Being believed
Right now, I'm tired and feeling frustrated by people's disbelief. I'm probably being too harsh and demanding on both myself and others. For example, in my April 13 post, I made such a big to-do about one short sentence, which I had added to an earlier weblog entry. I sensed that inserting this comment might have rubbed someone, whom I greatly admire, the wrong way. I have a terrible habit of hammering points home - when I get the chance - since I have zero credibility, at the moment. Unfortunately, I can be insensitive as hell in doing so.
Getting the Boot
I also wasn't in the best of moods that week, when I wrote my apology post and made that pompous call for solidarity. On Monday, April 11, yet another of my counsellors and I parted ways, after a year and two months of counselling. This was my family doctor; they insisted that I'm just too much stress to deal with, and that I simply don't want to get better. [1]
What seemed to prompt my doctor's decision is that the previous week, one of the receptionists (who had joined the office a few months after I started going for counselling there) had reported me for taking my digital camera out, and supposedly taking pictures, while standing in line. Now, there were other people in front of me, and I was pretty far back from the counter, plus I had only switched on my camera for half a minute - yet, the moment I did so, this receptionist got up and left her seat. (And yes, I do think this receptionist is a mole.) Then, based on this receptionist's say-so, my doctor came down hard on me for purportedly taking pictures of people. [2]
When confronted by my doctor, I calmly responded with these comments and questions:
Cornered Like a Rat
Two days later, as I was leaving my apartment to speak to my landlord about my bounced rent cheque, I found cat shit on my doormat. [4] I had called him the night before to arrange for an appointment.
After talking to the landlord (property manager), I went back to my apartment to get my coat, so I could go to the bank to ask about the NSF (non-sufficient funds) charge to my account.
As I headed back downstairs, I noticed a City of Toronto box, sitting outside my neighbour's apartment. (This is the same neighbour, who owns the cat that apparently sh*t on my doorstep.) The fact that I had taken a picture of the container, at that precise moment, suggests I was expecting further problems and mishaps of a greater magnitude. [5] I may have guessed right, as you'll see, below.
What's relevant about a City of Toronto container?
I had recently figured out, indirectly, that I hadn't made it onto a community taskforce committee, which I had applied to in March. As some of you may know, I've been pretty outspoken about this particular municipal initiative. Since there have been other well-timed incidents in my building that coincided with my activities and efforts in this community group, I figured the sudden appearance of this recycling bin was relevant.
I've also never seen a City of Toronto recycling bin for organic matter in, or near, the building before. This box is clearly not meant for apartments, and it is not the property of this building.
This recycle bin was only there for that one day. The fact that it was placed exactly where I glance, whenever I pass by that floor, seemed odd to me. (Note: I usually look at that apartment door, because that's where my neighbour - who has driven several tenants out with their extreme noise - lives.)
Anyway, as I exited the building, a truck arrived, which proceeded to block me in. I was literally trapped in this alleyway, with people on three sides of me: the guy from the trucking company, my landlord (who had come out to watch the garbage being hauled away), and two people (presumably tenants) standing at the far end of the alley.
I had noticed the latter two, when I first stepped outside. They appeared to be sharing a hilarious joke. As I wondered at their mirth, I suddenly realized this hauling truck was barricading my only way out. Startled, I looked around and saw the back gate was locked. When I glanced, a second time, these two people had crossed the alley, and tried to hide themselves behind a protruding wall, perhaps to avoid my tiny camera's gaze (?).
This *alleyway ambush* is just one of many adventures I had that week. Heaps of other stuff happened, too, like: a) my getting the heave-ho by my doctor; b) being unable to access my weblog for two days, while desperately seeking alternate means; c) my 'dead' phone line, and so on.
The following week was equally colourful: there was the unexpected visit by two Jehovah's Witnesses, the strange actions of two new Field to Table drivers; other phone and internet stuff, and so on.
I was literally stuck inside my weblog - I couldn't even log-out. [6]
(recording to come)
Watching the man, who was loading trash onto the truck, I asked him, 'Do you work for the City?' His odd responses merely reinforced my suspicions. When I pulled out my camera, for example, he immediately said, in a droll tone: 'You know, it's illegal to take pictures of people without their permission, eh, sweetheart.'
Kindly recall that my run-in with the medical receptionist took place just two days before.
Also, is this how the average truckloader would respond to such questions? He assumed an immediate threat and started pointing out legal issues. Plus, his taunting voice was more like: Who's watching who, baby.
When I asked, if this truck had been dispatched by the City, he was evasive. Finally, he said, 'It's a company.' Yet, he refused to tell me the name. Instead, he directed me to 'the other guy,' that is, the truck's driver. When I asked this second man what company the truck belongs to, he gruffly replied, 'It's a private company,' with a clear emphasis on the word 'private.'
(Private? Privacy? Personal rights? ...Oh yeah, I remember those things.)
Eventually, the truck backed out to leave, and I emerged from the alleyway, taking two pictures of the departing vehicle. The driver of the truck gave me the finger. The first man, who had been loading the garbage, left in a blue van. Although he was following the main truck, he quickly spun off in a different direction - squealing tires and all - after shouting at me: 'What - you like taking pictures of people who give you the finger?! You fuckin' nutcase!' Funny you should put it that way.
Both men became hostile very quickly, simply because I had asked some basic questions, while snapping a few shots.
-------------------
[1] Needless to say, my doctor doesn't believe in my conspiracy theories, or my claims of surveillance; however, we parted on good terms.
[2] This receptionist has made several knowing comments to me on various occasions - one time involved a change of phone numbers (details to come). Also, whenever I'm supposed to meet up with a certain friend, strange things always happen (eg, my phone line going dead, while talking to this friend, after we weren't able to meet). Last summer, this friend and I went to FoodShare's second annual open buffet at City Hall, and three people - all of whom I believe are moles - suddenly walked right into my view that strange day. The receptionist, above, was one, the previous Field to Table driver was another (yes, he has reasons to be there, but it's the way these people stepped into my line of vision that seemed deliberately choreographed), and there was a third person.
[3] Occasionally, I've had to remind my doctor that strange anomalies have happened while I've been a patient at this medical office. Many incidents seem to involve this particular receptionist (eg, missing medical reports, wrong appointment times, haphazard scheduling, odd comments). Note: I 've never been rude or unpleasant to the staff.
[4] My rent cheque bounced for reasons beyond my control. There were several oddities around this whole incident. Such *personal setbacks*, which I enounter regularly, often involve co-ordination between major institutions. That's why no one is likely to believe my surveillance theories.
[5] Another reason why people don't believe I'm being harassed by the government - besides the fact that I'm incoherent, inconsistent, emotionally unstable, antagonistic, etc - is that so many scenarios I describe require constant surveillance, major financial resources, and institutional power and influence. Believe me, if I wasn't the one experiencing all this sadistic oppression, I'd think I was a crazy fool, too!
[6] I've learned enough about internet access, these past few years, to know that various 'glitches' with my weblog cannot be random anomalies. For example, I was able to access Blogger.com's site and log-in to my blog, but I couldn't navigate within it, nor could I log back out: I was literally trapped inside my own weblog. This happened for two full days, yet nothing unusual was reported on Blogger.com's homepage. I have various evidence of internet shenanigans.
Getting the Boot
I also wasn't in the best of moods that week, when I wrote my apology post and made that pompous call for solidarity. On Monday, April 11, yet another of my counsellors and I parted ways, after a year and two months of counselling. This was my family doctor; they insisted that I'm just too much stress to deal with, and that I simply don't want to get better. [1]
What seemed to prompt my doctor's decision is that the previous week, one of the receptionists (who had joined the office a few months after I started going for counselling there) had reported me for taking my digital camera out, and supposedly taking pictures, while standing in line. Now, there were other people in front of me, and I was pretty far back from the counter, plus I had only switched on my camera for half a minute - yet, the moment I did so, this receptionist got up and left her seat. (And yes, I do think this receptionist is a mole.) Then, based on this receptionist's say-so, my doctor came down hard on me for purportedly taking pictures of people. [2]
When confronted by my doctor, I calmly responded with these comments and questions:
- Why do you automatically assume the receptionist is right? You didn't even ask me if I had taken any pictures.
- Why does the receptionist *think* I had taken pictures of her?
- Why didn't the receptionist ask me to turn off the camera, herself, if it was a big problem? That would've been the mature and professional thing to do.
Cornered Like a Rat
Two days later, as I was leaving my apartment to speak to my landlord about my bounced rent cheque, I found cat shit on my doormat. [4] I had called him the night before to arrange for an appointment.
After talking to the landlord (property manager), I went back to my apartment to get my coat, so I could go to the bank to ask about the NSF (non-sufficient funds) charge to my account.
As I headed back downstairs, I noticed a City of Toronto box, sitting outside my neighbour's apartment. (This is the same neighbour, who owns the cat that apparently sh*t on my doorstep.) The fact that I had taken a picture of the container, at that precise moment, suggests I was expecting further problems and mishaps of a greater magnitude. [5] I may have guessed right, as you'll see, below.
What's relevant about a City of Toronto container?
I had recently figured out, indirectly, that I hadn't made it onto a community taskforce committee, which I had applied to in March. As some of you may know, I've been pretty outspoken about this particular municipal initiative. Since there have been other well-timed incidents in my building that coincided with my activities and efforts in this community group, I figured the sudden appearance of this recycling bin was relevant.
I've also never seen a City of Toronto recycling bin for organic matter in, or near, the building before. This box is clearly not meant for apartments, and it is not the property of this building.
This recycle bin was only there for that one day. The fact that it was placed exactly where I glance, whenever I pass by that floor, seemed odd to me. (Note: I usually look at that apartment door, because that's where my neighbour - who has driven several tenants out with their extreme noise - lives.)
Anyway, as I exited the building, a truck arrived, which proceeded to block me in. I was literally trapped in this alleyway, with people on three sides of me: the guy from the trucking company, my landlord (who had come out to watch the garbage being hauled away), and two people (presumably tenants) standing at the far end of the alley.
I had noticed the latter two, when I first stepped outside. They appeared to be sharing a hilarious joke. As I wondered at their mirth, I suddenly realized this hauling truck was barricading my only way out. Startled, I looked around and saw the back gate was locked. When I glanced, a second time, these two people had crossed the alley, and tried to hide themselves behind a protruding wall, perhaps to avoid my tiny camera's gaze (?).
This *alleyway ambush* is just one of many adventures I had that week. Heaps of other stuff happened, too, like: a) my getting the heave-ho by my doctor; b) being unable to access my weblog for two days, while desperately seeking alternate means; c) my 'dead' phone line, and so on.
The following week was equally colourful: there was the unexpected visit by two Jehovah's Witnesses, the strange actions of two new Field to Table drivers; other phone and internet stuff, and so on.
Disempowered Blog
I was literally stuck inside my weblog - I couldn't even log-out. [6]
Friendly 'Witnesses'
(recording to come)
Media with a Message
Watching the man, who was loading trash onto the truck, I asked him, 'Do you work for the City?' His odd responses merely reinforced my suspicions. When I pulled out my camera, for example, he immediately said, in a droll tone: 'You know, it's illegal to take pictures of people without their permission, eh, sweetheart.'
Kindly recall that my run-in with the medical receptionist took place just two days before.
Also, is this how the average truckloader would respond to such questions? He assumed an immediate threat and started pointing out legal issues. Plus, his taunting voice was more like: Who's watching who, baby.
When I asked, if this truck had been dispatched by the City, he was evasive. Finally, he said, 'It's a company.' Yet, he refused to tell me the name. Instead, he directed me to 'the other guy,' that is, the truck's driver. When I asked this second man what company the truck belongs to, he gruffly replied, 'It's a private company,' with a clear emphasis on the word 'private.'
(Private? Privacy? Personal rights? ...Oh yeah, I remember those things.)
Eventually, the truck backed out to leave, and I emerged from the alleyway, taking two pictures of the departing vehicle. The driver of the truck gave me the finger. The first man, who had been loading the garbage, left in a blue van. Although he was following the main truck, he quickly spun off in a different direction - squealing tires and all - after shouting at me: 'What - you like taking pictures of people who give you the finger?! You fuckin' nutcase!' Funny you should put it that way.
Both men became hostile very quickly, simply because I had asked some basic questions, while snapping a few shots.
-------------------
[1] Needless to say, my doctor doesn't believe in my conspiracy theories, or my claims of surveillance; however, we parted on good terms.
[2] This receptionist has made several knowing comments to me on various occasions - one time involved a change of phone numbers (details to come). Also, whenever I'm supposed to meet up with a certain friend, strange things always happen (eg, my phone line going dead, while talking to this friend, after we weren't able to meet). Last summer, this friend and I went to FoodShare's second annual open buffet at City Hall, and three people - all of whom I believe are moles - suddenly walked right into my view that strange day. The receptionist, above, was one, the previous Field to Table driver was another (yes, he has reasons to be there, but it's the way these people stepped into my line of vision that seemed deliberately choreographed), and there was a third person.
[3] Occasionally, I've had to remind my doctor that strange anomalies have happened while I've been a patient at this medical office. Many incidents seem to involve this particular receptionist (eg, missing medical reports, wrong appointment times, haphazard scheduling, odd comments). Note: I 've never been rude or unpleasant to the staff.
[4] My rent cheque bounced for reasons beyond my control. There were several oddities around this whole incident. Such *personal setbacks*, which I enounter regularly, often involve co-ordination between major institutions. That's why no one is likely to believe my surveillance theories.
[5] Another reason why people don't believe I'm being harassed by the government - besides the fact that I'm incoherent, inconsistent, emotionally unstable, antagonistic, etc - is that so many scenarios I describe require constant surveillance, major financial resources, and institutional power and influence. Believe me, if I wasn't the one experiencing all this sadistic oppression, I'd think I was a crazy fool, too!
[6] I've learned enough about internet access, these past few years, to know that various 'glitches' with my weblog cannot be random anomalies. For example, I was able to access Blogger.com's site and log-in to my blog, but I couldn't navigate within it, nor could I log back out: I was literally trapped inside my own weblog. This happened for two full days, yet nothing unusual was reported on Blogger.com's homepage. I have various evidence of internet shenanigans.
Note: Please read the 'Comments' section, below, and click on the author's link. This post subtly supports my wild notion that both Canadian and U.S. intelligence agencies are involved in my harassment. This person's name is relevant to the situation in my building. Coincidence? Perhaps. But I doubt a random commenter from California, who happens to be a politically active, ultra-right wing Christian, could possibly have known this - without having had an inside tip.
posted by outside the box... at
2:18 AM
1 Comments:
you know what I think is strange? You insist that you are being watched and harrassed, yet you include pictures of your apartment and neighborhood that anyone can use to figure out where in Toronto you live.
Strange move for someone who pretends to be insane to make.
L.C.
By
Anonymous, at 12:46 PM
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