On Tues. the 16th I added this link to my Timeline page: MOM AND RONNIE OVED'S HOT POTATO.
On Wed. the 17th I found €300 in cash missing from my apartment. This represents 83,33 percent of my monthly income. I had counted the bills just the day before, there were six €50 bills, and found to my satisfaction that I had been a good girl so far this month, not spending too much money, only €100 in two weeks. I withdraw €400 in fifties every month so I don't have to go to the cash machine. Fifties are easier to count than twenties, so I wait in line at the post office -because that's where I have my account- just to get fifties, because you can't get them from the ATM. A single cash withdrawal per month makes it easier to go through my bank statement and I don't have to deal with all these little withdrawal slips.
Today, Thurs. the 18th I went to the internet space. At the corner with Av. d'Italie there were two cops, one male, one female, standing in the middle of this one-lane, one-way street. Methink TWO COPS guarding this intersection was overkill. The night before I had entertained myself by reading the 2004 edition of the French Penal Code and I had a few question so I went to the cops and asked them what was the difference between "criminal detention" and "criminal reclusion" and also if haschisch smokers were penalized like traffickers, because I hadn't seen any distinction in the Code. The cop didn't know the difference between detention and reclusion, (at this moment the female joined the discussion)and I asked what were the actual penalties for possession. I'm trying to figure out what French law means by "stupéfiant" and if haschisch is considered a "stup'". The cops said that the penalty for possession depended on several factors, that it could be a suspended sentence or six months in jail (oh, by the way, what's the diff between "jail" and "prison"?) Then the male cop said that he didn't know much, he was only in charge of law enforcement, not prosecution, and advised me not get get into Penal Law because it is a complicated subject. I said that I found it interesting and was going to use the internet to do some research. He looked disappointed.
The internet place is L shaped, with the short side to the right when you come in, with maybe ten computers. The main room has maybe thirty computers which are used mostly by male adolescents playing shoot'em-up computer games, and as a result, the adults who prefer a more sedate atmosphere to consult their e-mail accounts (apparently very few of them surf the web) use the computers on the short side of the L. But today, I couldn't log in after several tries on different computers. The young employee told me that there was something wrong with the switch and that I should go to the main room. I did, took a computer at the far end of the room to have more quiet, and there the computer took forever to load. I called the assistant, he did some system-file modifs that didn't work. The assistant went to a computer about a third into the row and started it. It was the spot I had tried to avoid: among the noisy adolescents. He asked for my account name and he added one hour to it.
All was relatively quiet for an hour and then, all of a sudden, they started making a ruckus, speaking loudly, laughing etc. while I was downloading the news. I decided to leave and put my coat back on. At this moment, an adult woman who had been using the computer in the far corner, away from the noise, left and I briefly considered going to that computer but I already had my coat, scarf, gloves and hat on so I left after all. On the way out I told the Asian assistant that I was leaving because of the noise, that I needed quiet when surfing the web, and asked when he would have the switch fixed. He said next Saturday. He added that I could stay, that he would do the special time-consuming system-file fiddling for me, that it was the only way to make the computer connect with the network at this time but I said I was ready to leave and said good-bye. I decided to go to the other web-space where I have bought time but to have a bite to eat first, so I went to the Arab bakery on Ave d'Italie that sells good quiche.
An Arab woman was talking to the counter-woman when I walked in: "Yes, she was in intensive care for two weeks, with a tube down her throat for one week," she said with not an atom of concern or sadness in her voice. "In intensive care! For two weeks! With a tube down her throat!" the counter-woman replied. "Yes." the first woman replied. "And you know what? She was in intensive care for two weeks with a tube down her..." "I'd like a slice of quiche, heated please," I interrupted. Then the first woman spoke loudly in Arabic while the counter-woman went off-stage to nuke my quiche. The counter-man who had stood silent and motionless so far brought my quiche. I paid it with a €10 bill. He looked at it with a frown and went outside and I was alone in the store, walking to and fro while eating. The man returned. "How come you don't have the change for €10 at this time of the day?" I asked him. He mumbled something about a change of shift at 6PM. Yeah, right.
Here's the €300 Christmas question: from what happened after I posted the link, would you rather say that the allegations of the affidavit I linked to are true or false?
I'm becoming more and more aware that my family has been using techniques that heretofore were specific to defense and intelligence organizations: mind control, trauma-based programming, psy ops, infiltration, phone taps, electronic eavesdropping, grey propaganda, black ops, staged accidents, etc. so I'm wondering to whom did the thirty-some espionage paperbacks I found on a shelf in an un-used bedroom on the lower floor, back in the Sixties. This bedroom was next to my elder sister Agnès so I had assumed they belonged to her, because she never made a mystery of her fascination for "polars" (detective stories) and crime novels (she even tried to write her own, and her Graal was the Perfect Crime), but now that my father is dead, my mother's involvement cannot be ignored so I think that, with the dissimulation that is so characteristic of her modus operandi, while in the living-room she had all these books about Teilhard de Chardin, and these piles of La Vie Catholique, Le Pélerin, La Croix and Prier for the gallery, in the unused room on the lower level, she had these espionage books that she disowned. Who knows, maybe both she and Agnès read them, commented on them, and elaborated schemes together from what they learned in these books, and they carried out these schemes on the domestic front to stay on the safe side, with me as the target of their mommyops. It must have been fun to watch how I reacted, and what delight when I told you, mom and Agnès, about what had happened to me, never for a second suspecting that you were at the source of my misadventures! Ah, mom! Ah Agnès! These were the good old days when your victim was trusting and naive.
I also remember I had some hair-raising narrow escapes between eight and eighteen and when I told mom about an incident with a certain degree of pride, instead of supporting me she frowned her trademark vertical lines above her nose and hissed in a furious tone "You're protected!" She was pissed I had escaped a bad situation unharmed! It happened a good many times over ten years.
And what about this Ministry of Agriculture job mom says she had before she married my father? Once I read in the New York Times about a man who worked for an intelligence agency. He said it was the norm in the intel world, when asked what he was doing for a living, for an operative to answer that he worked for the Ministry of Agriculture. Does that mean that mom worked for an intel outfit before she married dad? Does that mean that her life as a catholic middle-class mother of seven was only what the CIA calls a "legend", and that her real life was in Intelligence? It would explain the unmistakable enjoyment on her face when she briefly mentioned "la police secrète", and validate the handwriting analysis by Dr. Teltscher where he found "many areas of secrecy" and other unsavory traits of character that are a boon to the spook, in particular the ability to betray and to deceive.
Sun. the 21st at 6:30AM or thereabout there was a white van parked across the avenue right in front of the window at the head of my bed, with its motor idling in the Silent Night. It stayed there until traffic drowned out the noise, then I didn't hear it anymore.
What a nice Christmas present I got from mom! Instead of stealing 83,33 percent of my monthly income she stole only 41 percent, because she deposited €150 on my account, half of what was stolen at the beginning of the month. So thoughtful.
On Christmas Eve I didn't do anything special. I read the news on my computer like on any other day, same thing on Christmas day. No bird for lunch or dinner. Imagine a single person with a turkey. Anyway I don't eat meat anymore, it doesn't appeal to me as I disapprove of the way animals are raised, and if you have to do research into the biography of the critters to make sure they had a happy life before they ended on your plate, it starts to become ludicrous. Red Label this, ACRONYM that, and was the corn the chicken ate synthetic fertilizer and OGM free? Puhleeze. I solved the problem once and for all by cutting out all animal food, except a can of sardines once in a while, and cheese.
On New Year's Eve I bought a large box of quality chocolates and a bottle of real French Champagne which I ate and sipped while (what else?) sitting at my computer. At ten minutes to midnight I ...