I AM BEING SUED BY THE COUNCIL TAX! A notice to appear (not a summons as they proclaim in blazing red writing that I need not attend (probably don't want me too ~ speeds up proceedings). I can't believe this is happening as I've only been there 4 months, have STILL yet to receive an Accommodation Charges Payment Card or any payment slips and yet they're taking me to court over a silly council tax bill I should get near-95% rebate on. The money they're demanding is about £395 ~ but if the figures are right from the last place, I should owe about £40 tops.
I went straight down the Council where the lady told me I am STILL NOT ON THE COMPUTER. No payment card will be forthcoming. The computer has me still resident at my last address. This despite my having written to head of section detailing my move and written again to Income Recovery politely demanding said payments card. "So how did I get this council tax bill at my new place if the computer thinks I'm still resident at the old one?" and the Countermeister said "because your landlord informed us you were living there" (at the new address). DUUURH!! I kept quiet but shall thoroughly enjoy detailing this farcicality in my official letter of complaint.
Anyway, the nice lady did get my court date cancelled (by a "note" on the system). Handed me a Housing and Council Tax Benefit application form (which I thought I hadn't needed to fill in: nobody told me so before. In fact when I asked the Head of Section whether or what else I needed do (because my name wasn't on the system at my new address ~ therefore officially I didn't exist, yet of course I do (though I sometimes wish otherwise) because the landlord and council were refusing to communicate with each other; the landlord refused to give me proof of tenancy. I can't remember their excuse but I just wanted to flee from their offices and so took it and did.
I am STILL officially nonexistent. "But I've been signing a register" (for emergency accommodation dwellers) and am on the landlord's and your computer system!" I countered.
Except apparently I'm not. I am used to living in a surreal paisley-patterned world peopled with hamsters talking in turnip accents, and so did not dare disagree. I have run out of (decent) food by the way and have obscene cravings for more diced beef piri piri dumplingated casserole ...
Nice Lady spent ages tapping in "notes" to the system. And now I have a Housing and Council Tax Benefit Application form I ought, apparently, to have filled in MONTHS AGO (I'm not happy about that). And I need proof of residency from the landlord (that'll be fun, trying to get that) and proof of benefits from the DSS or Jobcentre Plus as they're (perhaps) now called. Oh no, the DWP (Department of Work and Pensions ~ what am I saying...?) As I sheepishly admitted to Nice Lady this might take some weeks to sort out as I do believe I omitted to inform the Benefits Agency (their 3rd name) of my move. "I wasn't feeling very well," I claimed.
Well I wasn't. O I hate all this. And how come loads of others who aren't even in the same dreadful pickle as me get SOCIAL WORKERS to help them out? Why do I not qualify? I want a bloody social worker to do all my forms for me. What do I not pay my Council Tax for~??!?
And now on to matters smoother: I am determined to become an MC Hammer (oo: no, I mean Pee Pee Daddy/whatever his current monicka)-style hiphop Impressario. I will specialize in ripoff perfumes and unimaginative streetwear. I shall put my hamsters as Lil Kim/Queen Latifah/Missy Elliot-style rappers. I've already got names and stage personas sorted. Spherical shall be MC Carrot Nose; Bashful's new name is MC Little Trotter Donkey ~ isn't that cool?? In fact I think that's a name so wonderful I might use it myself when my 70th birthday approaches and Grandad and the Smurfs record release time comes due. I shall instead be MC LITTLE TROTTER DONKEY and rap in a posh voice about the horrors of ready to wear clothing, flying commercial (ugh!) and having to mix with the rifraff of the world and other people like me. I don't know. I need my theme, man. Gotta stream da theme; know what I mean..?... I did some work on a hamster gangsta rap earlier it goes something like this:
Don't gimme no jip cause I'm nibblin' seed
I ain't shottin' crack now 'cause I'm shottin' weed
Oregano man. You put it in your curry.
Trot to the toilet and hurry-hurry-hurry...
OK it needs some work, but imagine how entertaining MC Carrot Nose and MC Little Trotter Donkey shall look in their first video. I want it done in the style of Lady Ga-Ga's Poker Face ....
And now PIRI-PIRI: I must go! I've a manic casserole-craving...
BTW talking of maniacality ~ thanks for the comments re yesterday. Though I DID notice my experience of withdrawal seemed to be different, I'd always told myself "well everyone feels horrible in detox" and so didn't worry about it. Also severe insomnia and some degree of agitation and depression, anxiety etc are ordinary features of opiate withdrawal ~ and so I assumed mine were normal. It's only when I compare the intensity of physical to mental withdrawal experience that I realize my symptoms were 95% "psychiatric". + agitation, depression, etc are a matter of degree. Mine were very extreme.
From what I found out on the subject there's no question I'm on a "bipolar spectrum" (so are loads of people). I would have said I was cyclothymic in temperament (that is: subclinical bipolar) or mild bipolar. To cut a blabbersome story short, this IS important because it impinges on any psych meds I might take. I cannot tolerate a lot of antidepressants because they make me agitated and/or "high". Last time on mirtazapine I was hyper enough not to bother going to bed for the best part of a week. Then I came crashing down into depression worse than ever before! I was having random hallucinations (faces in the grain of the wooden fire door; dead body in the bathroom mirror) ~ I was convinced these were down to alcoholic DTs and didn't recognize I was "depressed" till afterwards. I believed I was "hitting rock bottom as I was spiritually bankrupt". That mirtazapine (Remerol/Zispin) disagreed with me so intensely that by the end (5 weeks to 2 months into taking it) I was so physically ill I just had to stop taking it. Then amazingly I felt better. It was my old Drugs Worker who pointed all this out. "Stop taking the pills!"
Anyway cheerio I must dash. PS: any ideas for the first Carrot Nose and Little Trotter Donkey music video?
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