I got an athletic scholarship today; how's them apples, Coach Hayes?
Actually, Coach Hayes would be quite happy I got financing from the Challenged Athletes Foundation. He liked me, just thought I was hopelessly out-of-shape; no one knew about Friedreich's ataxia.
Instead, suck on it, everyone who ever laughed at me because I was small and uncoordinated and skinny and nerdy. I am an equestrian athlete!
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Maybe I'm a shaker, definitely not a mover
We are packing me up. Soon, I will move back home so I can get my condo cleaned up and on the market. I want to sell it as fast as possible, so I have more money to contribute to the new home my sister and brother-in-law are building.
I packed the first several boxes all excited because I was moving forward, but yesterday, when we were packing up my Mego superheroes, my X-Men, some of my Star Wars stuff, I realized we're not going to be unpacking them for a while.
I did not say good-bye to everyone, so there is a very real possibility that Green Arrow or Batman or slave Leia might not remember me or be mad at me. But more than that, I am casting myself willingly into a kind of limbo for the next year or two.
Of course, this limbo has two devoted parents, including one who will care for Claren in the morning so I can sleep a little later. And it has three home-cooked meals a day and laundry done, and my sister and her family next door.
It won't be that bad, and it totally makes sense. So why am I so scared?
I packed the first several boxes all excited because I was moving forward, but yesterday, when we were packing up my Mego superheroes, my X-Men, some of my Star Wars stuff, I realized we're not going to be unpacking them for a while.
I did not say good-bye to everyone, so there is a very real possibility that Green Arrow or Batman or slave Leia might not remember me or be mad at me. But more than that, I am casting myself willingly into a kind of limbo for the next year or two.
Of course, this limbo has two devoted parents, including one who will care for Claren in the morning so I can sleep a little later. And it has three home-cooked meals a day and laundry done, and my sister and her family next door.
It won't be that bad, and it totally makes sense. So why am I so scared?
What an eyeful
I think I owe the Internet an apology.
I did a Google search this morning of eyeful, expecting to be inundated with sites of nekkid ladies. The first result seemed promising but turned out to be a news story about a mom breast-feeding in public.
I had to go to page seven of the search results to find a definite hit for nakedness. I assume the link "Yvette Gives An Eyeful" was to a questionable site. I didn't look. Really.
On the first six pages were results about celebrities, science images and photos in general. That is basically what Merriam-Webster would expect to find: It says that eyeful means a "a full or completely satisfying view." In my defense, "a strikingly beautiful woman" is definition number two. But apparently the Web is not just about babes. Who knew?
Unfortunately, when I say "I got an eyeful this morning," I don't mean I opened the door to Natalie Portman.
No, I mean Metamucil gushed into my eye.
I was having my morning toddy (definition No. 2, Metamucil is better warm, but no liquor), and during the drink I coughed. This threw me off-balance, and my arm jumped. The drink spilled and somehow went under my glasses and in my right eye. I don't think my eye, which has been savaged by allergies already, needed the fiber. It still stings.
I really wish Natalie had been at my door instead.
I did a Google search this morning of eyeful, expecting to be inundated with sites of nekkid ladies. The first result seemed promising but turned out to be a news story about a mom breast-feeding in public.
I had to go to page seven of the search results to find a definite hit for nakedness. I assume the link "Yvette Gives An Eyeful" was to a questionable site. I didn't look. Really.
On the first six pages were results about celebrities, science images and photos in general. That is basically what Merriam-Webster would expect to find: It says that eyeful means a "a full or completely satisfying view." In my defense, "a strikingly beautiful woman" is definition number two. But apparently the Web is not just about babes. Who knew?
Unfortunately, when I say "I got an eyeful this morning," I don't mean I opened the door to Natalie Portman.
No, I mean Metamucil gushed into my eye.
I was having my morning toddy (definition No. 2, Metamucil is better warm, but no liquor), and during the drink I coughed. This threw me off-balance, and my arm jumped. The drink spilled and somehow went under my glasses and in my right eye. I don't think my eye, which has been savaged by allergies already, needed the fiber. It still stings.
I really wish Natalie had been at my door instead.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
My brother hogs the spotlight
I am working on two posts. One is about superheroes; the other involves Ouija boards, drinking games and chicks. But you won't read them tonight.
You also won't read about a longstanding problem with the church or about how my nephew responded to a heartfelt email from me with a similarly engaging note that was signed "sincerely, his full first and last name."
Or about these stories, which left me scared to ride and which made me think Big Brother might show up at my condo to make me work.
When I got in the van to come home today, Mom said: Somebody is always competing for attention. Your brother fell and hit his head and is going to the hospital in an ambulance. She knew little else, but he wasn't unconscious or anything.
My brother has Friedreich's ataxia, too.
The ride home was pretty quiet. Dad focused on the road; Mom was probably praying. I was talking to God, too, but I was using words Mom is not a fan of.
My first thought after Mom told me was: What the hell did he do?
This is not so much an indictment of my brother as of FA and probably every disability. My little sister met my brother at the hospital until Mom and his wife got there. She said he stood up to put on his coat and immediately thought: I probably shouldn't do this; I might fall.
No matter how long I am in a wheelchair, I will do stupid things. I just forget how limited I am. This evening I came back from a quick walk in the rain and was struggling to get my poncho off. I was bent forward and the poncho got stuck on my head and then it hit my wheelchair joystick, which I had neglected to turn off. All of a sudden, the back of my head smacked the door. It didn't hurt, but I could not figure out what happened at first. For a second, I thought Claren leaped into my lap.
My point is not to give Mom and everyone near heart attacks, but to say that one of the crap parts of disability is you can remember doing something one way easily. No one tells you when it becomes a dangerous way to do it. You learn by smacking your head.
And hopefully you survive to learn a new way to do that something.
You also won't read about a longstanding problem with the church or about how my nephew responded to a heartfelt email from me with a similarly engaging note that was signed "sincerely, his full first and last name."
Or about these stories, which left me scared to ride and which made me think Big Brother might show up at my condo to make me work.
When I got in the van to come home today, Mom said: Somebody is always competing for attention. Your brother fell and hit his head and is going to the hospital in an ambulance. She knew little else, but he wasn't unconscious or anything.
My brother has Friedreich's ataxia, too.
The ride home was pretty quiet. Dad focused on the road; Mom was probably praying. I was talking to God, too, but I was using words Mom is not a fan of.
My first thought after Mom told me was: What the hell did he do?
This is not so much an indictment of my brother as of FA and probably every disability. My little sister met my brother at the hospital until Mom and his wife got there. She said he stood up to put on his coat and immediately thought: I probably shouldn't do this; I might fall.
No matter how long I am in a wheelchair, I will do stupid things. I just forget how limited I am. This evening I came back from a quick walk in the rain and was struggling to get my poncho off. I was bent forward and the poncho got stuck on my head and then it hit my wheelchair joystick, which I had neglected to turn off. All of a sudden, the back of my head smacked the door. It didn't hurt, but I could not figure out what happened at first. For a second, I thought Claren leaped into my lap.
My point is not to give Mom and everyone near heart attacks, but to say that one of the crap parts of disability is you can remember doing something one way easily. No one tells you when it becomes a dangerous way to do it. You learn by smacking your head.
And hopefully you survive to learn a new way to do that something.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
We survived
Claren was back at work today, moving a little slowly but she is on the mend.
The wheelchair guy came by, too, and put on a nice swing-away arm on the controller so I can sit at desks and tables. Not sure why he didn't give me that one to start.
The only problem now is I need to get up at 5:30 and take Claren out myself, instead of Dad doing it.
The wheelchair guy came by, too, and put on a nice swing-away arm on the controller so I can sit at desks and tables. Not sure why he didn't give me that one to start.
The only problem now is I need to get up at 5:30 and take Claren out myself, instead of Dad doing it.
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