The streak goes on ... damnit

I am starting to question the wisdom of not falling down in the bathroom at work.

I transferred back to my chair OK the other day, but pulling up my jeans sent me slipping off the front of the chair.

I should have just slid down and called for help. Instead, just like earlier this month, I reused to give in, exhausted myself, and didn't need help.

The enemy of writing

I was off this week. Writing was supposed to ensue.

Instead, a cold happened.

I suppose I could have written, but everything would have read: "Oh, my throat hurts; I can't stop coughing; I may die."

Surprisingly, I didn't succumb. But now vacation is over. I head back to work Monday with very little to show for my time off.

I live a mostly responsibility-free life, so I did very little. I took Fame for a long walk each morning and then slept and watched TV.

Bad to worse

Saturday was bad.

I went for a walk on the bike trail. It was kind of cold, so I wore my glove (I only wear one glove, like Michael Jackson, pre-weirdo days).

But the glove extends my finger, so it fiddles unintentionally with the speed knob on my chair. This means that I'll be driving along and all of a sudden be at a speed higher than I can  control. This is how I ended up in a ditch, mostly off the trail.

I couldn't get back on the trail. I needed a push. Five bikers passed me by, two moved to the far side of the trail, making clear they saw me, and just kept going.

Finally, I asked a walker for help and he pushed me free.

Then, at a bike trail crosswalk, I was in the middle of the street when a driver decided to ignore his yield sign and  speed through the crosswalk before I got to him.

These events were just the beginning.

No one was here at night but me. That should have been fine, but I slipped getting off the toilet. I tried numerous times to get up, but my feet kept sliding and my legs were on opposite sides of the super pole, so slipping back down was not comfy.

Finally, I decided to slide out into my room and watch TV on the floor till someone came home. I got out into my room but couldn't sit up.

After many tries, I called my sister to see when they'd be home. Not for a while. She started calling neighbors and her friends. I have one friend in the FC, but she is out of town. None of my sister's friends were home either.  She called Mom and Dad who told her they were leaving, which meant once they heard I was on the floor, they were leaving, so I waited for them.

While waiting, I did sit up.

Yeah, MetroAccess

I have criticized MetroAccess in the past, and the worst thing (OK, maybe not. I have been rereading about my rides) has been that every three years since I first signed up in 2005 is that I have had to go in and prove I am still disabled.

So I was ecstatic when we called this year and they said I didn't have to come in. Today, my new ID came in the mail.

Yes, it is silly that someone with a disease that is only going to worsen over tine has to reapply every three years, especially because the application features pages a doctor must fill out, but baby steps.

The non-dumbass way to take off a sweatshirt

"I can't believe you told me," my sister crowed. I'm kind of regretting it.

Last night, I asked for help taking off my sweatshirt. I don't know why you try to take it off in that "dumbass way," she said. I pull it over my head, and this time, got stuck.

She suggested I take my arms out first, and she encouraged me to ask my super-awesome physical therapist, who I was seeing today, how to take off a sweatshirt. "Suggested" and "encouraged" are not exactly words one should use to refer to what my sister does. Maybe if there are curse words around them.

My PT sympathized with my plight of having my sister be right (for the record, she often is and she does have to deal with me), but my PT agreed that arms first is the way to go. Her explanation: One's arms move in a lot more directions than one's head.

My PT did say one thing that made me feel better: Older sisters are always right. Take that, little sister.