Oh boy......

Tomorrow is the one day I have been so terribly dreading for weeks now.

I have to be in Peter's old place and turn in the keys, when they de-lodge what is left.

It might be key to why I have been so sick since last Friday. I will want to crawl into the depths of the fucking earth.

Because the bed and wheelchair are so disgusting, they defy description. And the bed too heavy and hard to lift alone, and drag it to the river and burn it on the bank in and hope for a flood, which would carry it away.

Am not exaggerating.

I can deal with lots of things. Vomit? Never bothered me much. Blood? Can hire myself out to the mafia for cleanups, have seen enough in my life. Urine? Rumpled nose, and you can get through it. But there are two things that really really get me to the point where I can't deal with it. One was the smell of a miscarriage and cleaning up splattered placenta on porcelain. Someone had one in the cinema once, and it took me three days to clean it up, because the smell made me literally sick. (Since then, if some woman is 'having her days' and isn't 'particular', and is next to you on a hot day on a bus, well that memory comes back because the odor is the same. And yeah, I know some guys can get off on that, but it is disgusting for me. Sue me.)

The other is shit. And in the frantic few days before Peter had his second heart attack, he got diahrrea, I was mostly not there, and he didn't get to the WC in time, and the mess was phenomenal. And the stink.

I just couldn't deal with it. Skid marks in underwear is one thing..... but that was... catastrophic.

Funny comment here. Werner used to say, 'change your Beflaggung' (flag=underwear in foreign legion jargon...) You passed gas in your sleep last night, and I shouldn't have made beans. '

That was embarrassing, but we could make frat-boy sort of fart jokes.

Tomorrow will be pure humiliation. It is really really bad.

Peter actually excused himself today and said he was sorry that I have to do this. He KNOWS how I am gonna abhor this. But was oddfully cheerful. 'I think it was a good experiment, but now I KNOW I am being well taken care of, but it was worth trying.'

Oh REALLY..... Well, I don't wanna go there but will have to. I FOUGHT to get him in there for nearly two years, and still get to clean up 'the mess'. How wonderful.

NOT.

Will just have to brazen it out, I guess...

Just the thought has been making me literally ill.

What is left over they should just take. The best piece is a 'garderobe', but there was no more space for it on the truck when we cleared most of it out.

Am banging my head on the keyboard, but as much as I always tried.... it becomes a clusterfuck. I hope this is the last one.