In a classic Calvin and Hobbes strip (I know, they're all classic), Calvin breaks a dish and his mom says "Your problem is you've got no common sense."
Calvin tells her he has plenty of common sense; he just chooses to ignore it.
Perhaps I ignore my common sense, too. What better way to explain why, when I was falling into my dresser this morning, I consciously stuck my face out front.
Really, like a horse stretching for the checkered flag. Only instead of being crowned with a blanket of roses, I smacked smacked the dresser.
Nothing like cleaning your sinsuses with a quick bash to the nose, cheek and upper lip. And surprisingly little blood. But it still feels wierd, maybe 5 broke my nose again.
Work was blah. Another wheelchair passenger on my ride in this morning wanted to use my company's bathroom. I told him it was not wheelchair accessible because the first-floor ones aren't.
I am not sure, but it looked like he took matters into his own hands out in front of my office. I didn't look. That way I can honestly say I saw nothing, thank you Sgt. Schultz.
I was riding down the elevator later in the day. Claren was in front of me; my back was right at the elevator doors. Next to Claren was a woman, who elbowed past me to get off. I had started off the elevator and had to stop for her. Next time, maybe I won't stop. Or I'll tell her, "Wheelchairs get the right of way, hootchie."
And all day, I was beset by loneliness. I feel a little gullty because I was in a horseback riding show over the weekend and had lots of folks cheering me on. But back at work, I was reminded that none of the people I consider my closest friends at work wished me luck when I told them about the show. Heck, none even responded to the e-mail about the ride.
I have worried for years that I like people more than they like me, that they get bored or creeped out by me. My family doesn't count. I told my mom that this worry remains because only once in a great while does someone do something to challenge it.
More often, it is reinforced by something that happens. Even something that means nothing but takes on great significance when I am sitting here alone again.
Calvin's mom seems to think breakage results from ignoring common sense. Someone else said: "Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to."
I will keep chatting with people, hoping they aren't bored or worse. Whether this is faith or asking for more breakage, I just don't know.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
It's always opposite day here
I had a delicious dessert tonight. I was at my folks, and I had cake, fresh raspberries, sherbet and whip cream. It was good even though my brother-in-law had to pick it up off my lap and put it back in the bowl.
It was not my fault; I just tried to cut a piece of the cake to eat, but it had been in the refrigerator so it didn't cut. It just slid in the bowl and pushed everything out.
Moments like these, which happen far too often, make me want to cry.
Instead, I laugh.
I don't want to make everyone else feel bad, so I laugh at myself, letting them know it is OK to laugh, too. Plus, if I cried at every slip, I would dry out in like two days.
It was not my fault; I just tried to cut a piece of the cake to eat, but it had been in the refrigerator so it didn't cut. It just slid in the bowl and pushed everything out.
Moments like these, which happen far too often, make me want to cry.
Instead, I laugh.
I don't want to make everyone else feel bad, so I laugh at myself, letting them know it is OK to laugh, too. Plus, if I cried at every slip, I would dry out in like two days.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Public pee-er (not me!)
As you can imagine, I am quite sympathetic to bladder issues, but I am not sure what to do about this.
My driver pees in parking lots.
He does not just whip it out and whiz right on the asphalt. He stands in the driver's side doorway and pulls the open door around him. Then he goes in a cup.
It is pretty subtle. The only reason I realized what he was doing is that he then tosses the contents of the cup out onto the parking lot.
He is a very nice man, a good driver, and I don't want to get him fired. Plus, how do you tell a grown man that one can't urinate in public?
The first time it happened I told my boss I was conflicted. On the one hand I was grossed out, but I was glad he had not stopped at a gas station and make me late.
But today he did it (well ... actually, yeah, he "did it") on my parking lot where I might wheel. Oh man.
My driver pees in parking lots.
He does not just whip it out and whiz right on the asphalt. He stands in the driver's side doorway and pulls the open door around him. Then he goes in a cup.
It is pretty subtle. The only reason I realized what he was doing is that he then tosses the contents of the cup out onto the parking lot.
He is a very nice man, a good driver, and I don't want to get him fired. Plus, how do you tell a grown man that one can't urinate in public?
The first time it happened I told my boss I was conflicted. On the one hand I was grossed out, but I was glad he had not stopped at a gas station and make me late.
But today he did it (well ... actually, yeah, he "did it") on my parking lot where I might wheel. Oh man.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
A cavalcade of inaccessibility and a moron trio
My brother-in-law, brother and I went to the movies last night. So did Claren, my service dog.
We got the tickets but when we handed them to the ticket taker, she said the elevator's I out. She was not too helpful, but the manager came out, apologizing and offering to take us on the service elevator.
Soon we were wandering in the bowels of the mall to get to the service elevator. The manager was very nice but not that skilled at opening service elevators. My brother-in-law did that, and we got in and rode to one floor and got out. Turned out to be the wrong floor so we rode to another one, but the manager couldn't find the way into the theater.
Finally, we rode back up and waited while she got the assistant manager who knew where to go. It was on this ride that I noticed the big sign in the elevator: THIS IS NOT A PASSENGER ELEVATOR. Only freight handlers and the elevator operator allowed on this elevator. I guess I am freight.
We went back to one of the earlier floors and the manager went into the theater and opened the necessary "exit-only" doors that got us in. I asked her how we'd get back up, and she asked my walking brother-in-law to come up and get her. She also said she'd give us passes and stuff. My brother-in-law noticed that the "exit-only" doors said "to 4th parking level," and asked the manager if they did do that because we parked on 4. She assured us they did.
The actual theater was dark when we got in, always fun to maneuver a chair in the dark, and some folks were sitting in the wheelchair companion seats. One did move, though, so we got situated and watched Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. Definitely better than Spider-Man 3, and there is something about a woman pirate. Or maybe the something is about Kiera Knightly, whether she is a pirate or not.
Of course, this is not the end of the story.
We decided to forgo the free passes and just go straight out the "exit-only" doors to the garage. We did. It took us right to the … third floor.
We rode a working elevator up to the fourth floor and my brother-in-law held the door for me and my brother. My brother made it out, but before I could get out these three people walked straight out the door, too. Two others stopped for me, so I went out, and thankfully my brother-in-law said something to them, like "You just cut off the wheelchair I was holding the door for."
I say thankfully because I don't think they heard my sighing, eye-rolling or grinding of teeth. The girl in the trio did look embarrassed, although she also looked at her companions like she was annoyed at them for getting her into this. Of course, she was in the lead, so I don't know; her companions just looked clueless.
And then we went home. But you can be darn sure that if I had a woman pirate with me, there would have been blood shed.
We got the tickets but when we handed them to the ticket taker, she said the elevator's I out. She was not too helpful, but the manager came out, apologizing and offering to take us on the service elevator.
Soon we were wandering in the bowels of the mall to get to the service elevator. The manager was very nice but not that skilled at opening service elevators. My brother-in-law did that, and we got in and rode to one floor and got out. Turned out to be the wrong floor so we rode to another one, but the manager couldn't find the way into the theater.
Finally, we rode back up and waited while she got the assistant manager who knew where to go. It was on this ride that I noticed the big sign in the elevator: THIS IS NOT A PASSENGER ELEVATOR. Only freight handlers and the elevator operator allowed on this elevator. I guess I am freight.
We went back to one of the earlier floors and the manager went into the theater and opened the necessary "exit-only" doors that got us in. I asked her how we'd get back up, and she asked my walking brother-in-law to come up and get her. She also said she'd give us passes and stuff. My brother-in-law noticed that the "exit-only" doors said "to 4th parking level," and asked the manager if they did do that because we parked on 4. She assured us they did.
The actual theater was dark when we got in, always fun to maneuver a chair in the dark, and some folks were sitting in the wheelchair companion seats. One did move, though, so we got situated and watched Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. Definitely better than Spider-Man 3, and there is something about a woman pirate. Or maybe the something is about Kiera Knightly, whether she is a pirate or not.
Of course, this is not the end of the story.
We decided to forgo the free passes and just go straight out the "exit-only" doors to the garage. We did. It took us right to the … third floor.
We rode a working elevator up to the fourth floor and my brother-in-law held the door for me and my brother. My brother made it out, but before I could get out these three people walked straight out the door, too. Two others stopped for me, so I went out, and thankfully my brother-in-law said something to them, like "You just cut off the wheelchair I was holding the door for."
I say thankfully because I don't think they heard my sighing, eye-rolling or grinding of teeth. The girl in the trio did look embarrassed, although she also looked at her companions like she was annoyed at them for getting her into this. Of course, she was in the lead, so I don't know; her companions just looked clueless.
And then we went home. But you can be darn sure that if I had a woman pirate with me, there would have been blood shed.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Give me some sugar, doctor
My dad got some really great medical news today. The treatment really seems to be working well against his prostate cancer. I am always a little conflicted when I hear good medical news. Of course, I am thrilled that dad is doing well. But when, I wonder, will be my good medical news?
Probably about 15 years ago, I saw a neurologist who told me that FA was the hot disease and that there would be a cure in five years. Oops.
My mom remembers this, too. She also remembers doctors telling her parents the same thing in the 1950s when her sister had leukemia. My aunt died, and they still can't cure leukemia even though it apparently was the "hot disease."
This is what passes for good medical news for me: I had my physical this week, and my doctor told me I was in pretty good shape all things considering. Saying someone with a big-ass systemic failure is in good shape, though, seems like when my sister told my parents she liked everything about the hot dog she was eating except the taste. Not minor things, FA and taste.
My doctor also said I might want to try a new antidepressant, because it might give me a little more energy.
I had never heard of Cymbalta so I looked it up. I found a site called crazymeds.org that is just folks collecting experiences about mental health drugs. They had a mixed review of Cymbalta, but then I read about my current drug of choice: Effexor.
They call Effexor one of "two last resorts among the modern meds to cure the deepest, blackest depression ..." I didn't know I was that bad.
They follow that up with this: "Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride) is a medication people utterly loathe to have taken. It is not uncommon for someone to fire doctors during or immediately after they quit taking Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride)." Neat.
They could at least give me a placebo.
Probably about 15 years ago, I saw a neurologist who told me that FA was the hot disease and that there would be a cure in five years. Oops.
My mom remembers this, too. She also remembers doctors telling her parents the same thing in the 1950s when her sister had leukemia. My aunt died, and they still can't cure leukemia even though it apparently was the "hot disease."
This is what passes for good medical news for me: I had my physical this week, and my doctor told me I was in pretty good shape all things considering. Saying someone with a big-ass systemic failure is in good shape, though, seems like when my sister told my parents she liked everything about the hot dog she was eating except the taste. Not minor things, FA and taste.
My doctor also said I might want to try a new antidepressant, because it might give me a little more energy.
I had never heard of Cymbalta so I looked it up. I found a site called crazymeds.org that is just folks collecting experiences about mental health drugs. They had a mixed review of Cymbalta, but then I read about my current drug of choice: Effexor.
They call Effexor one of "two last resorts among the modern meds to cure the deepest, blackest depression ..." I didn't know I was that bad.
They follow that up with this: "Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride) is a medication people utterly loathe to have taken. It is not uncommon for someone to fire doctors during or immediately after they quit taking Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride)." Neat.
They could at least give me a placebo.
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