Making a Decision

Making a Decision ©                   

By Michael Casey

Its hard to make a decision, its easy to make a decision, I cannot make up my mind, that’s my decision. I just cannot make up my mind what to do. If ever you have a big decision, those words have been in your mind and on your lips. Whether to have a boy of a girl on you lips that’s another kind of decision, mainly influenced by the party you are attending, but I’m not going to talk about that, your love life is your own affair, if affair is the right word too.

I remember when we bought our first car, a Skoda, it was all we could afford and I had decided it was perfect for our needs, just the 2 of us and baby soon to arrive. In fact I think my wife was pregnant when she passed her driving test, though emergency stops as part of the test were somewhat interesting. Picture the baby flying out as she hit the brakes.

My wife said she preferred another car so we investigated a Suzuki this or that, it was not as good. We went and looked in car showrooms and sat inside cars, and so forth. We looked at another model of car as well which I cannot remember until finally we settled on the Skoda. I had done all the research already but in the interests of Democracy I repeated myself and the wife got the Skoda.

It’s crash test figures were the most important, because we had a baby girl now. My dad helped with the car too, like he always did in life. He left me a bit of money in his will which meant we upgraded to the Comfort model of the Skoda. Dad always said have a bit of comfort in life, and so as he died he gave us comfort, in the shape of Skoda comfort. I am not even a shadow as good as my dad, but I try my best.

Other decisions in life are not as hard to make, what shall I have for dinner, as you walk around Aldi looking at the food on display. We all eat what we like and we may try something different if we see somebody else eating it, or picking it from the freezer. We may eat the same thing over and over till we get sick of it. Then we pick something else and eat that, until we get sick of it.

In England we have the traffic light system of foods nowadays. This is a system of 3 colours, green, brown or red. It tells us what is good, not so good or bad for us. It shows fat, and saturated fat and salt levels. To be honest I never knew it existed 2 years ago, but post unplanned quadruple heart bypass I’m trying to save my heart, with cKd too I’m trying to save my kidneys as well. Makes me sound like a high end chef all these hearts and kidneys. My Arthur my Arthritis is just my bastard, so I take cod liver oil for that.

So as we walk around Aldi or Waitrose if you are lucky enough to live in Harborne, we all look at labels and chose the healthier options, on the ward for Heart Patients salt is totally forbidden by the doctors. You will be surprised just how much salt is in food, I speak as a person who never used to sprinkle salt on any meal, though I have to confess I ate far too many processed food items, if you work shifts you just throw in food and eat it without reading anything. Maybe you should all not follow my example, its your decision.

Choosing a wife, a girlfriend or a lover is a difficult decision too, as is the male choices. So why do we all make these decisions? Nobody else would have me, we were drunk at the Christmas party, and we ended up in the storeroom, or the disabled toilets etc. So something provided the spark and it was a spontaneous decision, then either it continues or its the worst thing that happens in your life, and one of you finds a new job in the New Year.

Or every year at every Christmas party you end up in the stock room with a different girl, so after 13 years its 13 different girls who have had the benefit of your, your, whatever, whatever you want to call it. I won’t tell you my friend’s name or any of the girl’s names, 13 is an unlucky number so I’ll say nothing, besides John is a Judo Back Belt 5^th Dan, he calls me Mary.

Deciding where to live is very hard, we are thinking of moving house at the moment, so we have to consider the location in relation to the girls’ school. What you can afford makes a big difference, and some areas are Hot as they say in China, so if you blink you miss a chance and the house you want is snapped up. South facing properties are so much nicer than any others, you come and view a house only to discover its always dark due to the angle it is built in relation to the sun. You may as well be in the shadow of a mountain.

So you have to decide what is the most important factor, location as regards shops and school. It must be close enough for me to walk to the shops, that’s very important. Can I get a bottle of milk for our cereals, and a loaf of bread.

You find the perfect house only to discover that the local gossip lives next door, so you breathe a sigh of relief you did not sign your name on the contract. A friend nearly had his colleague buy the house next door, you may get on with your workmates but right next door would be too close for comfort.

So what have I decided after thinking about all these decisions, I think I have to do the lottery and then buy a large detached house with garage by the girls’ school, and if I buy the house we can have a Labrador called Camembert.

Or become a gigolo to a Chinese/Japanese/Korean billionairess just for the sake of getting a big house. I told my Shanghai model like wife this and she just laughed and laughed, if you listen carefully you can hear her laughter above the sound of the vacuum cleaner. And that’s how we first met, she had a vacuum cleaner in her hand. I wonder will I meet my billionairess with a vacuum in her hand, then I’ll clean up.



p.s.  Hello to Singapore readers, billionairesses included   

  

50 Shades of Michael

50 Shades of Michael ©

By Michael Casey

I first met Michael at the bus stop, he was back combing his bushy eyebrows in the reflection by the bus time table. Applying a bit of spit on the them as well to hold them down. How could I an impressionable woman resist, it was all too much for me, I started to have palpitations. I had to hold onto the bus stop for support. The eyebrows were just so, so magnificent, he reminded me of a werewolf, so manly, so handsome, how could I resist him.

On the bus I followed him and sat next to him, I was intoxicated by his manly aroma, a mixture of Brut and sweaty socks. I gave him the once over as the bus trundled along the road in the rain. His broad shoulders and his even bigger belly were so overwhelming, I could barely breath, he was irresistible.

My breathing became laboured and heavy, Michael looked at me, with concern in his hazel coloured eyes, the eyes the eyes, he was the man with the child in his eyes. He was too much, I just had to have him. I started to breath more heavily, I was having an asthma attack, brought on by pure lust, how could Michael do this to me.

I reached into my bag for my inhaler, I placed it between my lips, but it was Michael who I wanted and needed, he and he alone could give me what I wanted and needed and MUST have. He asked me was I ok, speaking to me sent my pulse rate soaring. My head spun, he was speaking to me, he was speaking to me, it was all too much. I fainted and my body slumped against his.

I could feel his pulse against mine, Michael whispered in my ear, he asked could he do anything? He asked could he do anything. YES YES YES. Kiss me I whispered, so he did. I was in Heaven, a man a real man was kissing me, a man who wore Brut and had sweaty socks, not to mention the shoulders and the brushed back eyebrows, topped off with the Winnie the Pooh like tummy. I was tingling all over as he kissed me.

We got off the bus together in Old Forge and Singing Anvil, he knew what I wanted and I would not take no for an answer. I gave him my business card Tracy Rogers, lingerie designer. He told me he was a cross dresser and did I make his size, I laughed, he was so funny. He then told me he was a film reviewer for Hungry Wolf a lads magazine.

We went into the Trader for a pint and a natter, I explained my job and he explained his. We felt at ease with each other, as if we had known each other for years. He was everything  I had ever wanted in a man. He said looks did not matter, so long as I could make him laugh, though designer lingerie did help.

It was wanton, I had never picked a man up at a bus stop before, but life was short, my last boyfriend had ran off with the girl from the takeaway. I had never suspected, though he always seemed to get extra rice. So now to find a real man was too much of an opportunity to pass on.

In the bedroom, socks and pants littered the floor, but at least the sheets were John Lewis Egyptian cotton extra soft ones, and they were fresh on that day. Michael had a washing machine and knew how to use it. He also knew how to use what God had given him, and boy oh boy was I glad of that. As for me, he liked what I gave and gave and gave again and again.

Three hours later we stopped for some tea and crumpet, sex had made us hungry, and Michael did have Warbuton’s crumpet and PG  tips. So we had crumpet after we had had crumpet, and we share sex tips while we had our PG tips. I glowed and Michael was just Michael.

So we carried on again, it was as if Michael had Duracell batteries in him, long lasting and never fading. As for me, I was glad I had taken a chance at the bus stop, he was an animal, but the kind I wanted and needed and must have. 50 shades of Michael, I had heard there was some obscure film called 50 shades of something or another, but I had 50 shades of Michael which was much much better.

I told Michael I enjoyed all sorts of things in the bedroom, so he smiled and poured a bottle of Guinness  all over my body. I thought it was beer shampoo or something, until he started to lick it off. It was the first time I’d done such  a thing, it was wanton but I loved it, we both loved it.

I told Michael that he was my best lover ever, that we were so wanton, he could do anything he liked to me. As I said we were so wanton he went to the kitchen and made wanton soup, we fed each other soup, and what spilt on our bodies was licked off by us. Prawn crackers were spread over our bodies and we ate from our bodies. So much better than anything from Sex and the City.

We had so many plans, things to do, things to eat, we’d never use plates again. It was prefect, perfect lust, and perfect food. 50 shades of Michael, I was such a lucky girl, such a lucky girl.

Then I woke up it had all been a dream, but why did I smell of Guinness and have prawn crackers in my hair?    

Drugs Addiction

Drugs Addiction ©

By Michael Casey

I’ve got out of bed, its 1.am.  on a Sunday night into Monday morning, everybody including Totoro the cat is asleep upstairs. I was screaming in pain for a while then I decided to come down and take some pain killers, and I thought I may as well write something while I wait for the pain killers, Paracetamol, to kick in. It also takes your mind off the pain, it distracts you, as does watching the tv or something on the internet, take your pick.

Yesterday on the BBC we had a 30 min documentary explaining the plague of drugs in the USA, one million addicts, there was even a doctor or MD as you call them over there, and he got addicted to prescription pain killers before moving on to the nasty stuff. One million addicts, it showed some from the Rust Belt, I’m amazed they had the energy to go out and vote Trump, they were so hazed over.

I have pain killers for my Arthur as I call my Arthritis, and for my heart, 2 years on and I still get lots of pain at random intervals. Some sharp heart pain, or just above my heart is still not properly explained, it feels like I’m in a knife fight, like Trump planning his cabinet. But I’ve been told it’s not my heart. As for my Arthritis or  Arthur if I tried to do the Twist, ask your dad what the Twist was, then I’d rock the boat or rather my spine and I’d be screaming. The irony was that just before my unplanned quadruple heart bypass, I had a load of investigations for my Arthur and in the end a Chinese doctor at the hospital reckoned I may need a back operation.

Now why am I repeating all this? To let you know that I’m not just an airy fairy intellectual theorising about Pain, I know I’m still suffering from it. So I know in some small what way all these Drug addicts are going through. I also know from my own life experience, what a silly expression, life experience, if you excuse my French, I’ve had Shit on my life too. So I can bear witness to what these addicts are going through. And NO  I’ve never used any substances, I want to keep my Imagination alive. But I have seen Alcoholics at close hand, all our lodgers were alcoholics, one even begged for a pound for a pint from my dad when he was in hospital in his very sick bed.

The total sadness of the situation, sell their body or soul to get another fix of drugs. Pain of the Soul is more painful than physical pain, more painful than what has woken me up.  I know that oh so much from my own life, I am an observer too, so you can imagine.

I keep a record of how many painkillers I take because you can overdose so very easily. But if we imagine just how low people go, as shown on the BBC documentary last night, just for a fix that leads to oblivion and the death of the very soul itself.

Today on the BBC website we have an image of an all American Boy, who is now a drugs addict, all barriers have been blown down. It’s no longer the wrong side of the tracks people who are addicts, frankly it’s everybody. It could happen to you, yes you in your fancy suit reading this, you with you Gucci bag and you high fashion clothes and your expensive haircut.

It really is such a waste of lives and talent, these people these Souls are the lost generation, or even generations. Perhaps we don’t accept pain any more, we must have a Pill. Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor his dear friend had addictions to pain killer. My mother used to keep her pain killers over the pantry door on a ledge, I can remember her screaming “JeeCus”  and then asking me to bring some to her, but otherwise she bore the pain, she bore so much pain you would never believe it.

From her I inherited Arthritis, and from my dad I got my Heart.  When I was having tests prior to my bypass I was in the bed next to where my dad had been 19 years previously, his bed had been removed to make space. So you could say History repeats itself. So what is to be done to help with this plague of addiction in the USA, 5% of the world’s population and they use 90% of the world’s drug supply?

I don’t have any answers Mr Trump says build a wall. How do you heal a soul, how do you encourage people to avoid drugs when they are so cheap?  I do know  in the 60s we were all inspired with Nasa going to the Moon, and the Music, now all we have is Simon Cowell. Now we are all cynical, how do return us to our lost Hippy Innocence, to the Monkees  and Beach Boys, the Man from Uncle and the original Star Trek times. 

There is not an easy answer, but I do know that broken spirits are the hardest to heal, but how many times do we forgive, 77 x 7,  and sometimes the answers are blowing in the wind. All we have to do is put our lips together and whistle, if we cannot pray we can at least whistle our favourite song, for the Lord is Music, and if we whistle he will pour his song into us. 

 its 2am now I'll go back to bed my pain has lessened