you can still cancel your visit," - woo! - and, "if you do not need a TV Licence, please call blah;... a TV Licence currently costs £135.50 for colour and £45.50 for black and white.
Even if I do write and tell them (truthfully) that I don't need a Licence they STILL insist on visiting - so what's the point in writing?
It's taken me fifty years - One morning, when I was in grammar school, a girl in my class came in wearing a denim jacket she'd bought from a charity shop. I loved that jacket and I wa...
18 hours ago