Doomed to repeat myself

I have to put cream on my hands and face to keep them at a dry consistency. If I forget they become like rice paper.

The other night I turned off my light, took off my glasses, then put Aquaphor on the backs of both hands. I put the dispenser back on the shelf and knocked off my glasses, which fell down the crack between the bed and the wall.

There I was hunting for my glasses with the cream precariously clinging on my hands. I could not wipe it in because then I'd be unable to turn on or off lights or anything else.

This predicament seems unique. Unfortunately, what follows is something I wrote years ago (when I was still walking a little):

So I go to bed a few nights ago. I have to use too many creams on various parts of my body, and the last one is hand cream. So I spurt some cream into my left hand, take off my glasses and turn off my light. I am getting ready to rub in the lotion, but I hear water dripping. I try to ignore it, but finally I decide I better see if I left my faucet on. So I turn on my light, put on my glasses and close my hand into a fist so the lotion doesn’t get everywhere. I don’t rub it in because then I could not turn off my light again or do many things with slick hands.

I somehow manage to get to the sink, and hold my hand under the faucet, but I can’t feel anything so I decide to turn the lights on to check for sure, as my hands can be a little insensitive at times. As I go to flip on the bathroom switch, I accidentally turn off all the lights, so there I am in the pitch black, balancing with a fistful of lotion. I quickly flip the switches back on and see the faucet is not leaking.

The trip back to bed, with the fistful of lotion, is mostly uneventful. I get back into bed, pull up my flannel sheets, take off my glasses and go to turn of the light. In the struggle with the light, it hits my glasses and I hear the awful sound of a lens bouncing. So I am lying there in the dark, with my fistful of lotion, and I feel around for my glasses. I put my fingerprints on one intact lens piece; then my finger goes through the other side of the glasses.

On comes the light again and I put on my now half-glasses. I find the lens and my glasses screwdriver and with my fistful of lotion, try to get the lens back into the glasses and tighten the screw. Somehow, I succeed.

Finally, I lay back down, turn off the lights and rub in the fistful of lotion. I was too tired that night to think “How much more?”

What I am pissed about, other than the annoying frequency of so's, is that I never say what water was dripping.

5 yards down ...

In keeping with last week's "do the hard stuff first," I actually did a little swimming right from the get-go.

Mom can even vouch for me. The teacher watched me swim about five yards, told me to take a break, went and got Mom, and had me do it again.

Then I did some walking and some swimming with the floatation belt.

The main problem was that it hardly gave me a chance to warm up. Not that it was even cold today, it was beautiful, but I still get cold in the water.

Also, when Mom got out to watch I started laughing and almost sank.

Full stop

Because I am sure that I am not really starting to see the good in people, I have decided that my blog is just reaching a wider audience than I realized. Everywhere, people who have to come through Falls Church are saying to themselves: "Don't piss off the guy in the wheelchair; be nice to him or he might skewer you on his blog!"

How else to explain what happened today on a rainy day walk?

I was crossing the street and this SUV stopped to let me across, but about eight feet from the curb, my thumb hit a button on my chair that turns it off.

This is a totally stupid button-placement issue. It has no business being where it is, especially because I have asked the wheelchair salesman where to put your hand to avoid that button and he just more or less put his hand in the same position as mine and said you just don't touch it.

Anyway, the driver just drove on, no honking or nothing. Now that I think of it, I could be bitter he didn't offer help. After all, a wheelchair just dies in the middle of the road! What did he think was happening? Ass!

Ohh, that felt good. I'll give him a pass, though, because of what happened next.

When I got to the sidewalk, Claren immediately pooped in the grass. I was bent over in the rain picking it up, tying the bad and putting Claren on my caribiner so I could keep both hands under my poncho.

Not one but two people stopped, rolled down their passenger windows and offered to help. I said no and let me them go on, but I think I could like it here now that I am properly training the citizenry.

The local cops cherry tops ripped this holy night

It actually wasn't too holy unless you count being the eve of Mom's birthday or the eve of the WWI Armistice, but I went to bed right as some kind of ruckus started outside my window.

There were several police cars and their lights were shining right into the window. I tried to watch what was happening, but it is hard to sit up in a bed, especially one that is just a twin. Plus, a tree blocked my view.

I did see the officers looking into the car with flashlights, and I worked myself up into thinking they were searching for someone who had probably jumped out right before the cops arrived and who was probably making his way to our house even now, opening the door I didn't lock. Either that, or the bad guy would see my light, decide I had seen too much and come get me.

I actually got up and went to the family room, allegedly to get a comic to read since the lights were too oppressive. Mostly, though, it gave me a chance to check that the door was locked (it was).

Then the police left. Mom, who had a better vantage point upstairs, said everyone drove off in separate directions. Weird.

Do I like people now?

A friend of Mom and Dad's, and the family's really, had a massive stroke last week and died. It was out of the blue.

I went to the funeral parlor today for her husband, I guess. He and his wife belong to a group with Mom and Dad. I wanted to tell him that his wife always checked on me when they were meeting at Mom and Dad's house.

I did tell him, although I am not sure he really heard me. He heard Dad who repeated it, though.

Not a funeral home fan. Too crowded, too loud. Too many too's. But it was good.

I saw other family friends, although one friend gave me a hug, and her handbag got stuck on the wheelchair joystick so I whammed into her shins. She called me dangerous, but I was like ... ummm, your fault, babe. Good thing it was too loud for anyone to hear my thoughts.

One woman, a daughter-in-law of the woman who died, surprised me. She said something, and I told her I don't hear well. But instead of just abandoning me she kept talking and I kept shaking y head that I didn't hear. Finally she came around and sat down and talked right into my face so I could hear her.

Another woman offered to go in front of me to move people out of the way if need be. She said she had the body for it. She was old enough to be my mother but I wouldn't cross her, but no, at that point I just wanted to leave. And on the way out, an old man cleared the way.

Another post about nice people, what is wrong with me? Snap out of it!

And let me just get this out of the way: When I die, no dark clothes allowed. I want to hear Lionel Richie singing.