The protocol

It's so weird to find this blog that has been here just resting passively for years. Since 2009. And to suddenly write on it like I did back in 2002, when blogs were an anonymous fun thing to do on the internet. Since the point of blogging was partly to enjoy the freedom of anonymity, bloggers hardly went by their real names. I had my own blog nick (not to be revealed) and I made a few friends. For example Siggi Siggi Bang Bang  https://siggisiggibangbang.com and https://badmeanton.blogspot.com. Bad and Mean later became my friends in the real world and so did Siggi amongst other good people. Unfortunalty most of the url.s are gone into the wires. 

When I first started blogging I was working nightshifts at a senior home and during those shifts I made double money by writing free lance articles. I used the hours of just sitting there, attending every other hour to dying old people, and wrote in-between. Both on a weblog, that I believed wan anonymous diary of thought, and articles that I signed with my own name. 

I liked writing blogs much better but it turned out that not everyone did and I wasn't quite as anonymous as I thought. My boss at the senior home said that I was way too frank in my writings and that I had crossed some line. A line that I apparently hadn't noticed. She said that my blog from work was too much but I should definitely keep on writing, and the way she said it told me that she honestly liked it but she wasn't supposed to. She had to follow a protocol. 

Someone had sent her the link and it didn't take her long to figure out the scene and the players. Some relatives had complained. 

The thing I did was to describe the atmosphere and the people at the senior home the way I saw it. 

There was this schizophrenic man who walked around the hallways talking to himself while intensely smoking the Winston cigarettes that we gave to him, three at a time, every three hours. He reacted clearly to air pressure and became sleepy and depressed when it was heavily clouded, stormy and rainy outside and sometimes he would get angry and shout. Normally close to his next load of Winstons. 
There was also a tiny woman who only ate white food (fish and milk for example) and wanted her feet moisturised with yellow Aloe Vera Banana-boat gel every six hours. She was the entitled type. Queen.

My strangest interaction with all the strangeness at this senior home was with a 96 year old man who had a brain tumor. The kind that added the very exact amount of pressure on his brain to change his personality to a new degree of weirdness.
He came sleepwalking down the hallway at 03:00 in his pyjamas. This you could always count on. His slippers made a very distinct wooly slipper sound as he dragged his drowsy feet on the floor.
I sat by the computer and did my thing until the sound of his slippers reached a certain volume. Then I knew that he was about ten meters behind me and therefore the right time for me to stand up and guide him back to his room. This was a silent boring routine but he broke it the night he asked me if I would be kind and hold his cock for a while. My first reaction was to laugh but I repressed my reaction, kept the cool and stayed silent and pro as we walked on and when I closed the door behind he went back to his bed with his wife.