Thursday, January 1, 2015

Thursday, September 27, 2007 - Revisited


Thursday, September 27, 2007 - Revisited

 There's an elephant in my living room.

 I live in a senior/disabled home facility. The old people are dropping like flies around here. I was taking care of a guy down the hall, whom I thought was about 70 years old or older. Turns out he was only 55. I'd make sure he was breathing every morning, fix him some toast, or help him into the bathroom. Picked him up off the floor more than once. He died. He's the 3rd within the last month or so.

There's another guy, who's 52 years old, but looks 65-70. Death by alcoholism happens more often around here than old age does. I've been taking him to the store almost everyday this month. I shall call him DrunkGuy.  He had been calling a local taxi service, and paying $7.00 a day. I needed money this month so I told him I'd take him, and charge only $5.00.  My conscious is fighting with me.   He buys beer every day.  Our landlady had told him after his last "episode" where we had to call the ambulance for him, that he couldn't bring beer into the building anymore.

 Now .. I KNOW she can't dictate that because alcohol is legal.  And our lease says nothing about no alcohol. He probably knows the same thing.  For months now, he bought only 3 beers a day.  I knew the reason why he went every day was because that's how he limits himself.  If he bought 6 beers (enough for 2 days), he'd drink them all in one day.   I know he gets the DT's if he doesn't drink.  I know that going thru DT's without medical intervention can kill him - I don't remember the numbers, but it was around 40 percent, I think.  I know he'd walk to the store if he couldn't get a ride.   And I also know he'd fall down on the side of the road if he did, because he's so weak.   He lies and says he needs to get milk, bread, butter, a newspaper, etc.   He gets those things, and then it all spoils.   The newspaper is used to "hide" the beer cans in the see-thru grocery sacks.  This morning, I was out the back door of the building, taking the dogs out to pee in the garden area.   When I got back to my apartment, I could tell DrunkGuy had been there cause it stunk to high heaven in my doorway.

He's pickled.  He might as well be stuffed in a jar of ether, along with a rotten egg - to account for the smell.

The seniors gripe at me for taking him to the store each day, cause they know the landlady told him no more alcohol.  A part of me delights in knowing she has no right to enforce it.  Another part of me needs the money - just call me an opportunist enabler?   Before this month, he'd run out of money halfway thru the month, paying the taxi service and would need a ride from me for the last 2 weeks of each month.  Since he was out of money, he'd not be able to help with gas.   He doesn't remember anything from day to day, so I hated to set up any IOU's - he just doesn't remember things, and I have an aversion to taking advantage of that.  Hell, I could tell him he needs to pay me 200.00 for last week, and he'd fork it over.   I put a little calendar in the car and mark off each day I drive him, and when he pays me, so he knows he's not getting screwed.

I guess it comes from being married to my alcoholic.  We made good money.   He much more than I did, but I averaged $3,000.00 a month with my daycare business. Before I went to treatment, I'd spend money just to get even with him for all the wrongs I perceived in our relationship. Perceive, schmerceive! I knew some things for sure. He didn't come home 5 nites out of 7. He said horrible, horrible things to me when drunk. He'd hide cocaine in the house and I had up to 20 kids a day in my daycare. He lied. He took vacations in other countries without telling me. I didn't care if we ended up in the poorhouse - it would serve him right, was my thinking.  If he forgot that he'd already given me money for the house payment, and gave me some more, I wouldn't remind him that he'd already given me enough. He'd be in the shower, and I'd tell him I needed 20 bucks, and he'd tell me to get it out of his wallet, and I would. Then that nite he'd say "Hey, I forgot to give you that 20 bucks, here it is", and I wouldn't say a word. That kind of thing. I thought of it as my "fee" for putting up with a drunk.

But then I went to Codependency treatment and got all healthy, dammit.  Talk about how to ruin a good thing... we ended up divorced cause I got "healthy" enough to not put up with it. 

But I can't figure out whether I'm enabling DrunkGuy or not. At first I thought I wasn't because I'm charging him for the rides, rather than just doing it. He has to pay for it. He has to be responsible that way. He's either paying me or the taxi service. Right?

And yea, the beer is killing him. But so would a walk to the store in the dark, should he not be able to get a ride.

When taking career testing, both times alcohol rehab counselor came up as the number one job for me. I understand the dynamics of addiction, and I'm not judgmental about it. I believe my boundaries now to be solid, and don't get sucked in, nor do I take the outrageous behavior personally. My husband once told me he'd never have a baby with me, cause I produced monsters. (In reference to Jacob's birth defects). At the time, that crushed me, and for years I'd bring it up in every fight. If someone said it to me now? I'd walk away without looking back, ever, and feel good about it. The lesser insults, like ... telling me I'm too heavy? Whatever. Or ... telling me I don't know how to fry chicken? Yup. What of it? I just don't take things personally anymore, and I know where the line is of what I will accept and not accept.

I also know my heart won't be broke should I have to cross that line and leave that relationship or friendship because it's no longer about being abandoned, or giving up on them, but it's about valuing myself enough to do what's best for me should the other person not care enough to do so with me. That's all it is - nothing personal. Possibly the MOST important lesson of my life. 

Smelling DrunkGuy's smell at my doorway this morning, and seeing that he bought SIX beers today, and remembering that he couldn't carry his grocery sacks yesterday means that he bought six beers yesterday ... it was clear as day to me - he's killing himself. Alcohol will kill him. The same as it killed my friend down the hall, and the 2 other guys down the other hall. They're all the same. They don't eat, they lie, they think everyone believes their lies, they stop eating, the food rots in their apartments, they fall and fall and crash all over the floors, they pee and poop everywhere but the toilet, they don't change their clothes, they don't shower. Then one morning ... they're dead.

 In struggling with my conscience this morning, I thought ... "What if I was in love with someone who reached this level of drinking, what would I do? I remember telling my husband once that I couldn't stick around to watch him die. At the time, it was an manipulative thing to say ... I'd never seen or known anyone who died from alcoholism. Knowing what I know now, I could have stayed with him. But I had kids to raise, and my codependency healing hadn't taken full root yet, so I had to get out.

I have a long history with alcoholics. I could have become one myself after Jacob died.  But I had 3 year old SonOne to take care of. In my 20's, I'd drink once or twice a year to get drunk on purpose, like for New Year's Eve, or some other party. I didn't drink at all during my 30's. I got MS in my 40's, and tried like hell to drink, but could never get drunk - I think it has something to do with my medications, altho you'd think just the opposite. My father was/still is? an alcoholic. I was married to an alcoholic. One brother was an alcoholic, another was addicted to cocaine, speed, pot, and I think he tried heroin. A sister is 11 1/2 years sober. I think I stayed sober cause I had to be the designated driver. Or be the responsible parent. I also hated the loss of control. My husband and I would go camping, dirt biking, or snow machining most weekends, and the entire camp would drink themselves stupid, while I got some sort of satisfaction in taking care of everything.

 It fit real well with my codependent nature. One of the "genetic" factors of alcoholism is the personality traits that are developed for coping, and they do get passed on down from generation to generation.  While married to my alcoholic, I saw a commercial on TV for a treatment center. It said "We can help the one you love stop drinking". Ahem. What a hook. In fact, they had to pull the ad because it was so manipulative. Something about ethics.  If you live with an alcoholic, it's a given that you're codependent. Codependency means you spend more time thinking, worrying, taking care of, doing for the alcoholic than you do for yourself. You think you're responsible for making the world work correctly. You take on all the shame, guilt, and worry ... which works out well for the drinker - so he/she doesn't have to feel anything cause the family members are doing it all for him/her. If he/she falls flat on their face at a party ... you're the one embarrassed - not them.  At the same time, you get alot of pats on the back, for putting up with their crap.  I thrived on that attention.  It made me feel... saintly.  No joke.  That was my payoff for staying. 

The coda behavior then carries over to other relationships. For me, it meant that I tried to control EVERYTHING. Living with alcoholism is a shaky deal - you're never really sure of anything, so the more you can control (which includes manipulating), the safer you feel. That need for control/safety doesn't bode well for healthy relationships. Co-dependency = micromanage. I think the meaning of micromanage would be having someone in the passenger seat giving me directions ... to my own house.  My sister does that!  : -)  It also means self-sacrificing yourself until you disappear, even to yourself.

I always used to tell my support groups that "You pick out what you need to work out". Meaning, like meets like. Good grief. I need to find a better way to say it. It meant that I chose alcoholics and/or drug users to be with, because they were familiar.  The chaos, sneaky, high drama was familiar.  I unconsciously chose my relationships based on MY own issues that needed working out. My first husband was emotionally distant and unavailable. As was my father. My second husband was an alcoholic, and it was the smell of beer on his breath that brought back memories of my father. It wasn't until then that I realized what the family secret had been (one of them) ... it was his drinking. I'm not even sure if it was hidden necessarily ... but it certainly wasn't explained that he was a jerk because he was drinking, nor was it understood back then what the effects of drinking were on families.

Each man that I was with had a major issue that triggered mine, and by being with them, my memories of childhood were triggered, and I began to heal, once I knew what the label to the problem was. Maybe that's another reason why I don't hate alcoholics - to me, it was a healing journey. When my step-son started to blame me for the problems in our family because I wouldn't let him go places with his father (drinking and driving), I listened to that commercial ... "You can help the one you love stop drinking", and so I went in to see how I could get my husband to stop drinking ... by hell, I was JUST the person to do it! So my step-son wouldn't hate me.  What a perfect hook - it fed right into my need to fix everything. I took a damn test, answering 50 questions. I didn't like the results of the test, so I asked if I could take it again, pretending I wasn't married to the alcoholic, "the way I used to be before I met him", because I was sure the problems were because of the alcoholic. The counselor said "Sure!" with a little smile on his face. Asshole. Because sure as the sun rises in the morning ... the score for my second test? Only one point difference!

I wasn't the way I was because of him! But wait one damn minute, buster, why in the HELL was *I* taking a test??? I wasn't the one with a problem - I came in to help my alcoholic husband, so why was I the one being talked into treatment? The bottom line was that I chose to go into treatment because ultimately it wasn't about the alcoholic. The REAL problem was why did *I* choose be with/stay with an alcoholic. I couldn't change him, but I could learn to change me. I learned my lessons, and took SonOne and my stepson with me to the family treatment also. They learned it was a disease and were able to separate the father from the disease, and not to take it personally.  I hope.  I hope we all learned that we could hang on to our love for the alcoholic, but hate the alcohol, while learning to set our own boundaries. So often it turns out that the alcoholic ends up all alone, having burned out all the friends and family and children, etc.

Today, looking at and smelling DrunkGuy, I didn't have any answers. If I loved a man who'd reached that level of illness ... my first gut answer would be "just love him". In sickness and in health stuff comes into play, doesn't it? But the truth of the matter is ... 3 beers vs 6 beers makes it a whole 'nuther story. At three beers, he could still take a shower, have a conversation, focus his eyes on me, and remember he loved me. At six beers ... none of that. And without him being able to remember he loved me, I'd be committing personal suicide, having to take care of someone who couldn't shower, who smelled like pickled rotten eggs that had been peed and shit on. And the second truth of it is that 6 beers ALWAYS turns into 9 beers. Which become not personal suicide, but murder ... helping facilitate 6 beers into 9 beers, forcing the issue in order to end the agony?

There's more than one alcoholic in my life and I can't help but wonder if they saw what I saw, these 3 people who have died by alcoholism in my world - if it would make a difference? Altho my boundaries are strong and I will not ever be hurt again by someone's drinking ... I do struggle with ... understanding perhaps too much? Does my understanding and 100% acceptance feed the problem? They are able to be honest with me about it, but does that make it seem like it's okay? Am I smiling as I watch/help/support/understand someone to their death? I know I'm being dramatic at the moment, cause I freaked out alot this morning. Looking at DrunkGuy today ... I was looking death in the face. And today ... it really hits too close to home.

Because I love my elephant in the living room....

Thursday, September 27, 2007 - Revisited

Friday, January 17, 2014

Three Subjects to Write About

I've been thinking about friends allot lately.

I'm so frustrated with Multiple Sclerosis.

I'm so desperate to find a solution to what I call my "Leaving The House Syndrome".  

So which has got me going enough to actually fire up the blog?  

Dun dun dun...

Lordy, there's a drunk idiot yelling in the courtyard.  

See how I'm trying to change the subject?  

I have two friends in particular who are constantly telling me what I NEED or SHOULD do, if I dare to say something about any sort of issue related to my difficulties in general.  For instance, my #1 favorite is...

Me:  Crap.  I forgot about the meeting.  OR

Me:  Crap, I'll never be able to remember that (if someone is giving me an address or phone number or whatever).

He/She:  You need to start writing lists. 

Some version of this, over and over again, when I am just imparting information.  I forgot. Enough said.  

Guess not.  It's so irritating and even insulting (after the 12th time), because it makes me feel as if I'm a complete idiot, because MY GOSH WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT???

The one friend who does this simply doesn't listen cause he's bi-polar and his brain is constantly buzzing.  I have to cut him some slack.  Plus he takes care of me by taking me out, or cooking, or giving me his change jar cause my check was short by $324.00 this month.  Making it so I could do my laundry after all.  He's great that way, but he also pats himself on the back for being so good to me, and he'll always say something about it in front of others.  In a humorous way and he truly is funny, but still.  One gets tired of being constantly thankful.  Doesn't one?  Maybe it's just me.  

The other friend who tells me tells me what I NEED to do or I SHOULD do that is trying to be helpful and she usually remembers the reasons I give her.  For instance...

Me:  I can't find my damn key card/bus card/credit card when I need it! (As I search for it frantically at the cash register/bus stop/apartment).  

She:  You need to get one of those things people wear around there necks that hold their ID.

Me:  I've tried that and I really liked it, but I can't stand the feeling of anything necklace-y around me neck.  

She:  Oh?  How come?  

Me:  The MS gives me sensory issues.  Like even after I take the necklace/ring/gathered waist pants, socks, bras, off, it still feels like they're still on me for hours.  And the more stressed I get, or overheated, the more I just want to rip everything off, even if it's just the necklace that's bothering me.  

She:  Oh.  That sounds... uncomfortable.  But promise me this... don't rip off all your clothes when you're with me, okay? 

She, for the most part, remembers and doesn't repeat annoying questions over and over again. 

She and I, and yet ANOTHER friend (yeah! Three whole friends!) went for a walk around Delores Park.  I tend to want to follow behind them cause I feel like I slow them down.  They tend to want me in front of them so they can keep an eye on me.  This particular day was very bad, so anytime I took a step sideways, one of them would say sharply "Where you going?" and I would say smart assy "I'm stepping aside so those people can PASS us!" and they would condescendingly  say "No, you're not, you were about to fall" and I would say, in a superior tone, "What, you think you can keep me from falling with just your voices?" and they would say, graciously, "Yes.  It worked, didn't it?" and I would step sideways again on purpose.  Cause I can focus like that... .  

Just keeping it real.

Another time, I told them how much I appreciated how they seemed to be able to make fun of the disease, rather than making fun of me.  Noticing it, but not making a big deal out of it with worry, pity or patting themselves on the back for helping me.  That it made a HUGE difference in my outlook on life every morning, feeling like a PERSON rather than a disease.  I'm way beyond the need to vomit it out verbally, but it still comes out in explanations of some of the stuff I have to do.  And she said "Well, it's not like we care or anything... we (and he jumped in and they said simultaneously), "just don't want to be the one that have to pick you up!"  

Just keeping it real and making me laugh.  How nice of them to take the focus off MS and onto my weight...


Sunday, March 10, 2013

Bike Update and Other Stuff

So today ends the first week I've had in San Francisco that has had me actually missing Idaho.  The outpouring of caring and help over the loss of my bike has come from people back home and/or from the past.  It makes me miss the people, AND the loss of security - Idaho just seems so much safer now.  And the $$$ help from my son, mom, and sister, but also from the most unlikely of persons... my ex-mother-in-law and my son's ex-mother-in-law... !!!  I thank you all sooo sooo much.

Do you know how hard it is to get a pic of Idaho Falls without the temple in it?

I've been trying hard not to need the trike... thinking that I wouldn't enjoy another one for fear of it getting stolen.  I've lead a charmed life up to now here in this city... even losing my wallet on more than one occasion, and having it returned each time.  I'm worried that bad things come in threes, so there's 2 more things that could happen.  Or else I could count Annie's seizures, and me frying her ear with tea tree oil...  that would be 3 things... hmmm.

I've decided, as much as I hate seeing/hearing people walking by talking to themselves, but actually using their Bluetooth thingy, that I am going to activate my Bluetooth too.  Smartphones are easy pickings for thugs on public transportation, and not a day goes by that we hear of another one getting stolen.  I figure it's better to keep it in my bag, and use the thing on my ear instead.  The thought of having both hands free is appealing, I must admit.  I always forget that I'm down one hand anyways, because of Annie, so it will probably make my life considerable easier.  It might remind me to keep the phone with me whenever I go out. 

That's my motto.  Easier.  Can one word be a motto?

Oh, to get back to the bike.  In the last week, I've realized:

1.  Walking makes me need to pee more.  Something about pounding gravity. 
2.  Walking makes me sleep more.
3.  Walking means I have to re-adjust all my scheduling of things.
4.  Walking makes me fall.  I have to watch the ground instead of discovering my city.

We won't discuss #1.

I'm physically tired after walking, so I lay down to "rest" for a bit.  But evidently I love to sleep.  Sleep is one thing I'm really good at.   Sleep seems to reset my pain level down to a 3 or 4, unless I'm in a Pain Flare-up, where the pain keeps me awake, or makes me wake every 3 to 4 hours.

By walking, I'm back to being able to do only one errand a day.  If I'm getting blood drawn at the hospital, and the bus goes by PetCo, I'm too tired to get off the bus, walk that block to the store, and buy the cat food, and wait again for another bus.  The hospital is the only errand for that day.  Cat food has to be another day.  So ridiculous.  

I've been trying to tell myself that I'm just out of shape and I really should walk in order to stay out of a wheelchair.  I used my walker yesterday, only to keep getting my skirt caught in the wheels.  I'm not good at thinking ahead on such mundane things... which skirt to wear based on that day's activities.  Irritates me to no end.  I'm not out of shape for the shape I'm in (fat), because I'm not out of breathe when I walk the park, etc.  My legs simply turn to noodles.  And the sun and temperature are more of an issue (huge) when walking - I just can't last more than one block.  On the bike... I could go for miles, and to hell with the sun.  Well, that's not quite true.  The sun affects me no matter what, but on the bike, it was so much easier.  It's a beautiful 64 degrees with bright sun today.  I'd be out on my bike today, if I had it. 

So yes.  I do depend on the bike.  The bike does make my life easier, and so much more open.  The only limitations on the bike are the hills, and even those I could do after I got the smaller sprocket installed.

I will be getting renter's insurance so the new bike will be covered.  I'm also getting the insurance on the new cell phone in case I drop it and it breaks.  "In case"... ha, make that when I drop it.  I want 3 different kinds of locks for the bike, so that if someone steals it, they'll have to have all the tools to do so, and it will be obvious that it's getting stolen.  I will register it at the police station.

With all the help from everyone, I will be able to get the renter's insurance started, the extra locks for the bike, the cell phone, the bike, the fat lady seat.  One of the locks is $95 bucks!  And maybe even a  little bit in savings for the first time since being on Disability.  It's a new feeling for me... vulnerable, cause of thiefs.. but also to have a safety net.  Things like insurance and a savings account.

I'm finally a grown-up.  

My friends here in San Francisco are so offended about my bike being stolen, several have said that they've gone down to the Mission just to keep an eye out for it.  They want to beat up somebody.

Me too.

Matt Kenseth won the race at the Vegas track.  Jeff Gordon was 13th.  He went from 25th to 13th in a couple of laps towards the end ... his car must have got good suddenly.  Too bad the race didn't last longer. 

Emotionally, I'm doing okay.  Vulnerable, yes.  Bitter yes.  Sad has moved on to angry.  I was leaning towards not getting another bike, when another friend, named Laurie, told me not to let the bad guys win.  She, more than most, because of her circumstances, understands the lack of independence and how frustrating it is, and how much it can affect your self-esteem... it was the most helpful advice, and the best way to think of it. 

(Laurie, is it okay if I write about all the things we have in common and how you're "related"?  Don't comment if not, say yes in the comments if yes.  And I'll probably be contacting you to help me remember them all, lolol. 


Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Right in front of my face


At some point or other, I bought these 2 sets of pots that I am planning on planting herbs someday.  I first found the black set, and of course when I saw the white set... had to have them, right?  Of course right.

I decided that I needed to raise the bunk bed a few inches, so that I can quit bumping my head on the upper bunk.  So I went to the hardware store to buy those things that raise beds...

 "You know - those things that you put under beds", I said the the salesperson.  He said he had Christmas wrapping under his bed, was that what I wanted?  Uh no.  "Those bed raiser things", I said.  Uhhhhokay.  He brought me those things and they've been sitting there for weeks, while I wait for a big, strong man to walk by my door so I can grab him to help me. 

I have since got a couch that was out on the sidewalk, that is too short, and was thinking I could use another set of those bed raiser thingys. 

One day, they fell over and I noticed the insides.   


Notice inside the white ones? 


Well then. 

What to do, what to do... which color should I use for under the couch?


Monday, March 4, 2013

What Happened to my Trike?

Yesterday, I rode to the thrift shops, looking for a laundry hamper, a toaster, an air popcorn popper, white shirts, a trash basket for under the desk, etc.  I found the cutest rain boots, black and white, (my colors!) with little paw prints on them, for walking in the dewy grass at the park every morning.  We found everything I needed and by the time I got what I wanted (those boots!), including some food and toilet paper... it added up to about $80.  A successful day, I thought.  It's rare that I fine EVERYTHING on my list.

Annie wanted McDonald's french fries and it was right down the street.  16th and Mission is considered a "seedy" neighborhood, so I was thrilled when the janitor in McDonald's allowed me to bring my trike into the store and park it near the door.  I would have had to unload all the stuff piled high in the basket and carried it inside if I locked the bike outside the store.  I thought it would be safer inside the store where I could keep an eye on it, even tho I couldn't lock it up to anything, rather than risk not being able to see the bike outside, while standing in a long line.  I KNOW my trike is a target, simply because 3 wheelers are an oddity, expensive, and coveted by so many, including the homeless, because it's so damn handy, and the basket can hold so much.  And I was surrounded by the homeless. 

I kept my eye on the bike, and watched a guy that seemed to be eying it too much for my liking.  But he left the store.  It was still there when I finally stepped up to the counter.  I ordered a number 2 meal, and paid.

All of 2 minutes, IF that long.  And he had to have had help, because the bike wouldn't go thru one door - someone would have to hold open the other door, or else it would have made a racket trying to get it out by himself. 

The point is - I ALWAYS lock it up when it's outside.  But in this neighborhood, I consciously made a decision to not lock it up outside because it would be out of my sight for the 15 to 20 minute long wait in line before getting to the counter. 

When I saw it was gone, I stumbled my way outside and yelled, "Someone stole my trike".

Think about that for a minute....

A gray haired, overweight, stumbling ADULT woman yelling about her TRIKE?...

I cannot run, or even walk fast.  

I'm sure most people probably heard "bike" instead of "trike", and there were tons of bikes around.  Absolutely no one even looked at me, except with "crazy lady alert" eyes.  Everyone averted their eyes, and didn't understand English, or pretended not to understand.  Or they were stoned, or drunk, with the glazed look that just slides right by you. Lots of those people and the sidewalks were very crowded. 

I have this odd feeling of betraying my bike.  Is it okay?  Is it being treated right?  Is it hurt, and does it know that I'm looking for it?

I have another post started about what is going on in my head, and a semi-plan for all those who want to help, but I want to go to the library to print out a Stolen Trike poster and take them down to the Mission and hang them up everywhere.

Tomorrow I have a full body MRI, and was freaking out about that until my son just reminded me of what helped last time - these weird little wedge things, that I had forgotten about.

Off to the library.

Thank you - for all the offers of help.  Like I said on Facebook... it is very humbling and we all know humble is not my style.  :-)

I won't make any decisions for at least a week.  I'd liked to try CraigsList, and Freecycle, and seeing what the cops can do, etc.  I wonder if I should offer a small reward.... the druggies might respond to that...



Sunday, March 3, 2013


 Whenever I go somewhere, my first thought is "Can I do it on the bike?"

I have been volunteering for PAWS - Pets Are Wonderful Support, by walking an HIV positive, elderly man's dog on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays.  I use the trike because the dog pulls on the leash and is too strong for me to walk.  I get to "give back" and feel useful to an organization that helps me with keeping my dog and cats fed and healthy.  I wouldn't be able to do this without the bike. 

I brought home 6 bags of groceries on the trike the other day, $104.00 worth of food, bags stacked 3 high, and bungie corded to the basket.  It was a record.  People didn't think I could do it.  I wouldn't be able to do this without the bike.

I ride to the beach, and downtown, and to the Golden Gate Bridge.  To Fisherman's Wharf, and up the highest hill in the city.  To the post office, the pharmacy, the ATM machine, the doctor's office, the hospital.  On Wednesday's, I ride to the Farmer's Market with my friend Jill, from the dog park, even tho I rarely buy anything, because it's more expensive.  I do solely to have a bit of social life with a friend.  I couldn't do it if I had to walk.  She won't do the bus.  Well, she would if I had to, but the point is... I don't have to walk, or take the bus cause of the bike.

Granny Cart
I ride to the PAWS office to pick up my pet food and cat litter, because bags of food and cat litter is too heavy to manage on the bus.  I could use the granny cart, but it's, again, too hard to manage on the bus, and too far to walk.  

I have been using it almost every day for the last couple of months.  Well, cept for when I was in Daytona.  

I cuss and curse how much space the bike takes in the apartment, but at the resident's meeting, I brought up the fact that city owned buildings (such as my apartment building) are required by law to provide bike racks, and a motion was made for me to research that law, and to scout out potential SECURE spots on the property for a bike rack.  I need the space because I found a couch (on the street and perfect!).  I need a couch if I'm to have a "dating" life.  I really don't think it's proper to entertain on my bed - I'm just not that kind of girl anymore! 

When I'm having pain days, the space issue starts to get to me so that I don't have to deal with the pain so I think about selling the bike. 

But the fact is this.  It always boils down to staying out of the wheelchair.  It's the only thing that keeps me physically moving.  I can ride the 10 mile round trip to the beach, but I can't walk more than 3 blocks.  I might get off the bike after 10 miles and not having any legs, but at least I've moved, gotten somewhere, done something, exercised. 

Plus I just plain love it. 

But maybe more importantly... I don't feel disabled because of the trike.  


Monday, February 4, 2013

Sweating over clicking the mouse to pay dem bills

February Heart a Day 4

Today was pay the bills day.  It was hard.  I had to tell the online thingy to pay the bills on the fourth since pay day fell on the 3rd - a Sunday.  Yup.  Sweaty work, that online banking. 

Also got the new Visa card in the mail.  Which means I have and high road/low road decision to make.  Michael lent me $50 for the Daytona trip.  After calling me a liar, thief, fat, ugly, lazy, stupid, idiot, bitch AND his personal favorite that I've heard him say to sooo many women and friends... I am f*cked up and need some serious counseling.  Oh and he said he hates me... I'm thinking about calling it rent.  This was my FRIEND.  Or so I thought.  And that was only the stuff I'm willing to say out loud.  He hit below the belt by taking just about everything I've said to him as my friend over the last few months and twisting it around to make something ugly and untrue with it.  

What you think?  About the $50?

I've blocked him from my phone, Facebook, and email, cause he texted me a couple of hours later, like nothing was wrong!  I just need to not get sucked in again, no matter about the shared MS, shared disability path, etc.  Just won't do it anymore. 

Saturday, February 2, 2013

He's gone, he's gone, he's really really gone

February Heart a Day 2

Michael is out.  Finally and for good.  And unfortunately, on bad terms because I guess that's how he needs it to be.

I don't like being ignored.  He promised to be out and then ignored it for 2 days, did not see or hear hide nor hair from him.  I was TRYING not to react because I did not want him to leave on bad terms.  So far, so good.  Or so I thought.  By not moving out when he said he would, he made a liar out of me with the landlady - and she was pissed.

When he finally came in, I said something about being glad I'm not his wife, cause when he doesn't want to deal with something or someone, he just wipes his brain of them, as if they didn't exist.  

We are fully aware of not being right for each other, but I thought the friendship was pretty strong, so I expected him to react with his usual good humor.  But I didn't get to finish saying it cause he EXPLODED. 

He called me every name in the book, and used everything I told him in confidence, you know, how best friends tell each other everything... he twisted it all, to hurt me, all those heartfelt talks we had... I have to remember how MEAN he was, so that I'm not swept back in with sympathy to his situation... which is HOME.LESS.NESS.  Oh, and MS.

I guess I won't tell him that the appointment for the doctor who could sign off on Michael being my caretaker, and then he could stay.... the appointment was in a couple of days, so he only had to stay out for a few days while we did the paperwork.



Friday, February 1, 2013

February - the Heart Month


The hostess at a local restaurant. 

Thursday, January 31, 2013

That's what friends are for?

Someone I see everyday said to me that she was worried about me because she could see that I was gaining weight. Huh. Hmmm. I just don't know what to think. Of her, I mean. I did go home and weigh myself. 222lbs. Still not 240, which was my highest, but 222 is still FAR too high. HeWhoLikesMe and I sorta kinda challenged each other to lose some weight while he's out of town for 2 weeks. I know I eat in order to "stuff the pain". For "most" people, that means emotional pain. For me, it means physical pain. I've gotten out of the habit of reading the side effects of my medications because they make me think

1. I'm dizzy because of the Tramadol, and it's not MS after all.
2. I can't see clearly because of the Lyrica, and it's not MS after all.
3. I have sensory issues because of Carbamazepine, and it's not MS after all, etc., etc., etc.

It makes me wonder if I'm actually addicted to pills, and the pain I feel is withdrawal when I don't take them on time.  I go thru this belief at least once a year.

Anyways... what was I talking about?  Oh my weight.  Whatever.

Speaking of that's what friends are for, this is absolutely hilarious.  Her so-called friend couldn't help her cause she needed both hands for the camera, evidently.  This is for my peops in Idaho! 

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