hopes and dreams

01/13/10

I'd like to thank all of you who have taken the time to sign up as followers and even taken the extra step of posting your comments. It's got to take a certain amount of bravery to acknowledge being associated with this nonsense. I'm plenty embarassed any time I look at it. I doubt that your career could suffer as much from this as from your boss checking your Facebook page and seeing the pics of you and your friends doing jello shots at a party wearing t-shirts that read "I HATE MY F-in' JOB" but still.

I'm astonished that there are so many of you who have signed on here. There's a nice mix of friends, family and my oldest daughter's pals for whom I used to provide chauffeur service to Backstreet Boys concerts. I'll tell ya, those were the days.

I'm willing to admit that my motives in starting this thing weren't totally charitable. Yeah, I'm happy to provide tips and little lessons on how not to live your own lives. And the feel-good benefits for those who take comfort in telling themselves that they're nowheres near in as bad shape as I am is have to count for something. But I don't mind letting it be known that I'm not averse to having this thing take off and attract a wider circle of readership. I know it's too early to have realistically expected a flood of offers for personal gain. But if they do come I'm not going to be declining any invitations to meet with the editors at Random House or some ad agency pitching a seven figure ad deal to hype their client's products on my site here. I haven't checked in with Google on any of this but that kind of publicity would have to be good for them too. Wouldn't it?

One of the many things that might get in the way of fame and fortune (being a no-talent bum would also be one) is the difficulties I face just getting into the computer room to add to the blahg. First, I have to strap this damn brace onto my leg whenever I leave my sick bed. I'm under strict orders from the doctor to wear this thing whenever I'm up which makes a world of sense. If I'd been wearing it on Christmas morning I probably wouldn't have ripped the knee up again. Who knows though; maybe it would have been the other knee this time. So I'm not opposed to wearing it but I wish it wasn't so uncomfortable. I don't remember it digging into my flabby thigh quite as bad last fall.

And I don't mind the crutches either. I recognize their purpose and they're incredibly handy for flicking on the light switch without getting up or for pulling the box of Cheezits off the shelf accoss the room and dragging it over to the bed. As long as we can't afford a fulltime PCA the crutches are just going to have to double up. An added bonus is that they are much easier to keep track of and not lose as opposed to, say..., my car keys which go missing several times a week when I'm allowed to drive.

But the worst thing about moving from one room to the other on our second floor is having to see what a god-awful mess our cat has made of the rug with his pathological shedding. If we'd been looking at houses four years ago based on carpeting being able to blend in with the massive amounts of white and orange fur that Miles leaves in his wake, we definitely would have passed on this one. Or insisted that removing the oppressive burgundy carpeting from the staircase and landings be a condition of purchase. It's not like we had a long list of demands; I think we asked them to repair a broken screen from a combination window and to leave us a set of keys. Yeah, we're a pair of hard-nosed negotiators. But in retrospect, we're always regretting not having torn up the carpet last summer or spring. Pick your year. Miz Susan's mantra has become, "That damn ugly maroon carpeting is coming up as soon as the weather turns nice again." Joining my other personal favorite, "No, you can't have any pecan pie and I don't care how many times you ask."

Since Miles has entered, with a vengeance, what seem to be his declining years, his hair is coming off in handfuls. I try to brush him whenever I can get my hands on him and remember where I left his brush last but that's just not enough. He still insists on rolling around in the hallway and leaving a light frosting of his coat on whatever ground he's covered. Susan goes ape when it's even a little bit bad and I get caught between these two forces of nature, her need for order and the appearance (ha!) of a well maintained household and Miles's deteriorating condition. I end up playing the enabler and postpone my writing until the enabling is over.

I'm proud of myself for having invented a new use for our lint roller. It makes a great spot cleaner for carpet. Yeah, I might have to use four or five sheets of the sticky stuff but it beats dragging the vacuum cleaner out. Especially for me now. I can handle the vacuum, as I alluded to in an earlier chapter, but it's definitely tougher on one leg than on two. The problem with the lint roller is that I have to do this precarious balancing act on one leg, a toe-touch (which I'm allowed per the doctor's orders), a crutch and whatever support I can get from the lint roller. Now that I've written it down I can't even begin to imagine why I haven't tipped over yet. A worst-case scenario would be tipping over and rolling down the stairs head first. This has got to be stupider than playing Twister while drunk. Or playing Twister at all.

So, even though it's effective, if marginally, it is a bigger production while convalescing than while healthy. And it does make getting from here to there and back again tougher. Once I get done with my enabling and into the swivel chair with my legged propped up, the writing comes easily enough. Even if it's only marginally writing.

Getting back to my earlier mention of having some self-serving interests for this thing; don't be afraid to mention me to your friends and associates. Especially if you think they might be conned into throwing large amounts of money my way. Even small amounts would be a boost for my ego. And maybe enough for seed money for my next invention. The two-foot long lint roller!! Enough of this namby pamby three-inch lint roller silliness. Coming soon to a Target near you. See ya there!!