Thursday, 31 March 2011

Zombie Apocalypse

Thursday, bloody Thursday. Thursday is when the recycling collection comes to us and the people across the way, and their garbage collection comes. Ergo, Whisky is in yap-frenzy mode on a Thursday.

Spring has sprung, the grass has ris, but no need to wonder where the birdies is. If you are lucky enough to be one of those people with a gas fire that vents up to the roof and comes out in a metal chimney-like affair, then you are unlucky enough to have the male Northern Flickers drumming away to their little hearts' contents on your metal vent, trying to impress the ladeez.
The daffs are still being weenies, and on the back balcony, I am preparing for planting. I am putting way more out there this year because it's the only one that faces south (ish).

The other thing that's underway is the election campaigning. Harper is looking all sour and dissing everyone, Layton is looking perky and going like the clappers in both languages and Ignatieff is making far too much sense for a politician, but again, in both languages. Where are the womenz? Yep, good question. We have one in charge of the Province for the time being, but we'll see how well the previous incumbent fucked things up for her come the next provincial elections.
This article sums up the general apathy that abounds, if apathy can be said to do anything as pro-active as abound, so in spite of the desperate need for change, we probably won't get any.

And then for me, there are the meetings, which seem to have sprung up like daffs should do, but hey, who can ever have too many meetings huh?

My friend Anne, is now in a nursing home. Partly, it's ok, because there are a number of reception rooms on the ground floor that are nice, and where the people can sit and look out at the beautiful flowering cherries whilst some kind of very vocal exotic birds squawk in their ears.
Partly, it's grim, because the upstairs where their individual (but shared) rooms are is full of people lying around the corridors and making strange noises and on occasion, forgetting to flush the loo, so there is an ambient poo smell.
And that's the thing that is most distressing. My friend has ALL her marbles, she just can't get around anymore. It's her physical self that has given up. But she's surrounded by people whose mental selves have started to shut down. This must be what the real zombie apocalypse is like.

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