I recently read a post from someone with MS.
....ain't that a shocker? I mean, I would love to spend my time on the net looking at porn, or maybe buying shit off eBay, or even researching something fascinating. But, not so much. I guess I got bigger fish to fry. I read MS blogs. I wanna know how people feel, how they are doing....any new meds, maybe even a tip or two.
In regards to the title of this post...I really mean it. I am gonna give my two cents on la la land.
I had been bouncing from blog to blog....some drenched in MS, some adding MS to their post like you add paprika to potato salad. You know... A little bit of color, a tad flavor boost.
I had to laugh at this one guys post. For the most part I get him. He had said something about 'throat punching people that say that getting MS was a blessing'. That is a loose quote. Cannot remember exactly, and I am not too bothered to go find and quote the shit properly. This ain't an essay.
Well, I had to laugh because I think I actually read one of the MS blogs that most likely inspired him to write that. Unfuckingreal.
But, what prompted me to write this morning is a different blog. The author of it has MS and instead of feeling her MS is a blessing, she actually feels her MS is fucking special. Her doctor thinks she is the MS shit and is going to write about her. Well, that's equally as disturbing as the whole Being happy for MS because it changed their life for the better...etc.
Are we just that pathetic that that does it for us? Seriously? Your MS is better than mine? Your chronic illness is way more special? Jesus.
I feel it truly goes hand in hand with the whole throat punching prompt. A special MS patient vs. a blessed MS patient. Who knows....maybe the formers parents told her she was the prettiest little girl in the whole wide world on a daily basis when she was wee. And maybe the blessed guy is an extreme optimist. I don't think either is right, nor do I think they are wrong. I do, however, feel that they both have summer houses in la la land. But, hey....you gotta do what you gotta do to get you through. So, if one of them is so blessed because MS has given them a wonderful crippled pain filled life, so be it. And if one of them is the exception, not the rule of MS...all fucking special and shit, well.... Good for her.
But, the blogger is right. I agree with him. They are fucking liars. They just might not know it.....which only means they believe their lies.
So perception is reality..... I guess I live in the here and the now. I don't feel special...millions of poor bastards have this disease. I don't feel blessed....MS has put a huge burden on my family, and crippled me physically, in turn crippling me mentally and emotionally in some respects.
But hey.....whatever gets you through the day, man.
Are we as people so fucking pathetic that we will just take it anywhere we can get it?
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
A little liberation goes a long way
To continue on with my previous post regarding what's new with me.. (last post turned into a total pigeon post).
Glenny bought a house on 62 acres. In the country, heavily wooded lot. Tons of privacy....62 acres is a lot of private land to explore. Being the cripple I am....that was something new that depressed me, the reminder of inability. Access free. A big N-O.
Sucky because prior to, I was an outdoors chick. Hiking, mountain biking, trail jogger, etc. loved the outdoors in Vermont, loved the adventure and freedom. Mainly I loved the fact that I got the fuck away from people in general. The further I am from people, the happier I am.
So, what to do in such a dilemma? Well, get someone that loves you to buy you a four wheeler. Not just any four wheeler....a white Honda rubicon four wheeler that is automatic. No need for feet. This is too awesome considering my dead weak numb feet are pretty useless.
This four wheeler is the new love of my life. I got a major crush on it when it was a possibility, but now that it was bought for me....ahhhhhhh. Love. It takes my crippled ass all through these woods. It makes trails. It eats saplings and easily negotiates hills, streams, and downed trees. Damn, I am in love. I honestly forget about this disease while I am motoring through. Too cool. Too awesome. And I admit I love getting back in touch with my inner redneck.
And seriously.....I can't help but admit that if I could substitute this badass four wheeler for my wimpy wheelchair, I would probably love being in public. No shit. I hate wheelchairs because it is degrading being eye level with everyone's asses in a checkout line, in an elevator, in a store aisle.... I am so sick of seeing asses. Granted, I am thankful I don't have to look at their faces....I suppose their ass is the better deal.
I suppose the point I am trying to make is that for some reason the four wheeler enables me to feel like how I used to feel. I feel like the original version of myself. Kinda badass. :)
In a wheelchair....I feel ....helpless or something. I am unsure if others feel that way. Of course I can only assume I am pissing someone off by saying that. Because I am sure there is some noble wheelchair bitch that feels like a badass on their power scooter or in their chair. Whatever, that's you. I don't give a fuck if you disagree with me.
For whoever reads, has read, anything I have ever written on this here blog....you most likely know, or vaguely recall, that I lived in the city for a decade. I was fine with it for the first 8 years. Why? I worked all of the time, and when I wasn't working I was in the mountains, woods or the lake. So, I basically slept there....ate there. Hung my hat there. But the past few years of being a fucking slug....you notice a lot. Like neighbors. Omfg. Traffic, alarms, horns, the smell of other peoples dinner cooking, two blocks away dogs barking, etc.
This is really just turning into an ode to my four wheeler. My woods legs. My mobility. Actually being back in nature. It's frisking beautiful out there.
We have huge ledges, which is covered with shit. Eastern coyote shit to be exact. Which I am sooooo desperate to see. A coyote and grey wolf blend. Nice. Live right in the back yard. Along with black bear. I drove over some black bear shit last weekend. Gross. And we heard one, and Glenn always carrys a pistol. A wee pistol. Seriously. I have a big black shotgun which is really intimidating...scares the shit out of me, but I never take it with me when I go.
My mental state is kind of the same. I mean yes, there is a lot of positives that hold the hand of the four wheeler.....but, keep in mind I am highly critical of myself....blame my Eurocentric childhood.
I am always reminded of the no. The cant. The are you fucking kidding me. The ms. I can ride like a mad woman...but if I need to pee? Hahah. Good luck to me getting myself off the fucking thing and getting my jeans down near a tree before I piss myself. That reminder keeps me in check.
That's the reality. But, I'll take it. You're fucking right I will. I haven't smiled this much in a while.
.....I am even going to post a pic of my beloved four wheeler. Like I said....the current love of my life.
Glenny bought a house on 62 acres. In the country, heavily wooded lot. Tons of privacy....62 acres is a lot of private land to explore. Being the cripple I am....that was something new that depressed me, the reminder of inability. Access free. A big N-O.
Sucky because prior to, I was an outdoors chick. Hiking, mountain biking, trail jogger, etc. loved the outdoors in Vermont, loved the adventure and freedom. Mainly I loved the fact that I got the fuck away from people in general. The further I am from people, the happier I am.
So, what to do in such a dilemma? Well, get someone that loves you to buy you a four wheeler. Not just any four wheeler....a white Honda rubicon four wheeler that is automatic. No need for feet. This is too awesome considering my dead weak numb feet are pretty useless.
This four wheeler is the new love of my life. I got a major crush on it when it was a possibility, but now that it was bought for me....ahhhhhhh. Love. It takes my crippled ass all through these woods. It makes trails. It eats saplings and easily negotiates hills, streams, and downed trees. Damn, I am in love. I honestly forget about this disease while I am motoring through. Too cool. Too awesome. And I admit I love getting back in touch with my inner redneck.
And seriously.....I can't help but admit that if I could substitute this badass four wheeler for my wimpy wheelchair, I would probably love being in public. No shit. I hate wheelchairs because it is degrading being eye level with everyone's asses in a checkout line, in an elevator, in a store aisle.... I am so sick of seeing asses. Granted, I am thankful I don't have to look at their faces....I suppose their ass is the better deal.
I suppose the point I am trying to make is that for some reason the four wheeler enables me to feel like how I used to feel. I feel like the original version of myself. Kinda badass. :)
In a wheelchair....I feel ....helpless or something. I am unsure if others feel that way. Of course I can only assume I am pissing someone off by saying that. Because I am sure there is some noble wheelchair bitch that feels like a badass on their power scooter or in their chair. Whatever, that's you. I don't give a fuck if you disagree with me.
For whoever reads, has read, anything I have ever written on this here blog....you most likely know, or vaguely recall, that I lived in the city for a decade. I was fine with it for the first 8 years. Why? I worked all of the time, and when I wasn't working I was in the mountains, woods or the lake. So, I basically slept there....ate there. Hung my hat there. But the past few years of being a fucking slug....you notice a lot. Like neighbors. Omfg. Traffic, alarms, horns, the smell of other peoples dinner cooking, two blocks away dogs barking, etc.
This is really just turning into an ode to my four wheeler. My woods legs. My mobility. Actually being back in nature. It's frisking beautiful out there.
We have huge ledges, which is covered with shit. Eastern coyote shit to be exact. Which I am sooooo desperate to see. A coyote and grey wolf blend. Nice. Live right in the back yard. Along with black bear. I drove over some black bear shit last weekend. Gross. And we heard one, and Glenn always carrys a pistol. A wee pistol. Seriously. I have a big black shotgun which is really intimidating...scares the shit out of me, but I never take it with me when I go.
My mental state is kind of the same. I mean yes, there is a lot of positives that hold the hand of the four wheeler.....but, keep in mind I am highly critical of myself....blame my Eurocentric childhood.
I am always reminded of the no. The cant. The are you fucking kidding me. The ms. I can ride like a mad woman...but if I need to pee? Hahah. Good luck to me getting myself off the fucking thing and getting my jeans down near a tree before I piss myself. That reminder keeps me in check.
That's the reality. But, I'll take it. You're fucking right I will. I haven't smiled this much in a while.
.....I am even going to post a pic of my beloved four wheeler. Like I said....the current love of my life.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Five months later....
Gotta point out the obvious, and note that I haven't done this posting blogging thing for a while. 5 months later, and boom! Here I am.
A lot has actually happened in my life, a lot is currently happening...just like everyone else in their lives.
My low need for affiliation hasn't changes, so no news on that. Still haven't made a single friend. Still no change in my ms. Still haven't 'taken a walk' anywhere.
But, for anyone that cares to read about some crippled chicks life as a distraction from their own, or perhaps to satiate the innate nosy inner self..... Here's my new shit.
1. A pigeon. Yep, I now live with a pigeon. I didn't set out to live with a pigeon, never even crossed my mind. In fact, I have never been interested in birds as a pet or companion. I have always thought that they were pretty, or funny, or fucking obnoxious (blue jays).
Still....this summer, we had a very intense storm, one of many. This particular storm knocked out power, broke trees in half (no shit), wrecked bridges and some roads. It was epic wind and heavy rain. The next day, in the calmness afterwards, I discovered a little white bird sitting on the woodpile on my back porch. He actually scared the shit out of me. I was letting Rommel take a pee, and I was going to have a smoke. When I sat down, I noticed something white and moving...startling me. He hopped up higher on the logs when I looked at him. Rommels presence didn't phase him either. I took a couple pics of him, thinking that it was cute and how odd that he wasn't flying away.
Flash forward a few hours....my neighbor has a homicidal cat. A bird killing machine type cat. This cat is clever, adept, sneaky. He has claimed the lives of countless squirrels, mice, moles, and birds. This cat has an unquenchable bloodlust for little furries and feathers. I had gotten closer to the little bird and noticed a rusty color that was speckled and staining his white feathers. Blood....ahhh. Perhaps this little guy was a tad more clever that the jack the ripper cat? Escaped with claw or teeth injuries? Regardless of how he was injured....my crippled heart immediately went out to this tiny handicapped bird. I wanted to give him a little help at life. I called my brother for help....I needed him because I cannot stand and reach and my balance is fucked. My brother came, we made a makeshift house, he caught him and voila. Safe bird.
Since I know jack shit about birds, bird health, how to care for an injured bird, etc....I did what most anyone would do. I called rommels vet. No luck, but they did advise me to contact fish and game, and that they had a bird rehabber I could call.
Readers digest version? Got him a cage, seed, a toy, gave him a cute pillow.....brought him to the bird rehabber and found out that he is NOT wild. He didn't, however, have any bands or identification. She said take him home....enjoy him. I did place an add on Craigslist, making sure no one was missing him. *on a different note, I cannot believe what a bunch of trolling fucking idiots peruse listing, not reading them, just so they can respond to you insultingly. Seriously. I had some bitch write to me and tell me she was reporting me for catching wild animals and trying to profit off them. Wtf? I gave her a piece of my mind....which was dumb of me. ...my grandfather always said to never fight with a cripple or a fool....and she wasn't cripple. She was a fucking moron.
So.....looooong story short. I have a do,estic feral pigoen that lives with me. He has his own room. His name is BB. There it is.
He is an absolute joy to be around. His intellect is impressive. He is funny. Very tame...well, he wasn't at first, but is now. When I found him, the rehabber told me, he was less than 20 days old. A squeaker. She said he most likely got knocked out of the nest or lost the flock due to the storm.
A lot has actually happened in my life, a lot is currently happening...just like everyone else in their lives.
My low need for affiliation hasn't changes, so no news on that. Still haven't made a single friend. Still no change in my ms. Still haven't 'taken a walk' anywhere.
But, for anyone that cares to read about some crippled chicks life as a distraction from their own, or perhaps to satiate the innate nosy inner self..... Here's my new shit.
1. A pigeon. Yep, I now live with a pigeon. I didn't set out to live with a pigeon, never even crossed my mind. In fact, I have never been interested in birds as a pet or companion. I have always thought that they were pretty, or funny, or fucking obnoxious (blue jays).
Still....this summer, we had a very intense storm, one of many. This particular storm knocked out power, broke trees in half (no shit), wrecked bridges and some roads. It was epic wind and heavy rain. The next day, in the calmness afterwards, I discovered a little white bird sitting on the woodpile on my back porch. He actually scared the shit out of me. I was letting Rommel take a pee, and I was going to have a smoke. When I sat down, I noticed something white and moving...startling me. He hopped up higher on the logs when I looked at him. Rommels presence didn't phase him either. I took a couple pics of him, thinking that it was cute and how odd that he wasn't flying away.
Flash forward a few hours....my neighbor has a homicidal cat. A bird killing machine type cat. This cat is clever, adept, sneaky. He has claimed the lives of countless squirrels, mice, moles, and birds. This cat has an unquenchable bloodlust for little furries and feathers. I had gotten closer to the little bird and noticed a rusty color that was speckled and staining his white feathers. Blood....ahhh. Perhaps this little guy was a tad more clever that the jack the ripper cat? Escaped with claw or teeth injuries? Regardless of how he was injured....my crippled heart immediately went out to this tiny handicapped bird. I wanted to give him a little help at life. I called my brother for help....I needed him because I cannot stand and reach and my balance is fucked. My brother came, we made a makeshift house, he caught him and voila. Safe bird.
Since I know jack shit about birds, bird health, how to care for an injured bird, etc....I did what most anyone would do. I called rommels vet. No luck, but they did advise me to contact fish and game, and that they had a bird rehabber I could call.
Readers digest version? Got him a cage, seed, a toy, gave him a cute pillow.....brought him to the bird rehabber and found out that he is NOT wild. He didn't, however, have any bands or identification. She said take him home....enjoy him. I did place an add on Craigslist, making sure no one was missing him. *on a different note, I cannot believe what a bunch of trolling fucking idiots peruse listing, not reading them, just so they can respond to you insultingly. Seriously. I had some bitch write to me and tell me she was reporting me for catching wild animals and trying to profit off them. Wtf? I gave her a piece of my mind....which was dumb of me. ...my grandfather always said to never fight with a cripple or a fool....and she wasn't cripple. She was a fucking moron.
So.....looooong story short. I have a do,estic feral pigoen that lives with me. He has his own room. His name is BB. There it is.
He is an absolute joy to be around. His intellect is impressive. He is funny. Very tame...well, he wasn't at first, but is now. When I found him, the rehabber told me, he was less than 20 days old. A squeaker. She said he most likely got knocked out of the nest or lost the flock due to the storm.
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