Are You OK

Published October 12, 2025 by helentastic67

Are You OK

I always ask people how they are? I think it’s a good habit to have. My recent adventure to the market produced this response. They said they were good that day but on the weekend the market had featured an Italian theme. I had seen a mention in an email somewhere, they said it had been the same four songs on repeat all day.

Honestly, this is the jam in a day and why you ask people. I suggested the older Italians would die off one day and he just needed to outlive them. He picked up a serrated edged knife and using a sawing motion ran it across his wrist. I confess, I hadn’t seen it the first time he had done it. I then demonstrated how to indicate blowing one’s brains out. Which he appreciated.

Amusing still, this encounter proceeded the “I love you too” moment. Took a dark turn, didn’t it? This is the benefits of having regular places I go and people I see out in my community.

This post I’m not advocating or encouraging the use or self-harm. If you have mental health issues, please seek help from a trained professional.

Small Talk

Published May 29, 2023 by helentastic67

Small Talk

I confess to say, I live for small talk. I will take any opportunity, I don’t mind your race, religion, sexual orientation or if you’re a Junkie. Well, that last one was purely by accident and it’s generally worked out well for me. Until it doesn’t.

Last week I was in a neighbouring suburb at my weekly appointment when waiting outside a cafe for my medicine to arrive in my Keep Cup. Yeah, get one, they’re great.

While waiting I participated in some friendly chatting with an elderly man sitting waiting for his medicine. My brand-new carer I had met just that morning arrived to stand beside me and another older woman joined the man at the table. He told her he had already ordered and I took the opportunity to whisper to my carer that I presumed the other woman was also a carer. I gave my evidence for why I had come to that conclusion and she agreed. The shirt she was wearing screamed she worked for the council and she wore a lanyard. She in question had her head in her phone. Case in point.

Anyway, the conversation with the elderly man I don’t know, how he went to a previous Australian Prime Minister before my time and he was very grumpy that, that Prime Minister had done three particularly terrible things that had not been to his liking. I attempted to appease him, not particularly needing to get into a debate about politics by suggesting all politicians don’t please everyone. Let’s just hope they do more good than harm. But he wasn’t done and I have no idea how this next happened, but he mentioned Hitler. Like WTF just happened?

I mentioned this to my chiropractor who I see in this area weekly, her hand reached towards me asking “are you ok?” I explained I was but just didn’t know how I’d gotten myself into this conversation without seeing it coming.

So, how did I extract myself from this man’s company I hear you ask? I first thought I should explain to him we should both be able to agree that HITLER was EVIL! (Note: not a question?) But he was not done! FFS!

He informed me Hitler had only received 40% of the vote. He had just managed to get people to follow him and do as he wanted. I guess he was saying Hitler had charisma. But he was not done. But I was. I turned to my carer and I asked her to check on my coffee. They had left it waiting for me inside.

OK, have a nice day and I got the fuck away from him.

Never again.

Grief and Humour – Part 2

Published February 27, 2023 by helentastic67

Grief and Humour – Part 2

So, while dealing with this whole grief thing I’m reminded of times I’ve seen women in the supermarket, they stop and seem to pause for a moment and a hand goes up to their heart and for a brief moment it looks like they just received some devastating news. I have been moved to ask if they are alright? And they pause and then they seem OK again and they reply as much and the day goes on.

Last Saturday I was attempting to get a loaf of rye bread carefully transported via a friend across town, delivered on the Friday, into my fridge freezer. My carer had suggested she could do this. But my first world problem in recent years has been a problem getting things into my fridge freezer.

Full disclosure, I also have a bar fridge size freezer and that’s full too. My carer has recently suggested I could live out of my freezers for six weeks without going shopping, but I’d eat a lot of chilli con carne, ice cream and stews, what a way to go.

So, there I am, fridge-freezer door open. My carer waits behind the door in the kitchen as I shuffled, to get the portioned bread into every nook and cranny, I talked as I worked telling her amusing little tidbits from my day, life, anecdotes of my life with my dad. Don’t recall now, even what I was telling her about, but every few sentences I paused, couldn’t speak. Wanted to burst into tears, but needed more importantly to finish my witty stories. I kept it together. My carer had told me I didn’t need to keep telling her whatever it had been I was telling her, but I finished both my stories and the task of getting all the bread in the freezer for safe keeping. Before I successfully closed the freezer door, I announced to my carer a little sadly. “I’m not leaving the door open because I don’t want you to see me cry” as I closed the door.

I just want to point out this is a hard job being ONE-HANDED! Just try it sometime. I offered my carer to open the door again and bathe in the brilliance that I had managed to achieve and she stated if she opened it again everything would fall out. I told her it would then be her job to get it all back in before she left.

So, I opened the door to show off my brilliant Jenga technique, from behind me the woman FUCKING SNEEZED.

And twos things fell out and we laughed.

You still get to laugh sometimes…..it’s just sweeter.

My Best Advice

Published September 26, 2022 by helentastic67

My Best Advice

Last week at a meeting I contributed my Hot Tip for how I managed to get through the Plague in the last few years. Now it received rave reviews, but I feel like it will be passed on to the intended third party without my name attached. Call me crazy but I like to be given credit where credit is due.

So, well they failed to remember Hell’s got a BLOG! So, I’ll just beat them to it.

My advice –

I thought of friends that might have been more isolated than I was or coping with all the lockdown stuff in Melbourne and all the social isolations, and I rang them, I reached out. I just talked about whatever, and I know the people I chose to do this with appreciated me doing so.

Ironically, because everyone always assumes Hell’s doing OK, no one ever thinks to check on me.

Burkies – Part 1

Published January 17, 2020 by helentastic67

Burkies – Part 1

Ok, the next two short posts are purely context for the third, I now must write today. So, bare with me and strap in for a bit of a chuckle.

When I was first diagnosed in 2007, I lived with my favourite housemate down in Clifton Hill. My favourite housemate even in twenty years of sharing, will as he has in the past, go by the name of ‘B’. The street we lived on ‘F’. We lived on a corner of ‘F’ and whatever the side street was.

During peak hour F street became the alternative route for people not wanting to use Hoddle Street, which was once described by my friend Frank as the carpark. Clifton Hill often had many commuters drive from the outer suburbs, so they could catch the tram from there to work.

The home was brick veneer and our bedrooms were right at the front of the house, surprisingly not as noisy to sleep as you might think.

We had a tiny bathroom, an equally small kitchen with an old Aga, where I stored my gladwrap, foil and such. To put it in perspective, an Italian couple had immigrated to Australia back in the 40’s and this was their first home, where they had, had and raised their children before moving out to the suburbs (as they did).

We had an outside toilet; we did have a garage and possums in the backyard which I fed bread. No, don’t eat that, eat the bread. That’s my finger! Eat the bread!

Anyway, I digress, B parked his car at the front of F street and occasionally he would not be able to park in this spot and he would become quite grumpy.

We consulted over this mysterious red car that was in ‘his’ spot. It was a little red Barina and it has stencilled letters on the side. You know, like those for Tupperware or Mary Kay or Avon.

Anyway, even if you know who is parking in your car spot, you can’t really say anything to them because it seems you are being rude. You resolve this dilemma in all good neighbourhood squabbles with the appropriate passive/aggressive culture of you just keep your car there until they stop trying to park there.

Anyway, B didn’t drive his car for a good few months, maybe he couldn’t afford his rego or whatever. B decided to sell it.

One particular Saturday, he called RACV who were out the front getting his car started. That afternoon, a woman came to see the car and buy it. Ironically, she had gotten a job as a Personal Carer (Support Worker) and needed a car. What a small world.

After the sale was completed, I was moving from one room to another and saw B standing inside the front door, which was timber and glass and he was (from where I was) hugging the door. I thought maybe he was sad to see his car go. He had inherited it from his grandmother.

I went past him a second time and he was still there, so I prompted him “Are you OK?” his reply came after a few moments. A car engine idled in the distance.

“Yes, I’m just making sure she got through the lights down the street and it didn’t conk out” or something to that affect, he was concerned she would come back insisting on a refund.