Just when you think you had a bad weekend, health wise...

And get up on a hated UGLY Monday morning... everything still goes wrong.

I spent more time wrapped around my toilet bowl yesterday retching, because I couldn't get any air, it was pitiful. And made me angry, and really ornery. And I stayed home, in bed between attacks.

Today the weather was a bit better, so I went to Peter's.

Got through that ok in the a.m., and was heading back home... And stopped to exchange a few words with Millie, who had just closed up her stand at the market. For only one sniggarette... And told her about my new letter from Social Sneakurity that I got in the mail this morning.

And as usual, we laughed. I told her they want to know what I do from the time I get up till I go to bed every day. She was stunned, I tell you, STUNNED. And I joked, Well I could start by saying I get up, go to the WC, and nearly explode the toilet with 'hot air'. And we had some fun with that. And she said, 'go for it', and was full of hilarity.

So I went to the tobacconists, and this woman behind me says, 'I think you are on fire...' And then I smelt it. Looked down, and my jacket pocket was smouldering away.

And I thought, 'OH!'. So I stepped outside, and began to empty it. I had some tissues in there, and seemingly a hot ash got in and set them on fire. There were two Bics, and my emergency inhaler in it, all ok, and my camera, also ok. And the letter from the Embassy was beginning to burn very nicely, but I put it out.

I thanked the lady, of course, and wanted to disappear into the ground, and my jacket is ruined, but have had it twelve years, so am not so upset about it. It got fairly beat up in the interim seasons over the years.

So I got some noodles, and went home chagrined, I tell you, chagrined!

And my cell phone rang. Some German asshole who wanted me to re-up for a lottery, and I said no. The conversation got weird. He wanted me to restate my birth-date, and I thought, 'Whoa!' He thought it was 1979. And then he wanted to know what my bank Leitzahl is. That is a number that every bank has. And thought I was with the Postal bank, not the one I have, and my alarms went off. And then he wanted my account number, and I said, 'if you are who you say you are, you already HAVE it.' 'Yes, but it is all coded with asterisks.'

Uh-huh, BINGO!!!

And he wanted me to go out and get my card, and give him the account number. (!!!)

Now all the time of the conversation, I was having my daily bowel movement, and talking on the WC. Which was good... because I had to think, and couldn't just get up and go zombie-like and do what he asked.

And I said, 'I am sorry, but I will NOT do that, and I do not think you are who you say you are, so good-BYE!'

And cut the connection.

It's thundering in the distance, and will have to contact the US Embassy in Vienna.

With my half-burned letter, but the e-mail address is still there....

I HATE Mondays... nothing ever good comes out of them, I swear.