My stupid left foot

I have two pairs of socks that, when combined with Uggs and foot-warmers, keep my feet downright toasty. This is awesome. At least that is what I thought until today.

My left foot started jumping shortly after I put on the shoes and socks.

I tried stretching, which often works. Nothing.

I tried Advil, which  usually works. Nothing.

I tried standing, which always works. Until today. Nothing.

I was teleworking, so I messaged my boss and told her I was taking sick leave for the afternoon.

Then I called Dad and he changed my shoes and socks.

Problem solved.

Apparently I am not allowed to be warm.

Sleep, who needs it?

My Tuesday actually began Monday night, when my nose decided it was mid-April and it had allergies. About quarter of 1, I called my sister to ask her to get my nasal spray in hopes that it would help me breath again.

She did, but it didn't really. Finally, about 1:30, I fell asleep till I had to get up about 6.

I had to call my sister then, too, for more help, which she again kindly provided.

I would have teleworked, but I had scheduled lunch with a friend.

So I got to work, and she canceled.

At lunch I took Fame out in the cold and accidentally ran into some grass with one wheel. I didn't get stuck, but the wheel did get all muddy.

No problem, I thought. It had rained the day before, so I would find a puddle to clean the wheel off. One tiny puddle is all I found.

Then another meeting got canceled.

I should have stayed in bed.

Mea culpa

I have sinned.

When I had a rear-entry van, we would park in any handicapped parking spot.

Now, though, with a side-entry van, I have learned that not all accessible spots are created equal.

If you need to lower a ramp to the side to get out, you will learn that very few handicapped spots are can accessible.

Sorry.

Thanks

Here is a fun Thanksgiving riddle for you: How long does it take someone in a wheelchair, stuck in the grass next to a sidewalk of a main thoroughfare, to flag down help?

I don't actually know because I didn't look at my watch when I got stuck today, but I got home 25 minutes later than expected.

I have run off the sidewalk  or path recently more than I used to. I would like to blame the chair, but it could well be the latest awesome feature of Friedreich's ataxia. I am so lucky!

When this happened, I just sat there, confident someone would stop. Then I started delicately waving, just flicking my wrist. Then I started flailing my arm that wasn't holding Fame's leash. I was right at a stoplight, so  I am confident people saw me.

After a while, this SUV in the far lane seemed to see me, and they must have come back to help me because I did not see them turn but then there they were.

A young couple got out and asked what they could do. The woman asked how long I was stuck there. Too long, I said.

Happy Thanksgiving, she said. It is now,  I told her. Go get warm, the guy said. It was really cold.

So I went home and got warm. My sister cleaned my wheels as I tried without success to think about her and the couple that stopped, not the  #@#$s who drove by.

Dangerous

A friend at work asked me how I was today.

I laughed and said that is a dangerous question to ask me.

She asked why and then before I could answer, she moved on to another subject.

The answer, of course, is if you are a relative or one of a handful l of friends I trust a lot, I just might tell you.

The Office

I like to go into the office. I get to see friends and interact with people in person, rather than by email or google chat.

Don't get the idea that it is easy, though.

It is a struggle, many parts of it.

Friends make it worthwhile, but how do I know when it is just too hard?

I suspect I'll just know.

Independence -- bah

My headshrinker asked me if I want to be independent.

If that means do I  want to go places on my own, when I want, without concern about whether the destination is accessible, has a bathroom I can use, etc., then yes, I want to be independent.

But short of a cure, a wheelchair-accessible self-driving car, a chair that handles stairs but also narrows to get into small bathrooms, or Miss Marvel as my girlfriend, it seems unlikely.

Sadly, those too seem unlikely.

So I told her I want to win the lottery and hire a butler.

That is also quite unlikely.

I think it would surprise some people to learn I don't want to be independent because they see me trying to do things on my own.

It's only because I feel like I impose whenever I ask for help. Everyone has stuff to do, so I may struggle at something and take forever to do it, not because of my need to do things myself but because I don't want to one a bother.

I may survive

I haven't posted in 10 days. That is bad.

It means, as you know, that I am struggling and I just want to go to sleep or watch TV or read comics rather than face my world.

Doing any of those three awesome things, though, tends to make things worse.

So here I am.

My side still hurts. I am going to my doctor tomorrow. It doesn't feel like a bruise.

It is cold and dark and gloomy.

The news makes me sad. But it also makes me feel guilty for leaving my newspaper friends.

People I know are unfairly challenged.

There's more, but I'm taking a nap.

Saintly middle manager needed

God needs some solid middle managers to bring his plans into reality.

And God does have a plan.

People say of tragedies great and small that God has a plan and we just can't understand it.

Not so. Let me lay out the three-part divine plan (the trilogy of the trilogy so to speak):

1. Let's make a lot of people (by evolution) and give them free will, 
2. Let's hope they rejoice on earth, and
3. Let's hope that all the people do good and go to Heaven.

After #1, the plan's outlook looks hazy.

Great idea, but unless the divine trains run on time, the plan has no chance of being fulfilled.

Illness, for instance, muck up #2 and can prevent #3. And I won't even touch on people whose lives are touched by real evil.

God clearly is an ideas person. This is where the middle managers come in. Not priests, I am thinking a choir of angels or the communion of saints. They could perform a miracle here, a healing there to get things going.

I was planning on nominating the patron saint of managers to lead the effort. But I can't find one. A patron saint of playing card manufacturers, no problem. (The three wisemen). Managers, nope.

The idea that illness and evil are repugnant to me as if for God the ends justify the means.

So I am sure God is just starry-eyed dreamer in need of a manager.