Terrorized

Here's another question How long does it take the original bike from hell to move so far into the entrance way that I rub the front tire on the back of my hand as I wheel past?

I left at 7 a.m., and the bike was in my entry way but I could get by easily. When I got home at 4:30 p.m., my left hand hit the bike and my right wheel hit the wall.

I left a note again telling him he is blocking my entry way and added "I can't get in when you park your bike like this."

That was a small exaggeration, but I regret it because now he knows I stretch the truth.

I don't know what I would have done if I had not got my '80s CD with "8675309" on it. Things might have gotten ugly.

Damn kids

Ever wonder how long it takes a kid to ignore, dismiss or forget a face-to-face appeal from a neighbor in a wheelchair? Less than three hours.

All summer, this kid, maybe 10 years old, has been parking his bike in the breezeway of my condo. You aren't supposed to do that; it is against the condo bylaws. But he is a kid, and I think he lives on the third floor so I cut him some slack.

It wasn't too hard to give him a break because he had a small bike that I could move if it was in my way. Not that it wasn't still annoying, but I could deal.

Last week he got a new bike, a big one, one that doesn't fit under the stairs and out of my path. And one I can't move.

I actually had to compose myself before I called Mom and Dad last night and asked them to bring a note out to my place the next day. The bike was parked almost across my doorway. I got past with about a foot on each side, but I almost lost it. That goddamn bike was another in a seemingly endless number of last straws.

When Dad and I got home tonight, I had the note and he went first. He wound up moving the bike so I could get in. I am sure I could have made it -- Dad always thinks my chair is bigger than it is -- but I decided to wait for the bike to be in a bad place before using the note.

I then went to get the mail and saw the kid and bike. I told him I was worried I would hit the bike and asked him to park it against the wall and out of the entry. He said sure.

That was about 5. When I came back out about 7:30, what did I see but the bike tire peeking around the wall in the entry way.

Would that I were pitching woo

I wish I could say that I haven't written much recently because Drew Barrymore and I have been too busy making whoopie. I mean going to the malt shop, Mom.

But the truth is I have been feeling so wrecked lately. I have been working five-day weeks but different shifts. It kills me. I can't sleep the same time or eat at the same time or anything.

Now, though, I am working my regular shift for the rest of the week and am off all next week. If I can just get back on schedule.

Help me, Drew Barrymore, you're my only hope

I have been thinking about my girlfriend, or lack thereof. I think that is why my chest feels so heavy ... although it could also be the temperature is about 100 and the humidity is like 99%.

If I did not get a girl in high school or college, when things were simpler, and I could walk, what chance do I have? So I am counting on Ms. Barrymore, the queen of romantic comedies. (Buffy would be atop my wishlist but I can't see her doing a romantic comedy.)

I need someone like you, Drew, to fall in love with me -- wheelchair, insecurity and all. And you will need to make about the first 50 moves in order to have a relationship.

Maybe you could work in the bank I wheel by each day on the way to lunch, and you see me again and again, and you can't get me out of your mind.

I can see it now: We meet when you drop a wad of bills, and nice guy that I am, I pick it for you. And soon we are laughing over lunch, you are sitting in my lap as I wheel easily down hills.

It could be a screwball romantic comedy. We would each need wacky sidekicks. Yours could be the skanky-looking bank teller who actually has a PhD in veterinary science and quotes Plato. Mine could be a co-worker who talks to rocks.

It'll be a blast, Drew, and it will make millions.


He put my shoe back on
I wore my sneakers to work today because I need to change to shorts after work and it is easier if I can keep my socks on and just slide my sneakers back on. Otherwise I have to take off my socks to wear shorts.

Anyway, a shoe fell off as my driver was buckling me in. He just kindly put it back on. And I was on time!

Let it bleed ... or not

I fell this morning. Unfortunately, I didn't get hurt.

That actually was what I thought when I was getting up from the fall.

It was really more of a slip than a fall. I was holding on to grab bars on either side of my toilet and stood up. But my feet started to slide. They slid all the way until they hit the wall behind the toilet. I never let go of the grab bars so I was OK.

When I was standing up, I felt liquid on my feet. "Please let it be blood," I thought; "please let it be blood." But it wasn't; my toilet was leaking.

Now I now what you are thinking. Something along the lines of "what kind of idiot wishes injury on himself instead of a little plumbing mishap?"

Yes, looking back that was a little silly, but come on. I repair cheap and easy. Fixing a leaky toilet costs money.

Well, usually.

I called my folks to ask my mom to call a plumber for me. When my dad heard the problem, he came out and tightened the toilet. Who knew you could do that?


So no more leak, and I didn't have to bleed.