Ah yes. Back to the mouth. Got 5 teeth left. No two meet in a way to make chewing of anything tougher than fish or croissants impossible. Never been so skinny. Wasting away in Margaritaville alright. It’d cost the same as 2 brand new MOR sedans or one big fat new 4WD to get implant treatment that’s been around since 1970s. Cutting edge my arse. Tune into community(!?) radio sometime & listen to our Whig Aristocray babbling about how great our Medicare system is, along with the “state skools are grate skools” rhetoric. Spew worthy. Yeah, grate for them that can afford gold teeth if something cracks up and private med care for the old bod. For the bottom layers if anything goes wrong in the mouth go to Dental Hospital or community health and you can pay $28 to give some brat practice at ripping teeth out – generally the only option these smarties can think of – practice they will appreciate when they graduate and go to work in an implant clinic for the rich. Should they be paying us for our time and damage suffered? Of course they bloody should. Since you ask.
Just for the record. Well put Dags!
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I am . I are writing to you about the Federal Government’s new Work for the Dole scheme, which as you probably know is being significantly expanded in July to job-seekers aged under 50 who have been receiving welfare payments for more than six months.
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It is with this in…
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It has been a long time since 2012. Rereading what I wrote then and not much has changed. There are more teeth on the plates. I still cant eat with the things in my mouth. The good news though is that I was at a funeral/memorial service last week and I got up to say a bit about the dear departed and everyone clapped when I finished which was pretty nice of them. Then afterwards several came up to me and said how well I spoke. And one said how great it was that they could hear every word I said even in the back row. And I wasn’t even using the mike.
So that’s good. The old gift of gab still works. However the mouth remains uncomfortable after more than a few hours which severely limits social interaction and I cant eat anything except icecream or very soft cheesecake when out.
I noticed that back in 2012/2013 I complained of weight loss, heading for size 8. Now heading for something lower. A few weeks ago I was at doctor he wanted to do blood pressure but he said, after cutting off my circulation for a while, that he couldn’t tell me what it was, my arm was too thin for the cuff to sit round properly. Very strange. I am more tired and lacking in energy and strength. Better go and eat. I hope to be back in much less than 2 years.
Three weeks ago, or four, I had to go and get yet another tooth out. One by one they all go. Worst experience ever. All the many other extractions I’ve had done since I finished my laughingly called “course of care” a few years back, have been done by the students and I’ve had no complaints. Other than that no one has ever thought to do anything but extract, extract, extract. Same treatment as you get in jail. Thats what being poor is like here in the idiot country. Students have been courteous, sensitive, careful. Three weeks ago I got a English qualified dentist. The moment I saw her soft little weak white hands I should’ve up and bolted. But sense diminishes in proportion to pain sometimes. Even through the anaesthetic I knew she was a botcher. It was a week before I could eat or speak much. Two weeks before the swelling and bruising died down. Another week before I realized that what I thought might be a bit of scab over the mess was a sharp bit of left over tooth bone still sticking out.
both i've been at the same and different times. most people body clocks dont adjust happily to the industrial work timetable, I humbly suggest. When I left my parents home and became boss of my own hours at 18 I saw that between 10am and 1pm, depending on obvious things about that age at liberty en masse for the first time perhaps in human history, 10-1 seemed my natural comfortable time to awaken, if not arise, permanently, though my what a mighty bladder one must have had at that age, and, left to my own devices I'd subside between 1 or 2am and dawn. Naturally this idyll was broken by demands of life eventually, and then permanently with parenthood at 30. If they cant get you one way…Now though, 30 years later, every so often, every week or so, I have these late nights, like now, when I can just keep going. Its quite odd, I'd never hoped to see this again. The shadowed safety of the night, the quiet room, low light. Soft hum of computer or rumble music or distant music. Wonder how little traffic I've noticed, perhaps computer hum blocks it out.
that my friend who I've known for 15 years and always carried piles of papers, books everywhere and whose apartment became a toxic health hazard from the piles of written material blocking passages and rooms could not write and right now cant or wont prove he can read. Does anyone else know? I dont know. I've talked with a teacher friend who doesn't know him or his friends. Looking back I did see things that didn't add up in our first years of aquaintance. Still you dont want to believe your new friend who totes around impenetrable volumes of deconstructionism, modern Marxism and art theory is functionally illiterate. And I think he got more careful after his cover was nearly blown, or was, a couple of times. He hints at causes in childhood, angry dad who worked at newspaper but I still cant accept that the time and energy that goes into this deception couldn't have been better used learning to read and write. He seems proud of his cover up and doesn't seem to get it when I say deception at such a basic level, basic considering the very literate types of people with whom he wants to mingle and identify himself, is the worst basis to build friendships and relationships. Alas the longer it has gone on the harder it must become to say "I have this problem, I've had it for ever, can you help me?" Can anyone help me? Is it too late, at 60, and cruel to persist and should he be left in comfort of his deludings?
what's to get? A bill or two or three or 4 each month that long ago you'd never have heard of. and dont mention bundling. didn't your Granny ever tell you something about eggs and baskets?