|It’s Not Who or Even What. It’s Your Game Face!|
Anyone for squash?
|Main Image – Trumpet Creepers|
|This Black Faced Sheep knows exactly how l feel with regards to … everything!|
|Music Score –Stay Positive – Morning Light Music|
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|It’s not a case of who you know, although that still counts, and it’s not just a case of what you know because whilst that is important, who you always know trumps that, but l am fast becoming more acquainted with the term it’s how you play your actual game.|
I think l am too honest as a person; l live a life played in black and white, and l don’t often dance in the greyer areas. It’s not that l haven’t learned a trick or two regarding fifty shades of the stuff over the years. It’s more along the lines of l prefer the black and white. Because it is more direct, l think fundamentally. It is more upfront and honest.
But honesty doesn’t always pay. Being Mr Nice makes you look like a prize lemon.
I have learned not always to trust people or systems or protocols, but l have also known that you must try to balance that cynicism and mellow a bit. Not everyone is out to get you … not always – anyways.
Life is a game, and to survive the upheavals and obstacles, you must adopt a great strategy that will carry not just the ball over the line or pump up a touchdown but you as well. All of you need to play the tactics and not just parts of you.
I have become a little frustrated at things of late. Life, or Murphy, has been throwing me some curve balls to test or warn me; who knows? Not even curve balls as they would be easy, no – more like steaming piles of cow splat.
Three things which have been genuinely oiking my gourd to frustration have been certain situations in Gazen Salts, Allotments and Doctors. There are a few others, but my stress has significantly occupied these three topics.
Gazen Salts l will discuss maybe, perhaps at another time. The doctors l will briefly connect with now. I went for my endoscopy and was relieved to hear no cancer, but the doctor also told me we would work together as a team to find the problem in my digestion.
Great l thought, finally. You may recall how l also discovered from the Canterbury triage nurse ringing me up and preparing me for my endoscopy that in 2008 l was diagnosed with two significant medical issues. But no one bothered to tell me at the time as it would have helped, and maybe knowing l needed medication would have meant that fourteen years later, in 2022, my diet wouldn’t be so ridiculously reduced, and l would be experiencing chronic daily pain.
However, until l see an actual doctor, nothing can be confirmed, and l can’t just start medications without an up-to-date medical authority approving the diagnoses.
But now l need to wait for a telephone call with my doctor on 20th September, which is my next appointment. Hardly speedy and hardly encouraging. So l am still in limbo. I had another one of the chest attacks last night, which lasted for 45 minutes and what is frightening about that is it wasn’t six weeks apart from the last one. The last attack was on 26th July, so 35 days ago. But l only just recovered from the previous episode on Sunday just gone.
It seems that despite being told by the local doctor that we would work together to discover my thirty-year problem and being fast-tracked for cancer, upon finding out that l am not dying. Despite the endoscopy, the department strongly suggesting an ultrasound; l have now been dumped to the bottom of the pile again, irrelevant to the fact that l have been experiencing stomach, chest and digestive problems for 30 plus days.
I find this situation somewhat vexing. So now l have had to start pushing the medical practice for answers and not waiting around, especially since l think that in 2008, there was negligence at play, considering l wasn’t officially awarded two critical diagnoses. Another day, another time, and yet another game must be played here.
Another vexing issue is the red tape political game of being awarded an allotment. I first mentioned allotments back in July. Around a month ago, Suze and l visited the location intending to take on board a plot. Several were available at the time, and many were becoming scruffy and unattended to by the renters.
It wouldn’t take long, we were told. They had to write to the renters to see if they still wanted the old plots, and whilst l was patient because that is understandable, l still had this niggling in my head telling me that something wasn’t right.
It turns out that the left-hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, even though l visited the allotment site several times, introduced myself to the working group, and told them l was after a medium-sized plot.
That Suze and l were used to gardening, we knew the hardships blah blah, they still didn’t like the idea of new blood coming into their domain, and so the committee members weren’t honest with the council handling the administration with regards empty plots. They then got hold of all the dormant plotters and told them to update their rents, tidy up their plots and not let newcomers in.
They will only let us take a plot they choose acceptable to be taken by newcomers until we ‘prove our abilities to them. So we can either wait till the bloody cows come home from Pluto, or an old plotter dies before we get a medium-sized plot space, or we have to take on a smaller allotment so they can see if we are worthy!
The only so-called small plot available is next to the strutting boasting peacock everyone hates, and either Suze or I may end up bludgeoning him to death with a fence stake as well. This means that we 1] take the small plot first and wait X period before we are deemed acceptable, or 2] we stay in the interim space of never for another field to come up.
This also vexes me immensely. Everything has to be placed into a hold position till we have proved to the working group that we are true plotters.
|I didn’t think storylines like The Village still went on, however once more l have been proved wrong – no problem, you just have to learn to play the game, |
so on that note … anyone for squash?
Thanks for reading, catch you next time.