'Dead in the water'

Before the wheelchair guy came, I told Mom I wanted him to test the charger.

He came, fixed the footplate and on-off switch. He then replaced alleged bad part on the motor. It seemed OK. He even had me get in, so he could adjust the motor.

Then we asked him to plug it in. It looked promising to start, then the charger showed an error. It was all over. It never came back on.

He fiddled with, removed the cover from the back, where the motor is, and said, "You're dead in the water."

Power had apparently been arcing around, burning things out.

It needs significant work, enough that the repair guy is recommending the company give me a loaner till it gets fixed. No word if or when I'll get the loaner.

Sorry

One of the problems with my depression is that I hurt some of my biggest fans (Yes, they will be annoyed at being referred to as fans).

It is not intentional, and I often don't even snap at them. They are just made sad by my sadness.

This weekend was bad.

My wheelchair has not charged and the power gauge has not moved since Wednesday. The parts are on order, but getting an ETA has been worse than pulling teeth.

I am in the last week of amiodarone, but I am not sure how much more of the constipation side effect I can take. I get constipated, take laxative, which works too well, and wind up with an upset stomach and more constipation.

It rained a lot.

I am falling more.

So it was and is bad.

Happy, but not sad

Not to brag, but I had an awesome theory, at least for a few days.

The world, I decided, is not black and white, so why does your emotional state need to be? Sure, I am unhappy a fair bit of the time, but that does not at all mean I am sad. That happens less frequently.

And, I further decided, maybe I just need to accept my unhappiness.

I hardly got the theory out of my mouth before my counselor threw water on it. She actually wants me to work to be happy.

For the lazy, like me, work is fundamentally bad, so becoming happy might mean making me sad.

'Dealing with a lot of shit'

In one of the funnier scenes in Bull Durham, Crash goes out to the mound to settle his pitcher down.

pretty soon, most of the players on the field come in to talk about something. The pitching coach  comes out to see what's going on.

Crash explains the issues, adding, "We're dealing with a lot of shit."

I am weaning of Amiodarone. Do I think my heart is going to explode or go off the rails? Not this week, but it is an issue (maybe not the exploding part).

My wheelchair is not charging properly or at least not seeming to.

My right hearing aid is irritating my ear.

I could go on forever just about.

But am I writing about those issues? No (well, yes, I did but just in passing).

Instead, here is what happened when we arrived at work.

We were following a landscaper. It went into the area wit the disabled parking spots. The spots were all blocked off with tape and cones, apparently just for the landscaper, because a worker moved enough cones for the truck to pull in parallel to the curb, across a bunch of spots.

We just stopped in another spot to let me off. No big deal.

But what the flying fuck? 

The landlord set this up, I was told, so apparently the owners of the building where I work believe that disabled spots aren't for disabled people but for the landlord to do with as they choose.

I was so annoyed I wrote out building manager and told him "This is a really poor use of parking spots people need."

Don't I sound pissed>

I take that drug!

I was watching a spy show -- Chuck, all right. Yes, it is silly, but it makes me laugh.

Anyhow, Chuck and his brother-in-law doctor were with another guy who bad guys were hunting. The bad guys were closing in, so the guy took a pill, gave Chuck a note, then shot himself in the chest.

The bad guys appeared, saw the guy was dead and left.

Chuck looked at the note, which said, the pill was amiodarone; there's a med kit in the desk; please save me.

The doctor says, amiodarone can stop your heart. He then injects him with adrenaline, and the guy is OK. Except for the gunshot.

Now, I am not going to get chased by baddies, but it is good to know I have a pill to fool them. Best thing about my heart drug.