Had an awesome morning with the football team Saturday.
Car had broken clutch cable and tried to borrow two others. Long story was that they both died right outside their owners houses….
So, I RODE MY BLOODY MOUNTAIN BIKE TO PORIRUA FROM WELLINGTON. That is a fair hilke, so I cheated. A bag of footballs, a bag with boots, tops and gear…. And a mountain bike. 21km with a few uphills in the middle. Uhm – At 7am saturday morning with my dodgy spine? Not likely. So – TRAIN to Porirua from Wellington… Bike up hill… And…
FIRST ONE THERE.
Beauty morning for it. Just after 8pm and the artificial turf out the back of the old forensic unit at the mental hospital looked stunning. Nothing like the problems the area was known for twenty years previously.
The kids started turning up, and I admit to being a little nervous after the events of the last week with the mother of my daughter proving beyond all reasonable doubt that she is a vindictive idiot and not actually even interested in paying lip service to her daughter spending time with her dad any longer. GROAN.
So, the kids were arriving, the parents were supportive, and I just got on with it. Rubbed one of the other coaches up the wrong way, but by relinquishing the role of “referee” they allowed me to break the rules and spend time on the field helping out my wayward team. The autistic, adhd, deaf and blind people lead by this one eye’d ginga did pretty well. Running around on the field and coaching whilst the game is underway should be allowed at this level. The kids really started working well with it…
One kid is great at being goalie, but I like seeing him out the field too. Hell, it was a great morning. My daughter was there complaining she was injured and attempting to play at half speed. This got her little sympathy, she is quite capable of playing. I know her better than people realise. She listened and ran. She listened and passed. She won player of the day.
Apart from her Mum had told the people whom gave her a lift to the game that I was going to steal her so they were not to let her travel or stay with me. Stupid, but that’s that. After 11 years of this crap, my daughters PLAYER OF THE DAY award was given to a girl who played right back as she had improved so much from the week previous.
Somewhat taken aback, the centre forward who scored all our goals looked annoyed. He will win it, bit today he didn’t listen to the coach and we could have won 4-3 if he had passed the ball on the inside to my daughter instead of trying to run through another three defenders all by himself.
DEMLEGS award for the player who ran to places to support her mates went to a young girl who plays left back. Really brilliantly. She listens, unlike most of the guys… She sprinted back on defence and cut some players down…
After the awards were handed out one of the kids Dads decided to ask if he could say something. “Of course”, I nodded at him. It was the centre forwards Dad… An nice American chap of very very very high esteem in the Wellington political arena….
“I, and all the other parents and supporters, have seen you improve EVERY SINGLE GAME and do you know why that is?”
Sensing impending embarrassment there is a prompt interruption from my good mouth – “Yes, it is due to spending MORE TIME TOGETHER as a team…” wink wink, nudge nudge…
“I, uhm, yes, quite correct. Uhm. Other than that, we really have to cheer your coach, NZFiend….”
Oh crap. Knew that was coming. A couple of Mums and Dads come up and ask quietly if I am okay and what is going on after the dramas during the week with my daughter being taken away and her mother and step dad punching me in front of the team…. I just say “it will be all right… It has to be…” and they nod, not fully believing…
WE DREW 3 – 3
Which, after 8-3 and 6-0 losses is very exciting!!!!
So, the sun is up, the kids have gone and there is another game being played. The same age group, but these kids train four times a week as part of an academy. And boy does it show.
These eleven year olds are playing better looking footy than the Phoenix. But, even then, the left winger listens to my advice and runs when suggested. He does a lot better and looks over to see if I have noticed. I wink and walk off.
He’ll probably never see me again.
But I will remember that little red head with the bullet left foot from the Tawa area. He may just go places with the right coaching and staying in school.
As for me? Feels like the only places I am capable of going are court or jail.
Football training tomorrow night. Really doubt my daughter will be there. Sadly I have no life at all outside of my daughter and football. Something which the vindictive are trying their best to take away.
Police, kids Mum and Family Court vs Me and my belief that I am capable of good.
Guess I’m fucked. Nothing better to do with my whole weekend than ride the whole way back to Wellington.
Which I did.
And now my spine is telling me off for it.
Tomorrow will put a new clutch cable in car. And not go anywhere near my kids Mums house.
Am useless and down on myself quite a bit.
Cannot move my car parts, engines and the odd whole car out of peoples properties, can’t work on my cars and am sick of it. Seems that as soon as I start getting on top of things, the damn spine is out to get me. Evil bloody thing it is. Not that is entirely my fault the spine is crap in the first place. Who would have thought multiple motorbike crash at various speeds, including some quite high – (see what I did there, two birds with one stone and all that?)…
Went along to an N.A meeting two days ago. Was in the neighbourhood to visit something five foot ten, with legs and arse that would challenge mine for looking good in a tight black skirt (yeah yeah, send all the abuse, criticism and scoff all you like. Do your worst… Be imaginative. Draw some pictures even) when a bloody snobby nosed prick in a BMW cut me off. My god he was driving slowly. I thought BMW was the “ultimate drivers machine”. It turns out the boffins at Berlin Motorworx marketing department would not get their capitalist yearly pay increase by using a factual statement such as “BMW – ultimately for old drivers with heart machines”. One of these old geezers with a pace maker cut me off, and before I could control my middle finger, the old geezer turned out to be a character known to the good likes of I and Wellington in general. The N.A meeting is very near my friends house so, unlike me (for those not capable of reading sarcasm, that was a little example) I sidetracked to the meeting he was going to. It was a guys first birthday. Other people were there aplenty. Having met most of them before, I was not surprised when the first speaker babbled on with no discernable point at all for 13 minutes. He did this in his “bed time story” voice the ladies like. For there were some ladies present. The one opposite me openly scowled at me. She is the one whom always questions me about having had sex with a couple of N.A girl members and whom never says hello. I even say hello to her – she ignores me and puts me in my place with that nose turn up that only girls whom think their station in life is higher than yours can accomplish with any authority. But then she see’s me talking to a couple of guys she really fancies and comes up, all bouncy and smiley and says “HI NZFIEND”. So, I say “I’ve said hello already” and she gets all shitty with me. Odd world.
I kind of needed an N.A meeting– Have been taking way less than all the pain medications they are prescribing, but still. Am not in a great place. Have not seen my daughter for six days and it has been easter. I love easter and hunting eggs with my kid. Easter is the one time remembered as us kids being treated equal in my role as adopted sibling. (Not that Mum or Dad will ever acknowledge this)
So, am in pain, taking a few opiates and am quite bloody touchy and sensitive. If it happened to be my one year clean birthday I would have liked to have been asked to speak at the meeting. But the chairperson got “Mr Slow and Pointless” to open and then got “Mr Complete Do what I say, not what I do” to close the meeting. Birthday boy has shared with me many times how he hates the guy doing the closing speech.
My head is telling me —
ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE STILL SO FAR UP THEIR OWN ARSES THEY ARE NOT EVEN THINKING OF OTHERS IN THIS SMALL CLOSED GROUP. HOW CAN THEY THINK OF THE COMMUNITY AT LARGE, THE PLANET OR IMPROVING THE HUMAN CONDITION?
Seriously, that is what I am thinking. One guy sitting in front of me, whom is pretty much always the first to jump in and shout out “Hi, I am ______, and I am an addict” as soon as the chairperson opens the floor for the general riff raff to speak, jumps in to speak before the chairperson has even finished the last remnant syllable of “the floor is now open…” He talks about a guy who tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus.
“This guy tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus” says this guy “the thing was, the bus was doing ZERO KILOMETRES AN HOUR.” (pauses whilst waiting for the hordes to errupt into thunderous laughter for his astounding comedic speech and subject matter are deserved at none less than the Royal Gala. Or, perhaps, more Ricky Gervias at the Acedemy Awards. Taaaaa-dddddaaaaaaaa, thump. A couple of snickers from the more emotionally deprived members, and a sneaky smile from the lady sitting opposite who maybe quite cannot get her head around the fact I do not find her appealing and have never made a move on anyone at N.A. Ever. Full stop.)
This sharer continues to tell us the tale of the guy who stood in front of the bus screaming that he wanted to be run over, and the bus driver would shout at him to get out the fucken way. According to the speaker this was worthy of humour as it was a rather interesting “game of chicken where neither was moving at all” (again, thankfully, the meeting did not erupt into fits of laughter). “It was over when this suicide guy sat at the side of the road with his head in his hands crying his eyes out. Everyone on the bus laughed at him. But I didn’t“
As the meeting had been showing signs of being about empathy I could not suppress a cough of the most incredulous nature at this. Only just managing to resist the urge to interrupt and tell the room what wankers they were for not helping others (they say stuff like “I don’t want to get involved helping so-and-so because it will not help me with my recovery), I made sure I was next to share.
For those really interested in their own recovery – Please define, very carefully what you are recovering from, and what you are recovering to. Simple answer is to be a better person in all regards, and all your affairs. Being so self centred and greedy for your own recovery that someone actually kills themselves or goes back to drugs due to you turning your back on them makes you a complete asshole.
“Hi, NZFIEND, Addict“, as usual not waiting for the “HI NZFIEND“, I just pile on the next paragraph…. “Happy Birthday… blah blah blah… If I was on that bloody bus, I would have empathy (really identified, to be fair) with the guy and would have GOT OFF THE BLOODY BUS AND TALKED TO HIM. Just five minutes out of my day to see if he could be pointed in a better direction. MAYBE HE NEEDED A BLOODY N.A. MEETING? I would have been five minutes late to this meeting by getting off the bloody bus and maybe helping out a guy intent on suicide.“
But the N.A meeting doesn’t care. I am talking quickly and making many points. They cannot comprehend. NZFIEND must be totally fucked up on drugs. He is not thinking of others by talking quickly and getting through many subjects – it is a large meeting and many many people want to share – NZFIEND is just wasted on drugs, not “in recovery” and, therefore, not worth listening to.
Is SUICIDE worse than DRUG ADDICTION? Can you possibly be “in recovery” from suicide? How about looking at people worse off than you. No one is ever going to be perfect. No one is ever going to “recover” from addiction. You are always “in recovery”. But that doesn’t mean you are no longer a self centred ass wipe. I would ask AMANDA CUMMINGS for her point of view, but – oh damn – too late. She killed herself by stepping out into the path of a bus.
They cut me off after three minutes thirty. But, didn’t I just hear Mr Sloth himself talk about nothing in a bed time monotone for thirteen minutes? Here I am telling the world how teaching kids football soccer is actually teaching them all about life, and the chairperson cuts me off in no uncertain terms.
Luckily I have just enough feeling left in my legs to walk out sans stumbling.
You know that is the best thing..
Knowing your legs have gone numb, you might fart and piss yourself standing up, but managing to make it out the door without losing too much dignity?!
In their eyes, probably just drunk. Or totally fucked up on something. Or something.
So, the group of N.A people close ranks and exclude the acknowledged fuckwit once more. I sure hope Mr Savage doesn’t rip off anything I said and claim it as his own in the future (as he has in the past…) Someone should teach him some ethics.
But even with all that failing, and feeling completely down on myself… I go visit the tall blonde lady, whom gets a few of the N.A boys reversing their cars when they spot her legs. Really don’t think they were reversing to say BYE BYE NZFIEND. But, maybe they were….. A nice young lady I know cheers me up when one N.A guy says “what’s up NZFIEND” and I say “nothing.”…. She says “NOTHING INDEED, YOUR COCK IS NOT UP MY ARSE, COME ON, HURRY UP, LET’S GO” and started slapping each other on our relatively lightly clothed bottoms….
So, was starting to find my natural silly sense of humour and twinkle. Rapidly. Being in too much pain for satisfying hanky panky, home beckoned loudly.
Received a text or two, an email, a phone call. From parents of kids in my football teams. Some from last years team. Some from parents of kids I have not met from this coming winter team.
They know the coach is “bit sore”. They don’t know about Cauda Equina
or how lucky their coach has been throughout his life of non stop stupidity.
They know the coach has had issues of various kinds, they know he speaks his mind, he has always been up front and honest with them and their kids. He is not afraid of anyone when it comes to standing up for his team, or the players of teams they come up against.
The parents have sent odd messages such us “damn, our kid, xxxxx, is not in your team, hope he has a great coach like last year“… “my girl is a bundle of fun and energy, but no one can ever teach her anything, for some reason she really get’s you, she has learnt she can apply herself, THANK YOU” … “we owe you Tony for all your hard work and dealing with those awkward parents“….
People say it is not just about the football. I say it is.
If I can teach a totally autistic kid, who does not communicate, how to kick a ball reasonably well in a two hour training session with other kids, I reckon that my life is bloody well okay after all. And the kid is genuinely happy, encouraged and proud of coping with something new. His Mum has been in contact a bit, full of beans about the simple fact her kid is stoked to be taken seriously and not put in a box in the corner. Am so glad to be me sometimes.
Have been trying to convince a very nice young lady (herself a NZ FOOTBALL rep, co-incidentally) to help coach sometimes. She has earned my total respect and amazement for the way she jumped in and helped me when noticing things that I struggled with. Real things. Like, with her around, I did not have to ask for my keys as she carefully watched where I put everything down. She saw my cars and instantly started making lists “for us to get both cars up to scratch”. We were an asset in each others lives, and could have been more so. I am sad she had to run away from the Wellington scene. But totally understand. She was going through some stuff which she would not share with me. She sent me a message on Facebook last night – You are one of the best and most reliable and trustworthy people I have ever met. You are so cool in so many ways, remember that. I just think sometimes you are badly unlucky. She did not even know I was feeling down. She is on the same wavelength. Promise you.
I disagree. Sure, am unlucky sometimes. I don’t think the young lady fully understands the term “I should be dead”. Many times over. A little risk management going in my favour have meant two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears and half a working brain are all still mine to own and abuse. It could be worse. I don’t know of many fourty something guys with little hair, no teeth, pimples and a “character nose” (at best) whom have had the honour of spending time with the likes of her and others.
We have football training today. In three hours. The coach is having trouble getting shoes on, so it is lucky he still has no football boots and is comfortable playing in bare feet. He has managed coaching a training session in worse shape. But not with a bunch of new players and brand new strange parents. The parents will probably think him stranger. Guess they may have a point.
If I let the kids play a game for an hour, my back will “warm up”. Am sure of it. A little worried to be fair. Last couple of days have been crap, but then I think of all the kids. I think of the parents appreciation. I think I do a good job in a hard environment with no money, no real support and no instant reward.
And then I think it is all about the football. Spine or no spine.
Am getting this tattoo coloured in sometime.
TENDER! Took over two hours. Very fine needle for the whole outline and then a rather raw feeling on the colouring in. Helped kill my back pain for a short while.
And hey –
Unfortunately there are people I care about who have stuck up for me at levels higher than I can reach myself… In order to distance them from the fallout generated by me being me, I have had little to do with CCDHBDSM, ADDICTIONS or anything else for a while.
Trust me, this does not mean I have not been working away with various nameless people and organisations on drug reform issues.
Trust me, I will be a pain in the arse again.
I know they are not gods.
For I have met god.
Genuinely, I can clarify….. Clarissa is no where near.
(Sorry to burst your bubbles Blair Bishop General Practice Liaison Officer and John Zonnevylle of convoluted title covering the fact he is a doormat – her legs, tits and smile may have you hook line and sinker, but the rest of us find she has little hold over us. The minute she actually looks into my eyes and opens her mouth with anything approaching honesty would be the exact same minute I provide her with a face shot. Besides, Blair, I can provide photographic evidence that much better exists. You should come look in my bedroom window some nights…. I kid you not. One or two of my associates can vouch for this. And they have not even had the face shot)
I write a blog. They don’t like public scrutiny, so they simply block their site from my machine….
As you can see, their domain http://mentalhealthservices.org.nz has been blocked from my machine, yet still appears on GOOGLE searches. So, by using a different internet link through some Eastern European routes, my machine picks up the mentalhealthservices.org.nz sites easily.
Proves they have a bit of power. Proves they are worried about some poor little ADHD drug addict whom they screwed over twenty years ago, have not improved in the slightest, and are still doing it today.
I write a blog. They are out to get me. This has ruined my ability to advocate for people (all the people whom I have helped and talked to with advice have thanked me for providing this service…)
Maybe this is not paranoid at all?
Maybe it is?
It’s their fault for scrimping and saving on handing out medications to the likes of me in the first place.
I write a blog. They don’t like public scrutiny. They are out to get me.
You don’t have to be mad to create conspiracy theories, but it certainly helps, new research suggests.
Just believing in them indicates you are more likely to be paranoid or mentally ill, a Victoria University study shows.
Widely held conspiracy theories range from harmless ones, such as the belief that the Moon landings were faked, to more dangerous delusions such as the one in Nigeria that polio vaccines were a Western plot to sterilise people. That led to vaccination crews being murdered and thousands dying from disease.
— The psychology of conspiracy belief (with video) by MATT STEWART for DomPost 13th December 2014
Clinical psychologist Darshani Kumareswaran is delving in to the psychology of conspiracy belief, and has found some believers are likely to endorse far-fetched plots in an effort to make sense of chaotic situations beyond their control.
Makes me wonder how much effort she put into the effort of making sense of co-incidences. Makes me thankful she has not seen my Hare PCL-R test. I volunteer for further study, neuro science dept at Victoria too. Hook me up Doc. Just don’t stab me full of holes, ruin my arms and make everyone think I am injecting drugs again like Gilead did.
Please have a look here for Darshani Kumareswaran’s full PDF Doctoral Theses for the School of Psychology · Te Kura Mātai Hinengaro
Since 13th December is also my birthday, shall I, once more, share my theories of co-incidence with you?
Oh cum on, you say you don’t want to…
I know you’re a liar….
As published previously, there are guidelines for complaining about and managing your care… Health and Disability Commission is one such avenue. They will advocate for you in a complaints type process. Myself and them have had a few contacts over the last year and a half. Most recently a few weeks ago where the idea was put forward of getting together a number of people with similar complaints and recording their concerns and approaching the “powers that be” collectively.
I like this idea. A LOT. The people suggesting it seem to actually listen. And care.
My heart just stopped.
There are MANY MANY people all over Wellington with similar issues. When in Christchurch last week I was bloody well astounded to hear the same stories from those poor fuckers. Four hours I spent talking with addicts and methadone victims in CHCH. Only two of them told me about people being injured or dying in earthquakes. But every single one of them had a complaint and serious issue (anger) with the methadone programme. Now known as some stupid acronym (those who read this regularly will roll their eyes fully expecting me to produce some more of my own world shatteringly clever acronyms – I will refrain, just this once – you owe me) like CORS or some shit, they are the cause of angst and stress amongst many people already suffering dislocation from society.
GOOD ONE CORS. You can thank me for reading all the works of Bruce K Alexander (RAT PARK et al) later. Saves you the bother. Copies now available at Wellington public library. Bruce has never offered me royalties. Not even jokingly. Life is not fair. Life is not for everyone.
This article is eight months old. Some things have changed. A little. Very little. Some things have even got worse.
The people at MATUA RAKI bestow the efforts of CORS to include a “strong consumer voice” in their presentation to the “ADDICTION LEADERSHIP DAY CONFERENCE”. Fuck me people. Is it just as some politically minded people were there? Or do you REALLY believe everything is coming up smelling of roses?
Piles of shit may produce good roses. One day.
(Banana skins would be a much better point from a purely horticultural view – Unfortunately this would be lost on politically wrong Wellingtonians. So, PILE OF SHIT it is.)
Without people spotting errors, spotting things wrong, complaining and changing the system…. Nothing would change. The world would still be flat.
It is broke. It needs fixing.
Telling me you have twenty years experience and therefore giving your opinion that my opinions don’t matter is just garbage. A catch 22 of pile of shit.
You have been working on something twenty years and it is still broken?
Go get another job. Honestly, you people deserve a cake.
A cake made from Double U-O Globe Number 4. Mock cream in middle 50-50 mix Psilocybin and Lysergic acid diethylamide 25. Iced with Ice (of course – chortle chortle).
Vanessa Caldwell is actually really neat. So are most of the people I have met over the last year and half of dealing with addiction. Most really do mean to make a difference with their lives, both in their capitalist job sense and for the addicted masses.
I have managed to control my obvious dislike for those with gold watches and cars with plates newer than 2010. I’ve controlled my ADHD a little. I have managed to converse well with a number of people whom will never talk to me again once they realise I am an invalids beneficiary who flies around the country for no reason what-so-ever. Just to annoy them really. Go on, ask them. They will agree whole hearted. Champagne glasses in their manicured hands.
For I have no agenda. No barrow. No income.
Imagine this, the worlds shittest blog, with its own http address and a flash name like Whale Oil. O for oar sum.
I live in a very run down block of housing corp flats. I live on the bottom floor. I get rotten walls, damp mould. I get things landing outside my window such as butts, syringe wrappers and empty pill packets. My block has eighty odd flats. There are ten people on methadone. There are three drug dealers. There are many on P. Many alcoholics. Many problems. Many gangs.
This is me.
I have a strong sense of social equity. I talk to all people the same. The judge, the politician (hey there Peter Dunne, apologise to Jacinda for my silly, yet sincere, house husband proposals next time you see her…) or the junky laying in the gutter in a recovery position with a slow respiratory rate. They all get the same respect and the same voice from me.
They will, equally, get the same ear bashing if they start quoting wrong facts and figures. They may learn, as did my politically errant in laws, that if people like me actually start arguing we are damn well sure to have enough back up facts to make the argument worth while.
What was the point of all this again?
Have I taken enough Ritalin today? God, grant me the serenity.
“””My Dearest [good person at Health and D Comm’]
just letting you know we have been getting nowhere rather rapidly (or slowly) with a few things. The major concern seems to be that “ADDICTION” takes precedent over all other health diagnosis. Unfortunately it has reached the stage where my client has threatened to “write a letter detailing what you c***s are doing and drive head on into oncoming cars in order to highlight what you c***s are doing to me.”
Believe it or not, I have seen this sort of thing before. I have seen people cut off programmes and maintenance regimes and end up in jail with days as they feel robbing a pharmacy and telling their story to a judge and newspaper will help change things.
It doesn’t. [look at the guy who would not get a blanket from Work and Income, so shot three of them]
What would help greatly is being listened to properly. The staff at ADDICTION SERVICES (CCDHB) today advised my client that they could provide an advocate for him “who would have the run of the hospital” and be much better than the current advocate (me). They also said that they felt uncomfortable with me at meetings and wished him not to bring me in future. Their basis for this is that I write a blog. If they have ANY issue with the content of my public ramblings, they could approach me and advise me that I have made an error. I am fully prepared to stand up in court and prove every single fact. They, basically, do not like scrutiny. Nor do they like the idea of hundreds of people every day reading about them. [just to clarify this – The record was over 800. But, lately, most people just read about LORDE and leave – But then 40 individuals have looked here in six hours, half from NZ, mainly USA and Great Britain fill the remainder. They each looked at 1.8 pages (mostly the most recent post and, of course, LORDE…] Nor do they like the idea that there are many many more people out there whom are having the same issues but are too ham-strung to speak publicly. Anyway, I am going to send my client your way very soon. Facts and sense seem to make no difference to these people.
I attend meetings with my client, as official advocate, and they will not let me speak. They openly ignore me and will not make eye contact. At previous meeting I even had to intervene as one staff member became very angry and was one level below shouting at my client – even though it was her protocols that were causing her anger.
Can we meet in person, or shall we write basis of complaint and forward to you?
Sorry to trouble you. This system is broke. It needs work.“””
And, so saying, that is another ranting post from me. The last for the day. Tune back tomorrow once the mushroom cloud has cleared from your neck of the woods…
Cameron Slater (Whale Oil) has now been blocked from my phone. Honestly, dude, calm the fuck down! Might even get t-shirts printed. But that is a story for another day. My previous post about John Key being a psychopath may have got his g-string in a bundle.
This day has produced it’s headache quotient already. After going to say a quick farewell to one of my oldest junky mates, I get hit with a bunch of crap from other old junky mates. Only to do it all again tomorrow at other old junky mates funeral.
Life. It is not for everyone.
Life on the pharmacists terms is not for anyone.
Usually it would be the colourful people, the good vibe, the nice attitudes. Occasionally even the short skirts… But this weekend….
The HOSPITAL has signs warning that if you
have been overseas and are feeling “unwell” you simply MUST
report to a bulletproof, soundproof, air proof, fun proof room
for a long period of unhappiness.
If you happen to be losing blood out your nose, blowing snot out your mouth and using syringes they aren’t so interested.
At least, not according to this toilet I found in Accident and Emergency at Wellington Regional Hospital on Saturday morning.
Blood splatters all over floor, dried blood and snot trail down side of toilet, toilet seat with mucus and blood products, hinges of toilet seat broken so as to encourage you to fall in. Where you will find no less than a used disposable syringe. Blood is old and dry. But blood is new and wet too. Blood on hand paper towels. New blood there too.
It is “Fuck.”
Choose your own.