Cursing on an elevator

I am sure the subway elevators have security cameras, but I hope they do not record sounds because if they do, someone may have heard words I don't normally use.

In my defense, total idiots were involved.

I got to the elevator in time to see it heading up, with, I assume, people who could walk. But it came back fast enough and I got on.

Then a woman who appeared to have difficulty walking. Then two people who did not appear in need of an elevator. Then to our full elevator car, a fifth chuckle-head squeezed in.

When we got to the upper level, they shot off, leaving me to get out of the far back of the elevator, where I had been jammed. I did not get to the doors before they shut and the elevator headed down again.

That triggered the blue streak.

I am jealous of my religion teacher

When I was a senior in high school, my religion teacher told us he never set an alarm when traveling because his guardian angel always woke him up at the right time.

I always thought this was stupid because it discounted your internal body clock, the thing that wakes me up before my alarm most mornings.

Lately, though, I have thought it rather nice, albeit naive.

I wish I could believe God takes such an active role in earthly life. God seems less involved than I was with my aquarium fish.

I fed them, medicated them a little, kept their environment friendly.

Here on earth people die of hunger. I have Friedreich's ataxia, which is still getting worse. I got on the floor today to brush Claren. I was right next to my bed, a super pole and my chair, and I still had to call for help. And it snows in October.

Every damn day something happens that should not happen if a loving God is with us. And I know God exists. I suspect God does care about us. It is awful hard then to buy that God is with us.

That is why I think it would be nice to ignore biology and believe my guardian angel wakes me up.

It's not that cold, but ...

It is getting cold out. Know how I know?

My feet were numb this morning at work and then they started jerk at will. I finally had to take some Advil just to relax them.

They aren't numb now. They are just really cold.

It is Oct. 27. I am so screwed.

Where are they at?

When Velma drops her glasses, she acts like she can't see at all, scrabbles around on the ground and is eventually handed them by the spooky Flying Dutchman, who is really Old Man Conroy in disguise.

I drop my glasses, too, but unlike the star of Scooby Doo, I am neither blind nor able to feel around on the ground to hunt for them.

And my big fear is not being gotten by a ghost but running my glasses over with my wheelchair.

That is why I called my sister (and new housemate) into the bathroom this morning. I dropped my glasses on the shower floor and they blended right in.

She found them, though, no problem. And she wasn't too scary.

Lice!

OK, has everyone's head stopped itching? No, I'll wait.

I came back from a nice lunch and visit to the comic book store to finds the DTs (the new house) in full crisis mode. The nephew who had laid on my bed this morning had lice. (OK, I'll wait again till you all stop wigging out.)

A traveling lice technician/therapist/person came over and checked the other members of the household, except my brother-in-law who does not have enough to support a louse, and we all were clear but my nephew had a trying day.

I did, too. My comic book store forgot to pull my issues of Green Arrow for me, and even worse they subscribed me to Justice League International, not Justice League of America. Argh!

Also, I am on my backup Mac because I dropped my nice one and it started making sad noises.

How do I survive? Well, for starters I may go sit on my new toilet, which has a seat warmer and bidet.

What a kid!

My nephew reminds me why I love living in my new home. And he makes a wheelchair look comfortable!

Elevator revelation

Finally, I have it figured out: The walking people who use elevators aren't lazy, they're F---ING IDIOTS.

I came to this conclusion today when I got off my train and went to board the waiting elevator. Two walking people slipped on before me. A third was already on, but I give him a pass because he had some luggage.

I said, I need to get on there, thinking they'd make room for me. Nope. Just a little shuffling.

Even louder, I said, I'm supposed to be on it not you! One person moved a little to hold the door open button but did not move herself off the elevator. The guy near the door motioned that there was room or something. I guess he assumed that a) my wheelchair would automatically shrink to fit, and that b) I could leave Claren to take the next elevator.

Eventually, I just waved them away in frustration and got the next one. I learned then why those delicate souls were unable to move: A puddle of liquid kept them frozen to their spots lest the soles of their shoes touch the water.

When you get on an elevator in the metro, it says "Please give priority to seniors and persons using wheelchairs," so even if you ignore the many signs, you really can't miss that the elevators are for those like me.

Like I said: F---ING IDIOTS!

Why grow up?

Fairly often, I preface a thought with: When I grow up.

For instance yesterday while using the bathroom in Mom and Dad's, I though, "When I grow up, I am going to have a huge bathroom."

I have a better bathroom now in the new house. It is bigger, and will be better once I get used to it and get another grab bar and get the bidet hooked up.

The latter two should happen this week, the former when my stupid body figures things out.

But ... I am 40. I have probably lived half my life, maybe more. I am older than half the people in my office. Why don't I feel grown up at all?

(And it isn't the toys on my bed's headboard. Or the toys in the boxes that haven't come out yet. Those are just symptoms of my feeling like a kid.)

I think it is because lots of people do lots of things for me.

Mom helped me unpack some books and set up the aforementioned toys on the headboard. Dad makes me breakfast and lunch and drives me to work. My little sister lifted all the heavy boxes for me. This morning, she came and got my glasses, which I knocked on to the floor. Heck, my niece and nephew are at my beck and call if I need anything. So is my brother-in-law, though, if I ask for help I have to accept the mocking that comes with it.

All I really need to do in life is take care of Claren and myself. Everything else is taken care of.

Who needs to grow up then?

How not to win friends and influence people

My boss asked me to write a short news release on this fellow employee who won an award, so I emailed the guy and asked him for a quote. He didn't get back to me, so I called him this morning and while I could not hear much, I did hear his busyness and offer to try to get me something.

I decided I better tell my boss I had the release ready except for the quote and I wasn't sure if he wanted to wait or get someone else to call the guy and get the quote.

Instead, our deputy came over and called the guy and got the quote and then wrote up notes from her interview and emailed them to me. And I finished the release.

And then he emailed the quote.

Not hearing is so rotten.

Turn down that racket

Another bad thing about not hearing well: My 6-year-old nephew just wandered into my room and told me he could hear my TV out in the other room. I turned it down, apologized, and then he left.

Downsizing

I threw away my autograph of the Baltimore Orioles' mascot today.

Granted, it was just a scrap of paper with "The Bird" written on it, but I have had it for 31 years. I got it at my first Orioles' game.

It didn't take up any room really, but it was the idea of thinning out my stuff. I tossed a bunch of videotapes with stuff from TV, including the first Mad About You. I also am giving away my movie videotapes and a VCR. I an even planning to get rid of some toys and my Doc Savage books.

I just don't have room anymore. And even with the shrinking that took place today, I still have too much stuff. But how can I get rid of my original iMac or my baseball cards?

But I am kind of attached to my stuff. Next week, I may scribble "The Bird" on some paper just to have it back.

Out of service

I got out early on Friday, but I didn't get home till the normal time.

I got to my subway station, but no one was waiting for the elevators. Huh? Where were all my fellow elevator riders.

Then I saw the signs: The elevators were both broken.

It was a nice day so I started rolling.

And rolling. It turns out I missed one stop because I was on the wrong street. I finally saw the station I was headed to.

I got to that elevator: Out of order.

I gave up then, called Dad for a ride. But by then, it was rush hour so it took him a while to get there and a while to get home.

I still don't know how my other elevator users got home. I hope they had better luck than I. Oh wait, they probably just walked 20 yards to the stairs.

No days without an accident

I must be getting comfortable in the new house: Last night I sat on the couch to watch Glee and Reservoir Dogs and this morning I did something stupid and fell.

Our floors are wood -- ash if you are wondering. Every morning I put on my shoes tightly so I don't slide getting out of bed.

But this morning, I didn't tighten the laces and one of my shoes fell off while I was still in bed. No problem, I thought, I'll just grab it again.

Then the part of me that is trying to get me killed spoke up.

You can easily get out of bed, dude, it said. It used "dude" to put me at easy and make me think it was cool.

It then reminded me that the transfers in the bathroom on the no-slip tile are going smoothly. What could happen on the wood floors?

Turns out that ash is really, freaking slippery. I eventually got off the floor by putting my other shoe back on.

To make matters worse, this was the first morning my sister did not get up to oversee my feeding of Claren.

In other news:

• We did move into the new house, hence my silence. Tired, no Internet, then Glee and Reservoir Dogs are my excuses. The house is a work in progress but awesome.
• You know what really pisses me off, besides bloggers with life-threatening conditions who stop writing with no word of warnings? Gentlemen who urinate standing up in the wheelchair stall but do not feel the need to either raise the seat or clean their pee off the seat. Special place in hell, guys.
• Speaking of special places in hell, I got to my subway stop and got to the elevator as seven walkers packed in. One woman, bless her heart, got off for me. The other jackasses just squeezed a bit to make a tiny bit of room for me. Assholes!
• And finally, a woman came running out of a restaurant as Claren and I walked to the subway and was like, Can I take a picture of your dog?