It's gotta be the bat-cycle

I put away the Batman belt when I got my new chair because the chair already had a chest strap, but recently I have been using it again when I ride my trike -- as a utility belt.

It holds me in the seat, which is a plus, but it also gives me a place to hand my water bottle, or should I call it my Bat-refresher, and a pouch with my phone, or should I call it my Bat-communicator.

Now if only I had a cool weapon or maybe some Carousel Reversal Spray.

Reason no. 5,423,302 why I hate being disabled

Actually, this is a repeat complaint, so maybe it is only no. 5,423,301.

I hate that you can never do something stupid.  I mean, you can, but 99.999 percent of the time it bites you in the butt.

Take yesterday, for instance.

I got up and decided I needed to sit on the toilet. I knew I should not do this without something on my feet, so I decided to reach down and grab my slippers.

I knew my seat belt wasn't on, but wasn't too worried -- I had lined myself up so my shoulder would rest on a door-jamb so I couldn't fall.

And I was right. I didn't fall. I bent over, leaning on the door-jamb, my feet slipped, I fell forward and I wound up stuck -- bent over, unable to fall because of the door-jamb but unable to sit up or reach the phone.

I got Claren to speak a few times, but our houseguest mustn't know that's the "Oh shit" signal. Finally, I managed to fall and called MD (our houseguest) who came right down and helped me.

I'm not a Rock

Years ago one of my sisters was struggling through graduate school, feeling very alone and sad. In true little-brother fashion, my solution involved a box of Ho-Hos with the lyrics to Simon and Garfunkel's "I am a Rock" written on it.

I don't remember but suspect Mom did not send my present. Who can deny, though, that life is much easier as a rock. "A rock feels no pain. An island never cries."

Being a rock may be easier, but except for this guy, no person can be a rock.

It is easy when I am able to revel in my own misery -- to believe that my problems are the worst in the world and that nobody knows the troubles I've seen.

But the something happens ... My brother falls, my sister's puppy gets really sick, a friend loses a job. And I am reminded that feeling pain is OK when it is someone you love is hurting.

Yesterday, a friend shared some painful stuff she is going through. Today, I learned another friend just died. Both made me sad. Neither deserves what they are getting/got.

But I am glad to be their friend.

I'll leave being a rock to pro wrestlers.

It's not porn; it's "The Sessions"

People looking in my window this afternoon probably wondered why I was watching porn during the day. And in their defense, there were naked people. Well, just one actually, but Helen Hunt often was not wearing clothes or was in the process of disrobing. But in my defense, it was a well-regarded movie called The Sessions.

It is the truish story of a writer who is in an iron lung who really wants to have sex. He asks his friend, the priest, who says that he thinks God will give him a pass on the sex-outside-of-marriage thing. So the writer engages sex therapist Helen Hunt. If I ever get a sex therapist, I would like her to look like Helen Hunt. This is her second movie of ministering to a disabled person, too, so maybe I should just ask Ms. Hunt on a date.

It was pretty enjoyable, even without the nude Helen Hunt.

The writer talks to the priest throughout, and the priest presents a good character, which is rarely seen, admitting he doesn't know things and seeming real.

The writer also has an encounter with a woman who says she love him but platonically. Disability, I suspect, desexualizes the person with the disability. That's been my experience. That's fine; I guess. Beggars can't be choosers. I'll just laugh with my friends.

These dreams go on when I close my eyes

I wish I could remember my dream from last night fully because it was a rollicking adventure.

It was set in Boston in a dystopian future when the government had a shadowy group that spies on its people malevolently.

The shadowy group killed my family or the family of the main character. I can rarely tell if it is me in my dreams or if I am watching a movie.

The hero was a wise-cracking good egg -- a Bruce Willis/Spenser kind of guy -- who was trying to stay off the grid to avoid being killed himself.

At one point, he impersonates a priest as he is hiding in a church library or something. A woman befriends the priest -- platonically -- and the hero eventually drives her off for her own safety.

At that point, there was something about dogs and hockey.

Then I, or the hero, was looking for somewhere to hide out. I am going to say it was me now because there were touches from my life.

My brother-in-law from Boston was helping me find a place to lay low, but as we were getting ready to  go find a hideout, the bad guys showed up.  We eluded them, but they were always just one step behind us.

At one point, there was a boat involved, and another time I escaped the bad guys by trapping them in a video game. But then I went to a hotel in a bad part of town. No, not bad, but like the old part of town. To get there you had to go through a long tunnel guarded by soldiers.  I was able to lose the bad guys on the way in by mixing with the crowd.

I got to the hotel and was recognized because I went there regularly, which makes me wonder how smart I am at staying off the grid. I kind of gave up then, or at least decided to stop running.

Then I ran into some co-workers. There was a scene in a room with a laundry chute. I was wounded, too, in the leg, not sure how but it was bloody.

Finally, as I was headed the other way in the tunnel, the view pulled back to snipers taking aim at me.

No wonder I was tired in the morning.