Mr. Matt goes to seventh grade

I went to my niece's class yesterday to talk about FA! It went OK, I guess.

It's exhausting and somewhat depressing to talk about FA. I am sitting there telling the kids that it's not like breaking your arm because you fell out of tree. With a genetic disease the only reason is  you are. That is the hardest thing for me, I told them, and it weighed on me yesterday.

But whatever, it was worth it, even if the teacher was nearer in age to my almost-13-year-old niece than me. She also asked if I wanted to be called Mr. Matt, which my niece wished I had agreed on. I said Matt was fine.

My niece seemed pleased, although no one apparently told her how lucky she is to have such an awesome uncle.

Smooth sailing

I came into work today and did a double take. They fixed the curb cut!

The curb cut  I use is  at the confluence of four levels of pavement: the curb cut and gutter, the road, the crosswalk and the crosswalk border.

This has meant that for a year or more, I look like the milkman riding into work.

I occasionally would try to get up on the gutter and stay on it. But I could never do it.

It's pretty annoying but low on the problems I need fixing.

Now, though: Smooth sailing.

Why indeed?

Why are you talking like that, the first-grader asked me.

I was playing with  Fame in the backyard and she was playing on our swings. Granted, I was talking kind of silly to keep Fame entertained, but I am fairly certain she meant the slurring and general fuzziness of my speech.

I decided to play dumb. I was in my own backyard; I can talk however I damn well please, girlie  

How am I talking, I replied. Giving lip to someone more than 35 years younger --  nice, huh?

But she didn't  hear and didn't ask again. Alternately, the slightly older neighbor might have hushed her up.

It is a good question, though, one I plan to ask certain higher beings when I die.

P.S.: You might think I dislike this precocious pre-pre-teen. Normally, you'd be right, but not here.  I am not getting nicer. It's just that the day before this girl was marching through the yard with a light saber, singing/humming "The Imperial March."

I don't care

I went back to work last Monday. I was sick or on telework then for February, March and six days in   April. Except for maybe 10 of those days, I wore sweatpants, sleeping pants or shorts.

I know Jerry and my older brother would disagree, but I am not telling the world that I give up.

I am telling it that I have more important things to worry about.

'I have returned'

On Monday, I finally stopped my goldbricking and after two months started back in the office full time.

Before I did, I told my bosses about the embarrassing incident when someone was in the bathroom stall when I needed even though they weren't in a chair. I never thought I'd use "urine-soaked" in a work email but I did.

One of my bosses responded that they have put up signs. I said OK but was skeptical that would help ... until I got in to  work,

Friedreich's ataxia!

Today, for the first time ever, a family member used Friedreich's ataxia with an exclamation point, and not an exclamation point as in "goddamn Friedreich's ataxia!"

My niece emailed her mother to say they were doing projects on genetic conditions in science class and the teacher "said I can do Friedreich's ataxia!"

The teacher then looked it up and emailed my sister, too, saying she was a little worried my niece might be upset by the shortened life expectancy.

She was but rallied past it.

I am glad. She is crazy smart for a 12-year-old, and I am hoping she can explain a few things to me.

Bill and Ted were right

I have good reasons for not writing for a while: Fame, a lingering concussion, broken computers (yes, with an “s”), but I think I am back and have a few stories to tell. 

After my “Poop in the street” post, Mom told me she disagreed with me and said I sounded whiny in the post. My sister said I always sound whiny in my blog.

I was not being whiny. Is it whine to want everyone to, in the words of Ted “Theodore” Logan and Bill S. Preston Esq. (actually President Lincoln),  “be excellent to each other”? I think not.

i mean I'd help someone like me even if I was in my chair.

A few days later when I was out for a walk on the bike trail. I took Fame off  to the edge to let her hurry, and before I could bend over to pick her poop up, a woman came up and said, I’ll get that.

I felt so good.