It's not hard to be humble

I am certain that someone using a wheelchair is an arrogant jerk.

But for me using a chair provides experiences either painful or embarrassing or both, that serve to keep my self-esteem from going wild.

Maybe I fall when doing a simple transfer I have done hundreds of times. Perhaps it is having a co-worker pick me up off the floor of the bathroom.

Or maybe like this morning my f-ing bladder chooses not to behave. I thought I had just leaked a little, so I asked my sister to come in and change my wheelchair cushion. Only when she said: Is this water, did I notice my little leak was all over the damn floor.

Frag-i-LE

Several years ago my older sister gave me the lamp from A Christmas Story, a copy anyway. We all know the mom broke the real one. I was thinking how alike the lamp and I are.

When he saw the mailing box, the dad pronounced fragile as "frag-i-LE."

That's how I am feeling.

Anything can send me into gloom.

I dreamed a dream of Catwoman

I think I have feelings for Anne Hathaway.

I was going to say I am sort of obligated, her being Catwoman. But then I read a New York Times article suggesting that Ms. Hathaway is not very popular and is in fact hated. Yikes!

My feelings remain. Sure, it was just a fanboy crush after The Dark Knight Rises. It deepened, though, after watching her in Les Miserables. I love just about anybody who sings "I dreamed a dream."

That song almost always makes me cry.

I can never get past the line: "I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living."

Granted, my life is not hell, or not like Fantine's is. I don't have sell my hair, then myself to pay a slovenly couple to care for my daughter.  My hell is having to have my brother-in-law pick me up off the bathroom floor the past two days. I wasn't hurt, just slipped getting in the shower chair, but I was nekkid.

It's not hell, but I would never have believed it if you had told me at 5, 10, 15, even 20 that at age 42 I would be living with my sister, unmarried, unable to stand. I don't really recall dreaming about my future, but I wouldn't have thought any of these even remotely possible (although I am glad to say my sister and I now get along).

I don't want to see any dreams shattered, so maybe I will just dream about Catwoman.

Who is that masked man

Here is how I buy new glasses.

Me: Show me the most durable frames you have.
Salesperson: These.
Me: I'll take those, pointing to the ones that look similar to my current ones.

Or maybe I should say here is how I used to buy frames. Not this time.

I was all set to do the usual, but the strong ones that looked like mine did not have rims on the bottom. I trust the manager at Target Optical who assured me of their durability but couldn't do it.

That left two other durable frames, both of which would be way different. One was a style I think of when I think beatnik, black plastic rims. The other pair was curved and I realty liked it. The manager said, I don't normally like those frames, but they looks really good on you.

It wasn't until my brother-in-law, who was the only one at home or work to remark on the change, called me Spider-Man that I realized why I like them: They totally remind me of a superhero mask.

Our Father

Last night I prayed the "Our Father."

I don't say it often. I am not really a fan of God's work. I find God full of loopholes. We praise God for the good things in life, but are told that God bears no responsibility for the bad things. (I do not accept this, however, and let God know it.) God makes us "in his image," but again is not at fault when the DNA God made or the brain matter goes wrong and leaves us struggling to sit. (Again, I hold God responsible.)

This is all to say that when I pray, I usually go to Mary or a saint. Let them deal with God.

Last night, though, I went to the source. I was so mad, and I wanted to make sure God knew it.

I fell, transferring from my chaise to my chair before bed. I was hurt not at all, but it was late and everyone else had gone to bed.

So I tried to get up, several times. I succeeded in scratching my back really painfully. And I had to call my sister for help anyway.

She got me up and I went to bed. While waiting for the Advil to kick in,  I prayed the "Our Father."