Medical mumbo-jumbo
I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes. I wish my artist would understand this. But NO. He is a mumbo-jumbo addict. If it’s holistic anything he buys in. I have blogged in the past about the alien fungus he had, or the cure-all syphilnum homeopathic rubbish (sugar pills about the size of pinheads). Then he spreads this to the children. I don’t mean the fungus or the other stuff – I mean the cure thinking.
The latest fad doing the rounds in his artsy fartsy circles is an “intuitive pharmacist”. Yes folks, this is a proper chemist, who just looks at people and gives them over the counter cures. Somewhat dodgy I think you will all agree.
Of course, everything he says should be taken is homeopathic. I don’t have the time to get into the evils of homeopathy and the giant scam that it is, so please visit www.quackwatch.com. I have said it before: How is it that a bottle of Echinacea drops costs more than a bottle of vodka and an entire Echinacea plant from the garden shop? I’ll tell you how: It is a scam.
Never mind that, now there is a new breed of mumbo-jumbo cretin. This lot are what they call iridologists. This means that they take a photo of your eyeball and use it as a diagnostic method for everything possibly wrong with you. From worms to cancer. Sure. (www.quackwatch.com again please).
Before all the homeopathy nuts jump all over me let me state very clearly: Most diseases are self-limiting. They do not require medication. So, regardless of whether or not you are taking corenza c, Echinacea or eating rose petals, that cold is going to go.
Where the mumbo-jumbo gets dangerous is when they claim it can treat serious illnesses. Like cancer. Anyone who likes can take me on with this. My daughter had cancer at the age of three. Nothing was going to stop her dying other than chemo.
So, now I have artist swigging back loads of Echinacea, toddling off to buy crap from the “intuitive pharmacist” and claiming the fungus is taking over again because he doesn’t want to get out of bed. Um. It’s cold and wet today. I bet nobody sprung out of bed.
These snake-oil salesmen ought to be publicly flogged. And I think My beloved Artist needs a lobotomy.
K Chasu: Almost a burning effigy
I love sleeping pills. Yet I can’t seem to do them with any degree of grace. Last night, for instance, I nearly set the entire house on fire.
Once in while I take these incredible little blue pills called Dormicum. I get them from my dealer-doctor in 15mg form. I am a chronic insomniac and generally get by on about four hours a night. But if my head is busy it gets to the point where I am doing two hours and that just isn’t viable. I am then a more cantankerous cow than usual and everybody hates me. I can see them plotting murder…
The dose is one tablet at night. When I started taking them dealer-doctor told me to make sure everything was locked up and I was in bed before taking it. He was right. Anyway, in typical alcoholic style, last night I took two. This is on the premise that I am special and need more. I do this with every medicine. I am working on stopping that. I know it is deeply bad thinking.
So there I was reading Roald Dahl’s Uncle Oswald, artist snoring so I sneaked a cigarette in bed. I woke up this morning, with scorch marks in the egyptian cotton sheets, a cigarette butt ground into my shoulder and an irritated artist. Not terribly dignified or graceful…
Blogbuddies – I could have died. I could have gone up in a small inferno in the middle of the night…
And it doesn’t end there. Earlier in the evening I took a long soak in the girls bathroom. They have the best bath. It is HUGE. Built like they used to in the 30s. We have to use candles because the room is still being worked on and the light fittings have been removed. I put the candles on top of the loo (was concerned about setting hair on fire if they were next to the bath) just under the little built in wooden medicine cabinet (also from the 30s). I elected not to blow them out cos they looked so pretty.
Little wooden medicine cabinet is now scorched. Paint blistering off.
So, is the problem KC and fire or KC and sleeping pills?
Tapeworm – a grim story
This is possibly one of the nastiest stories I ever heard and was reminded of it today by my mother. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but my grandpa swore it was how they got rid of tapeworms in the French Cameroon.
It came up because my mom gave me one of her antique lockets and it still had a photo of that reprehensible colonial in it.
Anyway, this grandpa had a coffee plantation in the (what was then) French Cameroon. There are a great many very horrible bugs there, along with it being the birthplace of diabolical diseases. Tapeworm is a common thing in Africa. For those of you who don’t know, tapeworm is a parasite that lives in your intestines. It gets HUGE like a couple of metres. This is common enough to require deworming once every year or so. It was very popular amongst Victorian women because, basically the worm eats your food for you (ok not quite but sort of) and you get skinny. They would eat raw pork in the hopes of getting it.
So, here is the deal. You know you have tape worm when you pooh, wipe and can see little white bits of worm it starts to dangle out. (those of you not sick by now, read on).
So, grandpa always said there were no medicines in FC to treat this. He claimed they would take a matchstick and have someone ‘catch the worm’ as you bend over. Wind it on to the matchstick a bit and then tape the matchstick to your leg or bum cheek. Next day, stick your arse in warm water and then wind it on a bit more. After many days of this you get the whole worm out.
Now, I reckon this was a scary story told to children to stop them putting dirt in their mouths- anyone else heard anything like it?
Confrontation in the workplace
Of all the things I have learned in business, there is one tool that will make sure you are always taken seriously and get ahead. It’s called fearlessness. Today, though, I am going to look at one thing: fearlessness in confrontation.
Confrontation does not mean getting ugly or personal or having a screaming match. It means sitting calmly and clearly stating your stuff. Know where you are coming from. Make it clear. Most people don’t know how to deal with it. They are so used to fencing and hiding, that when you are direct it throws them. Generally they agree to anything you want.
So, I have learned to give an issue a night to sleep on, when it is something that makes me angry. Then the next day I call the person and we meet. I never attack the individual, only the issue or the behavior that is out of hand.
Today I nearly lost it, however, with my financial director who is also the sole representative of my majority shareholders on my board. Almost. Instead I was a cruel, evil monster. Icy cold. Factual. This is despite the fact that I am busy thinking about how they are blood sucking leech thieves and that an ice-pick is too good for him. Straight through the eyeball.
Anyway, I did my number, phoned my lawyer (no, Tri, not you cos I don’t need a criminal one. Yet.) and sent a follow up email. The guy is running around trying to make me happy. Fucker it is not going to be that easy. And all I did was deal with facts. In the most simple language possible.
Anyway, my rage did not show. I was outwardly calm and in control and confronted the issue. They never know what to do with that. Good stuff. I do. And honesty and directness work better than anything you could learn from a course on business manipulation. Trust me. Try it out on lovers/spouses/friends/family.
When I am not me
There is a brief moment when I am not me, a moment before all the history and facts of what I have done falls into my awareness. The building blocks comprising me lock into place and I know who and what I am. Where do these pieces of me go when I sleep? Why can’t I leave some of them behind upon wakening?
Some mornings I come crashing in on myself, but the ones when I wake up on my own, leaving behind the dream… those days I emerge slowly. A soul putting on the clothes, item by item, of its human existence. Until there I am. Full of memories, hurts, joys, fears- loves. Given a choice I would leave the fears and insecurities behind.
Most days, the blocks, the clothing, leave me feeling strong and prepared. But there are other times- When the me that comes together is not so light. These are mornings when my first conscious thought is a massive fear, or destructive self-loathing. Somewhere, in the place they went to, the blocks and garments become jumbled some days. All I can do then is try not to live that day wearing those clothes.
In those mornings I need to spend more time with God than my cursory daily ritual of ‘Your Will, not mine.’ In those days I have to do a mental gratitude list, proper prayers and maybe read something uplifting.
I work hard to clean up my thought processes, make peace with the things I have not liked about myself, or my actions, during this human experience. Yet, wherever it is that I go when I sleep, something there can rearrange them at times and make the blackness stronger than the light when I come together as I wake.
Today is such a day.
